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“Compass-magic does glitch from time to time, as it was—still is technically, an experimental magic.”

“Oh,” Lune said, looking inward. “That I didn’t know. Is that why you’re reluctant?”

Narsus tried to catch his breath and conceal the anxiety and grief rising within him.

And at this strange, sudden thirst. He wanted to keep his shame and sorrow hidden.

But if Lune spent any more time with Brightside, the truth would slip out, eventually.

Not that Brightside would gossip. The elf was a trusted friend.

It would just be Lune asking innocent questions that Brightside would avoid. And that would raise Lune’s suspicions.

Thoughts of Brightside reminded him to try and live. His dear friend had carried him through so much trauma after Cinder’s demise. The least he could do to repay that love and kindness was to try.

Live! he could still hear the elf scream and plead with him after Cinder died. Narsus! Fight, damn you. Fight!

“I…” His throat dried up. He tried again. “I…”

“Take as long as you want,” Lune said softly.

Why had he started to say anything? This was stupid.

Without realizing, he slipped his beaked mask over his face.

His eyes were tearing, and he didn’t want to feel vulnerable.

Not in front of Lune. Not right now. He was so raw.

But the sudden memory of Cinder’s—the old Cinder’s— last smile of love and forgiveness, for him, opened the scars criss-crossing his heart.

“I…hurt someone I thought was my match,” Narsus finally said. “We both thought we were a match. In the end, he…suffered and died from my poison. My touch. Even Verdigris Healers summoned from the mainland of Nura couldn’t reverse the damage.”

He could never, ever, reveal Cinder’s identity.

Even though phoenix were known to be reborn, the exact measure of those hows, whys, and whens were race-secrets.

Lest someone discover it and use it against them for harmful and degrading purposes.

It was bad enough Brightside was aware there had been a rebirth.

It was a moment before Lune spoke. “Narsus, I’m so sorry.”

He flinched when Lune reached out to comfort. The hand slowly rescinded.

Narsus so wanted to tell Lune that his mistaken-chosen had been a phoenix.

That they had been reborn and now thrived without him.

But the pain and suffering he and Cinder endured wasn’t to be taken lightly.

Both of them had grieved and been traumatized by the ordeal.

His false mate had to have his memory purged by the united phoenix forges to save his sanity.

All memories of the ordeal, and of Narsus himself being his Compass-mate, had been erased.

Narsus couldn’t help but glance toward the door, glad that Cinder had recovered. Glad that Brightside had been there for Cinder when he himself could never be.

“Narsus?” Lune’s voice was soft. “Would you rather take a break? I can brew more tea. ”

A break from the subject would be eagerly embraced, but not from the company. That was yet another surprise of the night. He desperately wanted Lune to stay. To sit here and be with him.

But his thirst. His fangs. His poison. Why was he torturing himself?

Maybe he’d taken on too much to accept and deal with all at once. Maybe he hadn’t been fair to himself while trying to be fair to Lune. Afraid to answer, Narsus got up without a word and walked out. Before he opened his mouth and repeated another “You’ll do,” mistake.

And wanting to assuage his need—this prickly urge—to feed from the emergency blood pills the Grim always insisted he carry.

Alone.

A plated ham sandwich materialized into Narsus’s view, knocking him out of his heavy thoughts. Even though it was well into the night, the magical crystal lenses of his beaked mask and the light of the moon clearly defined the one who held it.

Narsus had been focused intently on the roar of the surf and the twinkling of the stars while mired in what was . Trying to quell the chaos of his mind among the familiar isolation of just sitting in the sand.

Lune stood over him, but again, not too close.

Looped over Lune’s other arm was the roped handle of a small metal bucket.

The bucket was rusted with age from saltwater and time.

The faded paint flaking off it revealed the childishly crude artwork of two fat birds—one white, and one green.

Between them was a smiling, blond-haired, two-tailed Mer.

The handle of a little shovel rose above the bucket’s rim.

The white bird—was obviously Calico. The Mer had to be Lune’s self-portrait. And the green one? Narsus nibbled on his lip as he pondered, wondering if it was a depiction of him, via the premonition magic of the compass.

“Your friends got back with some supplies. I thought you’d be hungry.” Lune’s voice broke into his thoughts.

He was hungry for solid food, but he’d never admit to it.

“Thank you.” Narsus accepted the plate and stared at it.

Toasted slices of thick sourdough contained lettuce and tomato.

Among it was a healthy chunk of ham. His stomach growled, causing him to push the beaked mask up to rest on his forehead.

Lune was feeding him. Such a simple offering chipped away at his defenses. It was a silly and amusing revelation. Narsus took a bite, letting the fresh flavors and delicious crunch of lettuce and toasted bread overtake his tastebuds.

Setting to work, Lune used the bucket to scoop out a good six inches of sand. He discarded the catch, retrieved water from the surf, then secured the bucket snugly in the well. The rim sat even with the surrounding sand.

