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"No," I finally admit, my hand closing around the gift box in my pocket. "It wasn't."
8
RONNIE
Ihave no idea why I'm following this woman. My head throbs with each step like someone's pounding nails into my temples, and my stomach still rolls with nausea. Yet here I am, trailing a complete stranger through the back of some village restaurant like a lost animal.
"Just through here," the woman—Harmony, she'd introduced herself—gestures toward a small alcove behind the kitchen. Her voice is warm but not cloying, practical rather than pitying. I appreciate that. Pity I could do without.
The space she leads me to has a small cot and a basin of clean water. It's simple, sparse, but meticulously kept. Like everything else I've seen in this place.
"Sit," Harmony says, reaching for a nearby cloth. She dips it in the water and wrings it out with practiced efficiency. "You look like you're about to topple over, and I don't fancy scraping you off the floor."
I almost smile at that. Almost.
"I'm fine," I mutter, though I sink onto the cot anyway. My legs feel like water, and the room hasn't quite stopped tilting.
Harmony passes me the damp cloth. "Sure you are. And I'm the Queen of the Westlands." She turns to a small cabinet and begins rummaging through glass jars filled with dried plants.
She selects a jar filled with something that looks like dried leaves. When I don't say anything, her eyes flick back up to me.
"Look, you don't need to explain anything to me. But just know I would understand." Harmony pours hot water from a kettle into a mug, adding pinches of the dried plants. The scent that rises is earthy and soothing. "Drink this. It'll help with the nausea."
I take the mug, wrapping my fingers around its warmth. "I still don't see why you're helping me." I guess I have a really twisted way of saying thank you.
She shrugs, settling on a stool across from me. "Because you needed it."
I snort. "Nobody does things just to be kind."
"Maybe not where you're from." She tucks a loose curl behind her ear. "But here in Saufort, we look after people."
I'm about to argue when the door to the kitchen swings open, bringing a gust of conversation and clinking dishware. I tense, shoulders hunching instinctively.
"Mama! Mama!"
A tiny bullet of energy bursts into our sanctuary—a little girl with wild curls and golden-brown skin. She skids to a halt when she sees me, her enormous silver eyes widening further.
"Hello," she says solemnly, then immediately turns back to Harmony. "Mama, Papa and I were on a walk, and look!" She lifts her hand and a small ball of iridescent fire forms in her palm. "Look what I can do!"
My eyes flick between the child and Harmony, trying to process everything that's happening. But before I can think too much about it, another figure fills the doorway.
And my entire world stops.
A xaphan.
Massive gray wings fold against his tall frame as he ducks under the door frame. He's all lean strength and sharp angles—high cheekbones, strong jaw, eyes like quicksilver. His white-blond hair falls haphazardly around his temples, giving him a deceptively boyish look despite the dangerous aura that surrounds him.
"Brooke, I said wait for—" His words cut off when he spots me, those silver eyes narrowing slightly.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. Xaphan. Here. In this quiet village. My hand flies to my dagger on instinct.
"Adellum," Harmony stands, her voice so normal it's jarring. "This is Ronnie. She's not feeling well."
The xaphan—Adellum—nods once in acknowledgment, but his attention shifts immediately back to Harmony. There's something in the way he looks at her—possessive, protective, like she's the center of his universe.
"Brooke was too excited to wait," he says, his voice deep and smooth. "And we were nearby. I hope we aren't interrupting."
The little girl—Brooke—tugs at Harmony's apron. "Isn't it cool, Mama?"