Page 22

22

HARMONY

I watch Brooke skip ahead along the garden path, her curls bouncing with each step. She wears a butter-yellow dress that swings around her knees, one I mended three times where she caught it climbing the old oak behind Marda's. The morning light catches in her hair, turning it almost white-gold—just like her father's.

"Dell! Look what I found!" She crouches, tiny fingers careful as she cups something I can't see.

Adellum appears from around the herb beds where he's been helping me weed. He moves with that liquid grace that always made my breath catch, sunlight glinting off his bronze skin. He crouches beside her, massive gray wings folding elegantly behind him.

"What treasure have you discovered, little bird?" His voice drops to a conspirator's whisper, as if nothing in the world matters more than whatever rests in her small palms.

"It's hurt." Brooke's face crumples with concern as she reveals a tiny thalivern, one of its iridescent wings bent at an unnatural angle.

I find myself moving closer despite my resolve to keep my distance. These moments of witnessing them together still feel like walking on ice that might crack beneath me.

Adellum's face turns serious as he studies the creature. "May I?"

Brooke nods solemnly and transfers the fluttering thing to his much larger hands. His fingers—artist's hands, capable of such delicate work—cradle the thalivern with impossible gentleness.

"Watch carefully," he tells her. "This is healing magic. Very special."

I lean against the garden fence, arms crossed over my chest, telling myself I'm just supervising. Not that I'm drawn to him still, to the careful way he teaches her.

A subtle glow emanates from between his fingers, soft white light spilling out like water. Brooke's eyes widen, reflecting the magic's shimmer.

"Is it hard?" she whispers.

"Not when you care enough." His eyes flick up to mine for just a second, and something lurches in my chest. "Intent matters more than power, remember that."

When he opens his hands, the thalivern's wings flutter perfectly, all four of them catching the light before it zips away toward the flowering vines.

"I want to try!" Brooke bounces on her toes.

"Let's start with something simpler today." He produces a small candle from his pocket—he's always prepared for these impromptu lessons. "Remember how we practiced?"

Brooke's face scrunches in concentration as she positions her fingers just so. I've watched this particular lesson for days now, her tiny attempts growing more controlled each time.

"Gentle breath, focused mind," Adellum reminds her.

She snaps her fingers, and a spark—golden like her eyes—leaps to the wick. The candle flares to life and Brooke squeals in delight.

"Mama! I did it!"

"I saw, sweetheart." I can't help but smile. "That was wonderful."

Adellum's eyes meet mine over our daughter's head. There's something raw in his expression, something that makes me look away first.

"What else can I learn?" Brooke tugs at his sleeve.

"Hmm." He taps his chin theatrically. "How about we call the wind?"

"Yes!" She claps.

He stands behind her, showing her how to position her arms. "Like this. Feel the air around you, then invite it closer."

I watch as they move in unison, his massive form somehow gentle as he guides her. When they sweep their arms upward, a breeze rushes through the garden, lifting Brooke's curls and tugging at her dress. She laughs, delighted by her power.

"Again!" she demands, and he obliges.

I find myself smiling despite everything. There are moments like this—Adellum scooping her onto his shoulders so she can reach the apples in Marda's orchard, or the way he crouches to carefully tie the laces on her boots—when I see echoes of the man I fell for. The artist with hands that could shape beauty from nothing, the man whose laugh used to unlock something wild in my chest.

"Mama, can Dell stay for dinner?" Brooke calls, now sitting atop his shoulders while he holds her legs steady.

I hesitate, searching his face. The intensity is still there, banked but smoldering, yet there's something else too—a careful hope that makes my resolve waver.

"If he'd like to," I finally answer.

"I'd be honored," Adellum says, his voice carrying that formal edge it gets when he's trying to hide deeper emotions.

I turn away, busying myself with gathering herbs, unsure what else to do. I'm letting him into our lives day by day, inch by inch, like opening a door I swore would stay locked forever. But watching him with Brooke—the way his fierceness softens to tenderness—makes me wonder if I might still love him. The thought terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.

I wake to Brooke's soft snores coming from the alcove behind the curtains. Moonlight streams through our small window, silvering the floor in pale streaks. The space beside me in bed is empty—has been empty for years, though lately I've found myself imagining what it might feel like filled with his presence again.

Rising quietly, I wrap a shawl around my nightdress and pad to the window. As expected, Adellum sits on the wooden bench beneath the old tree in Marda's garden. Even in darkness, his massive wings catch what little light there is, the feathers shifting like smoke against the night.

I shouldn't go to him. I've already given him too much ground these past weeks—letting him teach Brooke, inviting him to meals, allowing him glimpses of the life we built without him. But my feet are already carrying me down the stairs, through the kitchen, out the back door.

The night air kisses my skin, cool and sweet with the scent of meadowmint and nightblooms. Dew soaks the hem of my nightdress as I cross the grass toward him.

He doesn't turn, though I know he senses me approaching. "She sleeps through the night now," he says, his voice a low rumble in the darkness. "When she was smaller, did she wake often?"

I settle beside him on the bench, leaving a careful space between us. "Every two hours like clockwork for the first year." I tuck my feet beneath me. "I thought I might never sleep again."

His voice is far too soft, reminding me of the version of him I thought I left behind. "And now?"

My gut churns. We've been getting far too close again. "Now, other things keep me up."

He finally turns to look at me, and I'm struck again by how his eyes seem to glow in darkness—not quite human, not entirely other. The silver in them catches the moonlight like polished metal.

"After I met you, you were truly my only muse," he says softly, "I'd go to my workshop and sketch your hands for hours. The way they move when you talk, when you garden. When you touch me."

I feel my cheeks warm. "Adell?—"

"I'd tear the pages up afterward. Too revealing. Sior always said I gave too much away in my work."

I study his profile, the sharp cut of his jaw, the stubborn set of his mouth. "Sior sounds like he was a terrible influence."

A humorless laugh escapes him. "He was. Is. But I followed willingly."

We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the night sounds—crickets and the distant call of some nocturnal bird. His wing shifts slightly, the edge of it brushing against my shoulder like a question.

"After you left," he says, "I thought I might go mad. I couldn't create anything. All the colors were wrong."

I twist my fingers in my lap. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"A life without you was always meant to kill me." He reaches into his pocket, pulls out something small that catches the moonlight—a pale blue crystal with rough edges. "I've carried this for years. Meant to set it in silver for your birthday, before..."

My throat tightens. "It's beautiful."

"I've held it so often I've worn down some of the edges." He turns it over in his palm. "Thinking of you. Using it to ground myself when the darkness got too thick."

I see it then, what he's trying to tell me. The darkness is part of him now, as much as the light. Born of pain and loss and years of searching, it lives behind his eyes alongside the tenderness he shows our daughter. This man is both the artist who courted me with painted sunsets and the predator who killed without hesitation to protect us.

I find myself reaching for his hand, the one holding the crystal. His skin is warm against my cooler fingers. "We lost so much time, Adell."

His hand turns, capturing mine, thumb stroking over my knuckles. "We have now. If you want it."

The realization hits me with a pang—loving Adellum would never be simple again. It would be a beautiful, perilous thing—a choice I would have to make again, fully aware. The man before me carries shadows he didn't have before, an intensity that sometimes frightens me even as it draws me in.

"I don't know yet," I admit. "But I'm here. Tonight."

And that's as close to letting him in as I can get. I fear it's the wrong move, but I am only so strong.

And Adellum was always my weakness.