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Making her way to the sitting area, she busied herself by turning on the gas fireplace and settling onto the sofa in front of the fire, plucking absentmindedly at the soft throw blanket that was draped over the back. Bal joined her, after a brief hesitation.
“Tell me something,” Nayome said, wanting to change the subject. “Tell me something about who you think I am. What you think I’m capable of.”
Bal smiled at her, looking glad for the lightening of the mood. Nayome felt dizzy, and she wasn’t sure if it was his proximity or the wine going to her head. Then, he began recounting a memory of Shorcha, her supposed grandmother. He was a boy in the retelling, and his account of it was so rich with detail, Nayome knew it must be a cherished childhood memory. Shorcha, with her flaming red hair, who could speak to the forest. Who could call, and tap into the forest’s magic like no other in recent memory, who shared her gift selflessly with the community, filling the community with magic. And her son Greame, Nayome’s possible father.
“What happened to them?” Nayome asked, enchanted by his story.
“Greame hasn’t been back to the Glen in years. He never developed any elemental gifts, you see. It’s uncommon, but not unheard of for that to happen. Most children born without a connection to the earth are trained to be peacekeepers. They can walk among the other factions of fae but pose little enough threat, so that their diplomatic presence is tolerated.” Bale watched Nayome as she swallowed that information.
“And you think he may be my father?” Nayome asked, chewing her lower lip as Bal nodded, watching her intently. It didn’t sound as shocking compared to when she had first heard it at the restaurant. Especially now that she had some time to process the events of the last few days. “And Shorcha?”
“Shorcha…” Bale hesitated, before continuing. “Shorcha was killed in the dragon raids, about fifty years ago.”
“Excuse me, did you saydragon?”
Bal chuckled at her incredulity. “They are another faction offae, said to be connected by bloodline of the ancient ones who roamed the earth and could speak to the flames. Known as dragons by some, but have been called other things depending on who you ask, phoenix, chimera, fire fae. But dragon is the most common.”
“Like, scales, fire breathing, big spiky taileddragons?” Nayome asked skeptically. This was too much. It was all too much, butcom’on. Society would have noticed if dragons were roaming the earth.
“Maybe eons ago, but that was before my time. There are rumors we used to look like trees—Ents. Thedragonsappear as humans now, not unlike us. Their bloodline is what separates them from us, giving them unique gifts specific to their ancestry. My magic is of the earth, theirs is of flame.”
Nayome took another sip of wine. Every time she spoke with Bal, something new and extraordinary was thrown at her to grapple with.
“So you guys are at war or something?” Nayome asked, deciding to play along, and taking another healthy sip of her wine.Dragons.This conversation required a stiff drink to keep up with.
“There has been a tentative peace since the raids, but we keep to our own territories. We both lost valuable members to the violence.”
Silence bloomed between them after that revelation. Nayome’s shoulders started to shake, so she set her wine glass down before she spilled it.
“Are you alright?” Bal asked, sounding concerned, shifting his weight so he was closer to her on the couch.
“I’m sorry” Nayome managed to say, then covered her mouth as a peal of laughter escaped.
“You’re laughing?”
“I’m sorry, it’s not appropriate—you were talking about a war. And death. And dragons.” Nayome burst into another fit of giggles as soon as the word dragons crossed her lips.Dragons. As if.
