In the Land of Tea and Ravens by R.K. Ryals Page A

bent, her long, wild hair down for the first time since he’d met her. The curls swept downward past her breasts, the humidity coiling the mass into something living. She wore a bright blue tank top with a tiered violet and blue skirt.
    “I made a promise,” Grayson said.
    Lyric’s head didn’t rise. “I wish you’d quit,” she replied.
    “Quit?”
    Her gaze lifted, her strange eyes blue-violet, the color off-set by the tank top she wore. It was disconcerting how her eyes changed. Grayson wondered what mood blue-violet stood for.
    “Making promises,” she answered.
    Grayson nodded at the plate in his hand. “I brought food.” His lips twitched. “I figured you could provide the drink.”
    She stared at him, her gaze raking his jeans and olive green T-shirt. Around his neck, he wore a silver chain that ended in a pendant, a swirl of Celtic knots that resembled a horse’s head.
    “And if I have none?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Then we’ll eat it dry.”
    “There’s only one plate,” she argued.
    “There’s enough food for two,” he countered.
    Lyric sighed. “There’s no getting rid of you.” She spoke as much to herself as she did to him.
    He watched her. “I’m trying to decide if I should ask you what the devil you’re doing in this field or why you always wear these confounded, layered skirts.”
    “You have an interest in fashion?” she teased.
    Grayson flinched. “Colorful rags sewn together are fashionable?” Lyric frowned, and he immediately regretted his words. “Look—”
    “Because life is brighter with color,” she interrupted. “Because if you spend your life washing all of the color out of your life, then you’re left with grey. I love grey, those stark moments when there is no color. And yet, there is nothing more beautiful than the moment when all of that grey is suddenly touched by color. It’s like watching the day rise from the dead.”
    Grayson’s fingers tingled, the pads of his hands suddenly tempted to grab her skirt, to watch the way the blue and violet looked against the wilted cornstalks.
    “What are you doing here?” he mumbled.
    Lyric glanced at the sky. “You ask a lot of questions.”
    “You do a lot of strange, questionable things.”
    She fought not to smile. “The house becomes too much sometimes. I thought I’d be done here by now. This town’s patience is only so long.”
    Grayson’s gaze followed hers. “You’re a complicated mess, Lyric Mason.”
    “You can go home, Grayson Kramer.”
    “I think that’s what intrigues me,” he said.
    She glanced at him, surprised. “What?”
    “You keep trying to send me away.” He lifted the plate in his hand. “The food is getting cold.”
    Lyric eyed the foil wrapped plate before turning, her tiered skirt drawing him through the field, the fabric a beacon in the bleakness. They were walking through a war zone, a field full of history fed by both of their families. Hers especially.
    There was an old oak tree on the edge of the field, and Lyric stopped there.
    Leaning her back against the trunk, she faced Grayson. “Why do you keep coming?” she asked.
    Grayson pulled the foil off of the plate and held out one of two plastic forks. “You never got a chance to tell me about the ravens.” She accepted the fork, and he gestured at the plate. “Just eat whatever you’d like. I’ll eat what you don’t.”
    He sank to the ground next to the tree. Lyric followed him more slowly, her gaze searching his face.
    Digging her fork into a heap of chicken and dumplings, she muttered, “You’re not here because of the ravens.”
    Grayson’s brows rose. “You don’t think so? You tell a man all of your female relatives are birds because your family angered some magical person, and you don’t think it’d incite my curiosity?”
    Her gaze captured his. “You’re here because you want me to drive you mad.”
    Grayson froze, the food forgotten. “ What ?”
    Lyric leaned toward him. “I’ve seen