Page 19

19

HARMONY

T he evening rush has just died down at Marda's restaurant. I wipe a cloth across the empty tables, humming softly under my breath while mentally planning tomorrow's garden work. Behind the counter, Brooke arranges sugar cubes into miniature towers, her little tongue poking out in concentration. She should be in bed, but Marda had a soft spot for her and I let her stay up on slow nights like this.

"Look, Mama!" Brooke balances a sixth cube atop her wobbly construction. "It's taller than the mountain outside!"

"Impressive engineering." I smile, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. "Five more minutes, then it's bedtime, little one."

The bell above the door jingles, and I turn, a customer-ready smile in place that falters when I see him.

A nymph steps inside, tall and unnaturally beautiful in that way all magical creatures are. His hair falls in silver waves past his shoulders, and the faint outlines of delicate blue wing markings shimmer across his high cheekbones. But something's... off.

His eyes. Gods, his eyes.

Where nymph eyes should be clear as mountain streams, his have a milky film over them, clouded like stagnant water. Dark veins creep from the corners, spreading across his temples like cracks in porcelain.

"We're about to close, but I can—" I begin.

"Fetch me whatever isn't disgusting." He drops into a chair, sprawling like he owns the place. His fingers drum against the tabletop, too long, joints bending at angles fingers shouldn't bend.

I straighten my apron, professional mask firmly in place. "We have fresh bread and stew left."

His smile spreads too wide across his face. "How quaint. Human food for human stomachs." He glances around the empty restaurant. "Quite the... establishment."

Something slithers beneath his skin when he moves, like shadows wriggling under his flesh. I've seen corruption before—living in New Solas exposed me to it—but never this advanced in someone still walking and talking.

I should tell him to leave. Should grab Brooke and run upstairs. But I'm stubborn and I don't want to stir trouble.

"I'll bring you some stew."

His hand catches my wrist as I turn. His grip is ice, fingers pressing into my pulse point.

"Pretty little thing, aren't you? For a human." His thumb strokes across my skin. "So delicate. So... fragile."

I jerk my hand away. "I'll get your food."

Behind the counter, Brooke giggles as her sugar cube tower collapses. The sound—so innocent, so pure—draws his attention like a predator spotting weaker prey.

"What's this?" His head tilts at a sickening angle. "A little lunox?"

"My daughter." I position myself between them. "She's just helping before bedtime."

"Mama, I'm building again!" Brooke calls out, oblivious to the danger sitting ten feet away.

The nymph leans forward. "Children are such fascinating creatures. So full of... potential."

The way he says "potential" makes my skin crawl. I've heard that tone before, from xaphan who see humans as experiments rather than people.

"The stew," I mutter, backing toward the kitchen.

As I ladle the thick liquid into a bowl, my hands shake. Through the serving window, I can see him watching Brooke, that wrong smile growing wider. I need to get her upstairs, away from those eyes.

I return with his bowl, setting it down harder than necessary. "Anything else?"

"Such poor service." He doesn't look at the food. "Is that how you treat all your customers, human?"

"Just the ones who make my daughter uncomfortable."

His eyebrows rise. "I've done nothing to the child."

"Not yet," I say before I can stop myself.

He laughs, a sound like glass breaking. "Smart woman. Most of your kind are too stupid to sense danger until it's far too late."

I clench my fists at my sides. "Eat your stew and leave."

"So hostile." He sighs dramatically. "And here I thought we could be... friendly."

I catch a flicker of movement beneath his fingertips—a shimmer of magic gathering there, dark and oily like tainted water. The corruption has twisted his natural nymph abilities into something perverse.

"Brooke," I call, voice steady despite my racing heart. "Time for bed."

She doesn't hear me, too engrossed in her sugar architecture.

The nymph's eyes narrow, tracking my nervous glance toward my daughter. "She has no idea what's happening, does she? Children never do. They trust so blindly."

The magic between his fingers intensifies, coiling like a snake preparing to strike.

