Page 201 of Season Warriors & Wolves

She straightened it back. “You never put on pyjamas.”

“You know I like to sleep naked.”

“Your scary stories are traumatising.”

“No, they are just true.”

“You hate chocolate.”

“I can still eat it.

“And we’ve never gossiped about boys.”

“We did.”

“No, you calling Neo every enfeebling name in the dictionary does not count for gossiping.”

I pinched her nose and faded us to the Fernfoss camps. Except that our usual spot was taken by Kilian and a bunch of Hanaian and Olympian soldiers being taught how to avoid getting trapped by an Adriatian Aura’s magic.

Thora ran to Snow who had sat on a little bench, just staring at my brother from a distance. “Shouldn’t you be in Solarya? Helping them set up.”

“Shhh,” my sister-in-law said, tilting her head, her eyes never leaving Kilian. “I’ll go in a minute.”

I crouched beside her and wiped the drool off her mouth. “I really don’t understand the obsession.”

“I want to have that man’s babies, Mal. Unless you come to understand the urge, shhhh.” As if she could hear my thoughts screaming, she turned a little to me, her eyes pleading. “It will be alright.”

“You don’t believe in that shitty word, you heathen.”

She smiled and shot to her feet when the training court cleared, and my topless brother remained there waiting for her. We were in public, but the way he watched her did not belong in public. Leave it to your big sibling to embarrass the shit out of you.

Thora crouched down. “I love watching them do this.”

I did, too.

I’d never seen life dance with death the way it did when she unleashed thunder and he unleashed darkness. Neither fighting the other. Neither consuming the other. Simply taming—embracing and comforting till the two found a ground where neither was spiralling out of control.

Thora’s emerald eyes widened and glowed from the reflection of her sister’s magic, the skin of her arms pimpling with goosebumps from the mess of warm, controlled chaos it created against Kilian’s. “Do you think it is because they share one soul?”

“What is?”

She looked up at me. “That neither allows the other to kill them. That neither lets itself kill the other.”

“The two are great masters of their magic. It has nothing to do with that.”

Her nose scrunched with disappointment at my answer. “Would it be so disdainful to think this romantic?”

“Yes.”

She snorted. “Please don’t break into hives.”

“Too late. Look what you’ve done. You got to rub me up in ointment now, little bird.” I crouched down next to her and tugged on her braid until she turned to face me. “But you would probably think that romantic as well, so now poor old me has to do it himself.”

Her smile was so damn sweet. Rose berries were sweet too, but fucking poisonous. “Seeing you haven’t been to your whores in weeks, poor old you might be excellent at doing things himself.”

This little shit. No one could make me laugh like her.

She was right though. And it was not for lack of trying. Even the thought repulsed me these days. What happens when you sober up, I guess. Can’t realise if the vomit raising up your throat is your feelings or bile.