And they drift toward me.
Drawn to me.
As if I were the way home.
Chapter 25
Daed
She steps into the lantern light, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. The waves of her long hair catch the wind like silk. Her warm brown eyes sweep the deck, settling on me, and I feel the impact like a blow to the chest. Her skin, kissed bronze, glows against the dark, as though the stars themselves had conspired to shape her from light. There’s a kind of beauty to her that slips through language, something not meant for the bluntness of words. And still, she is more than beautiful. She is mine, even when she tries not to be.
From my skin, the golden threads unravel, drifting toward her across the space between us. They move like ribbons through the dark, weaving their way toward her, seeking the place they belong.
I haven’t touched her in so long. Not really. Not the way I remember. And yet her feel is carved into me, mapped into the hollows of my palms, the curve of my fingers, the ache in my chest. The ghost of her lingers on my skin, a memory too vivid to fade. I could live a thousand lifetimes and still not forget the shape of her in my arms, the way she fit there, like she was made to.
And though I pride myself on being a creature of strength, a Fae warrior with ice in his veins, a living nightmare to any who dare meet my gaze. In this moment, for her, I am coming undone.
Amara slips into the circle, and it’s as though the fire itself bends toward her. The moment she sits, flanked by Zyphoro on one side and Solena on the other, the huddle shifts and the singing comes to an abrupt halt.
Reon, ever too quick to speak and too slow to think, grins and leans forward with a mug sloshing with rum. “Welcome, Amara. Have a drink with us.”
Solena’s hand snaps out. She swats his wrist just enough to send a few drops splashing onto his trousers. “She’s breastfeeding, you idiot. The rum will taint her milk.”
Reon blinks, confused. “How was I supposed to know that’s how it works? I’ve never breastfed before.”
“Please don’t try,” I mutter to him with a grin.
The silence that follows is brief, fractured by Orios’s laughter, loud and shameless.
Solena glares at him like she’s contemplating murder. “You find that funny?”
Orios doesn’t answer with words. He just wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His mouth finds that tender spot at the base of her neck, and he kisses her there, slow and firm.
Solena stiffens for half a second, then exhales. Her fingers curl over his shoulder. His hand slides along her thigh in that way he always does when he’s reminding the world she’s his.
I watch them and I feel it like a bruise, the closeness, the unspoken understanding between them. I want that same feeling. I would give anything for it. If only my wife would let me.
Even now I can’t look away from her. From Amara.
She lifts a hand in graceful refusal, her voice calm but firm. “I appreciate the offer, Reon, but Solena’s right. I can’t drink rum.”
Reon grins, utterly unbothered. “No problem at all. I’ll drink for the both of us.”
With theatrical flair, he downs the entire cup in one long, exaggerated gulp. When he finishes, he smacks his lips together like he’s just tasted the nectar of the gods and lets out a contented sigh.
Then he swivels toward me with a gleam in his eye. “Now, where were we?”
He thrusts his cup out expectantly. I top it off from the jug in my hand, but I’ve barely begun to pour when he launches into song again, loud, off-key, and with more enthusiasm than melody.
Raise your cup, all kin of light,
To Vornahl’s flame, our ancient might.
From Meranor’s golden halls we came,
To claim new lands, to forge new names.
Orios slams his heel to the deck in time with the chant, the dull thud echoing like a war drum. Reon rises, lantern light catching in the copper of his hair, casting fire along his silhouette as his voice rises strong and sure.