I freeze, caught between running to Brooke and facing the threat before me. The magic in his hand pulses, and I know, with brutal certainty, that whatever he's preparing to do will hurt—will hurt badly.

Brooke's laughter rings out again, bright and clear, as she successfully balances another sugar cube. She's completely unaware of the danger sitting mere feet away, magic gathering in his twisted hands, his corrupted smile widening with anticipation.

As Brooke's laughter fills the air, I realize I've made a fatal mistake. I should have grabbed her immediately, should have run upstairs when the corrupted nymph first walked in. Now I'm caught in this horrible standoff, watching death gather between his fingertips.

Time slows. The magic in the nymph's hand pulses, a sickly green glow that promises agony. I lunge forward, knowing I won't reach Brooke in time but unable to stand still.

Then the world explodes into motion and sound.

The door crashes open. A blur of movement surges past me—something massive, powerful, unstoppable. The air crackles with the scent of lightning and winter frost.

Before I can even cry out, the nymph's head jerks backward at an impossible angle. Blood sprays across the polished wood floor in a crimson arc. His body slumps forward, twitching once before going completely still, dead eyes staring at nothing.

The silence that follows feels absolute, broken only by Brooke's confused whimper from behind the counter.

And there, standing over the corpse with a thin silver blade in his hand, is Adellum.

My heart stops. Then starts again, too fast.

His massive gray wings are partially unfurled, filling the small space of Marda's dining room. They catch the lamplight, casting feathered shadows across the walls. His white-blond hair is windswept, as though he's flown hard and fast to get here. The sharp lines of his face are set in stone, revealing nothing.

Nothing except his eyes. Those silver eyes that used to look at me with such tenderness are now cold and calculating as he studies the nymph's corpse. He hasn't acknowledged me yet, busy wiping his blade on a handkerchief before tucking it away inside his coat.

"Adellum." His name feels foreign on my tongue after so long.

He looks up then, and the transformation is immediate. The coldness melts away, replaced by something fierce and burning.

"Harmony." Just my name, but the way he says it—like a prayer and a curse combined.

"How did you—" I begin, my voice shaking.

"I told you I'm watching everything." He tucks the blade away inside his coat, and his gaze drifts to Brooke, who peeks out from behind the counter with wide eyes. "You must know I wouldn't let anyone hurt you."

The realization of what just happened crashes into me. He killed the nymph—slaughtered him without hesitation or remorse. One fluid motion, a whisper of steel, a burst of magic, and a life extinguished.

And I'm glad. Gods help me, I'm glad.

"Mama?" Brooke's small voice fills the silence. She pads over to me, careful to give the still-bleeding body a wide berth. But I still feel too stunned to speak.

Adellum kneels, bringing himself to her level. His massive frame somehow makes itself smaller, less threatening. The contrast is jarring—moments ago, he was a killer, and now he folds himself into something gentle.

He holds his arms out and she runs into them. His wings wrap around her, shielding her from the sight as she clings to him. "You killed the bad man."

Not a question. A simple statement of fact.

"Yes." No sugar-coating, no lies. Just honest brutality packaged in that velvet voice. "He was going to hurt you and your mother."

"With his magic," Brooke nods. "I saw it. It was ugly."

"Very ugly," Adellum agrees. "Corrupted. Like poison."

I find my voice at last. "Brooke needs to go upstairs."

"But—"

"Now, little bird."

He levels me with a look that tells me he is not happy about this but slowly sets her down. She whispers, "Thank you for saving us," to Adellum before scampering up the stairs.

When we're alone—alone with a corpse between us—Adellum rises to his full height. Blood has splattered across his fine clothes, droplets catching in the hollow of his throat. He killed for us. Without question. Without regret.

It terrifies me. It thrills me. It makes me see just how fundamentally different he is from me—from humans.

For the first time, I understand: this man would destroy anything—anyone—for me. For Brooke. For the family he claims as his own.