Page 41 of Heimlock

“Hey,” I say into her hair. “You aren’t letting Fynn do most of the cooking, right? Because he’s awful at it.”

She releases me, laughing. “I realized that when he burned the green beans.”

Fynn growls, stopping in the middle of the kitchen to glare at the two of us. “I did not burn them. They’re roasted.”

“They’re a little more than roasted,” she whispers, smiling.

I grin. “Is Orliana any better?”

“Say one more word, and I’ll sick Moxie on you,” Orliana threatens with a laugh. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder shirt, showing off the permanent Dragon bite mark at the base of her neck. Her long hair flows freely, and a glow emanates from her skin. Fynn isn’t the only one lit up now.

Moxie flies onto my shoulder and lowers her horn. Craning my neck to look at the purple ugopeg, I croon, “Who’s a pretty girl? You are! You’re the prettiest girl!”

She immediately melts, batting her dark eyelashes. Like most females, she loves a genuine compliment. Giving Orliana a smug smile, I say, “I think I’ll be fine.”

Orliana rolls her eyes good-naturedly, coming to give me a hug. Fynn’s eyes flash in warning, so I make the hug brief. It’ll probably take at least a year for him to get a handle on his territorial instincts.

He points a sauce-covered spatula at me. “Is your brother really the last to get a hug around here?”

“I was merely hugging in the order of who I like the most,” I joke. Joulian crows with victory. Talia huffs out a laugh; Orliana raises an eyebrow.

Fynn lets out a long-suffering sigh, then gives me a tight hug. In it, I can sense all of the unspoken worries. Are you okay? We’ve missed you. Are you going to disappear again?

We release the embrace, and I scan the room. For years, Fynn refused to clean up anything Rhuth left behind before her death. For years, items collected dust like museum artifacts. It's a delight to see that the sweater no longer hangs off a chair; the hairbrush is gone from the counter. I didn’t look, but the shoes by the door are probably gone.

Relief washes away any lingering anxiety for my brother. After watching him waste away for five years and struggling to keep everything afloat, I can finally relax.

I scent the air. “What’s cookin’?”

“Garlic angel hair pasta with crisped dove, truffles, and parmesan,” Joulian announces from the table, as if he’s cooking it.

My stomach grumbles in appreciation. Walking over to the alcohol cabinet in the corner of the room, I grab the old bottle of Minga that’s my favorite. Rhuth’s cousin bought it for their wedding, but Fynn never drinks it. I made it a mission years ago to savor it over time. Waste not, want not.

I’m about to take a swig when Orliana chides, “Trinte! A glass! Stop being a heathen!”

Flashing her a mischievous grin, I put the bottle to my lips. Fynn scowls. It gives me great pleasure to irritate him like this. Keeps him on his toes.

“Trinte Gleanscale,” Talia chides. “Wipe that off right now and use a glass.”

Frowning, I refrain from rolling my eyes. Grabbing a glass and napkin, I wipe off the lip of the bottle and pour myself a glass. Talia raises an eyebrow when I look at her again. Somehow, she makes me feel both loved and like a misbehaving child at the same time.

It makes me incredibly happy.

Sauntering over to the stool next to her, I say, “So when is dinner going to be ready? I came over, thinking my feast would be prepared in time.”

“Oh, we’re still waiting on one more,” Orliana says, dumping vegetables into a salad.

A cold sensation slithers through my veins. “One more?”

“My other daughter is almost here,” Talia announces, checking her texts. “Kyrielle says she’ll be here in three minutes!”

And just like that, my good mood shifts back into anxiety.

16

Age 29

Fynn and Rhuth’s house smells like baked bread, the scent permeating the air as I shift in their yard. She’s always making bread of some kind. My favorite is the one with honey, sugar, and a secret ingredient she’s steadfastly refused to share.