Narsus watched with curiosity as he ate. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d keep you company.” Lune’s fingers flit about in the sand. “Dabble in some art while we chat. If that’s okay with you.”

That cheerful smile made the pit of Narsus’s belly feel funny. Turned his insides, out. The sensations distressed him, and he clamped his fangs in his mouth as a precaution. Grateful that the pills he hardly ever consumed, until now, quelled the blood hunger.

“I—I guess it’s fine. Sure.” Narsus checked the state of his fangs with his tongue. Then took another bite of his sandwich, letting the tang of sauces and salt and pepper take hold. “What are you making?”

“Oh, this is just a drawing.”

Narsus clenched his jaw as the image took further shape. The curved lines and strokes created a compass. Right down to the jewels. Lune used the natural tools at hand for the details: stray twigs, pebbles, even bits of seaweed.

Narsus couldn’t be mad. He was actually quite impressed at Lune sneaking the subject into their interaction. “You’re obviously talented.”

“Thanks.” Lune’s focus fractured, and he glanced over. “You’re looking at the sand-art champion of Little Forge Island eight years in a row. However, I did lose this year’s competition.”

Narsus wondered why humor attacked the corner of his mouth, causing it to turn up. “Who bested such an experienced king?”

Lune’s bark of laughter hit him with a wave of joyous energy. It penetrated Narsus’s bones and lingered with jubilant wisps of warmth.

“A class of school children,” Lune said. “They combined their talents and prided themselves on teamwork. At their award speech, they declared their intent to hold onto their new title. Then they all turned and stared at me.”

Narsus chuckled. “And your response to that pressure?”

“I wisely retired. Publicly. On the spot.”

That made Narsus laugh aloud.

“I had my reign, and my fun.” Lune looked up from his work again and smiled. “It was time to pass on the crown. Especially since they said I’d been their inspiration. Thinking back over the years, I recall some of them tailing the judges and furiously taking notes.”

“That is dedication,” Narsus agreed.

Lune candidly smothered his mirth. “Or intimidation tactics.”

Narsus paused a moment. “I have a difficult time picturing you intimidated. You’re too sunny a personality.”

“I strive to find the positive in my experiences. Although I don’t always succeed. ”

Lune stared him directly in the eyes, then. Narsus winced and lowered his gaze. Guilt prickled. He turned his attention toward the sand art to escape.

What he saw there only intensified the scrutiny he felt himself avoiding.

Lune’s depiction of the compass fixated on the jeweled countdown.

The long stick in the siren’s hand tapped at the current jewel that had gone dark, as if posing the question.

Giving him a chance to explain. It was an inquiry Narsus wouldn’t answer. So he ignored it instead.

The few moments of silence had Lune attacking him from a different angle. “What makes us special?” Lune’s stick withdrew from toying with the pebbles representing the jewels. He surrendered it to the sand. “To be chosen.”

Here it was. The uncomfortable exploration into their Compass-match. “Nothing. The magic is randomly sewn into our souls.”

“So it’s not something passed down?”

Narsus shrugged. “It can be, but it’s rare.

Compass-individuals are born with a jewel seed inside them.

When they’re born, it remains within them, manifesting upon their palm, on their chest, or where ever.

The placement of my birthmark just happens to match yours—a similar design—on our ass cheeks.

That’s not always true for each couple. When Compass-borns are coherent enough, their compass manifests on the physical plane. ”

Lune nodded. “The morning of my twelfth birthday. I awoke with a compass in my grip.”

Narsus gave a quick glance. “Interesting. That’s one of the youngest ages I’ve ever heard of.”

“Really?”

Narsus shrugged, trying to cover how surprised he’d been.

“Average age is about fifteen. I was a late-bloomer at nineteen and a half. But Compass-magic is often thought of as somewhat sentient. It won’t manifest if the bearer isn’t in the correct mindset, or mired in an unstable environment.

Often, in times of distress, the compass might revert back inside the body, or not manifest at all. ”

Lune slowly picked up the stick again and traced a curve in the sand already created. “So one could say you’re still not in the correct mindset? But you had your compass and now it’s not here—I haven’t seen it about your person. So it makes me wonder if you still don’t know what you want yourself.”

It took all Narsus had not to snap out in defense. Lune knew nothing about him and had the nerve to judge. He pulled down his mask and folded his arms. “Thank you for your hospitality. We’ll be gone in the morning.”

A few seconds ticked by before Lune stood and brushed himself off.

It was easy to sense when he walked away.

Part of Narsus felt the emptiness where the warmth of his presence had previously been.

Oddly, the absence hurt more now than it ever had in the past. Gripping his elbows, he looked out through the crystal lenses of his mask.

And forced his attention to remain fixed upon the rhythmic calmness of the ocean.