“Uncle Laryn,” Kael acknowledges, gripping his arm in a warrior’s embrace and with softness in his eyes.
The man towers over Kael—pushing seven feet, and barely able to stand without hitting the rafters. His textured onyx hair is woven into intricate braids, and pulled back in a tail. Black ink bleeds into his rich umber skin like a story half-hidden and half-revealed. But it’s not just his height or his burly build that fills the room—it’s his presence. Stoic, unwavering, completely at home within himself.
“Well, I know you’re not here to see your aunt and uncle, so what business do you have in Azhareth?” Laryn teases, though there’s a seriousness to his tone—one that belies his calm exterior.
His eyes rake over Elyssara, taking her in, and it unsettles her. Like she’s being measured. Assessed.
Kael notices the way Kiva and Laryn’s gazes snag on her. The way they refuse to exhale fully in her presence.
“This is Elyssara Dawnmere, Rightful Queen of Dravara,” Kael announces, though he pitches his voice low.
Elyssara offers a small, awkward smile, still unsure how to greet people when her title is used.
“Thought as much,” Kiva says, voice unimpressed but kind. She inclines her head in a curt nod. “We may live on the Outside, but news of the Lightborne still travels. We know who you are, dear.”
Elyssara steps through the threshold of the small home. “Thank you for opening your home to us.”
But Kiva waves a dismissive hand. “Kael’s family—that’s what we do.” She glares at Kael, branding him with her stare. “Even if it has been years since he last visited.”
Kael huffs a laugh. “Your admonishments are nothing if not predictable.”
Kiva places a wooden chopping block of lightly buttered bread on a small table, and without looking up, she says, “Well, you deserve them.”
But Elyssara has too many questions to sit in idle conversation.
“Why do you live in Caeloria?” she says, almost like an accusation, the words slipping from her lips without thought. She claps a hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to be so forward. I’m… probably just hungry or something.” She reaches for the bread, shoving it in her mouth in one large gulp.
Perhaps it’ll stop her from speaking.
Kiva’s mouth quirks up at the side. “Yes, you do.” She shifts her gaze to Kael, eyes glinting. “She’s just like her.”
Hold on. Who?
Kael can’t help the smirk that lifts his mouth. “Has her temper, too.”
“I’m right here,” Elyssara tries to retort despite a mouthful of bread.
Laryn barks a laugh, slapping his thigh. “Not many could rival Yvesha’s fury.”
Yvesha.
Elyssara can’t swallow the bread down fast enough, but before she can speak, Kael adds, “The same fire in her eyes. The same call to justice. The same defiance in the face of false power.” His eyes lock on Elyssara’s.
Elyssara knows that look—the one that will own her until the Stars themselves come for her.
She swallows down the bread, too dry after gods know how long with less than a canteen of water.
“Who is Yvesha?” Elyssara asks tentatively. But boldness grabs her tongue. “She sounds wonderful, if you ask me.”
“My sister.”
“My mother.”
Kiva and Kael speak over each other, but their tones have the same warmth. The same fondness.
Kael’s mother.
Kiva’s sister.
