Page 23

23

ADELLUM

I 'm strolling through the market, Brooke's small hand in mine, when the air changes. It's subtle—a shift in the current, the way birds fall silent before a storm. My wings twitch instinctively, feathers bristling.

"What's that?" Brooke points at a booth selling carved wooden animals.

"A lunox." I crouch beside her, trying to ignore the prickling between my shoulder blades. "See the white tail with the blue tip? They live in the mountains where it snows."

"Can I have one?" She looks up at me with eyes that mirror mine—silver, luminous. My eyes in her mother's face. The sight never fails to knock the breath from my lungs.

"Of course, little one."

I hand the vendor a nodal—grossly overpaying for the trinket—but the old woman's grateful smile is worth it. This is what I've discovered in Saufort: the unbought joy of simple transactions. No agendas, no hangers-on, no keeping score.

The quiet breaks like glass when I hear him.

"Are you fucking serious?"

Sior's voice cuts through the market chatter, silencing conversations in rippling waves. I straighten slowly, positioning myself between Brooke and the approaching storm.

"Go find your mother," I tell her, pressing the wooden lunox into her palm. "Right now."

She hesitates, eyes wide, but something in my face makes her nod and dart away through the crowd. I watch until I'm certain she's heading toward Marda's before turning to face him.

Sior stands like a knife thrust into the soft earth of Saufort, all sharp edges and cold purpose. His wings, near-black and meticulously groomed, are pulled tight against his back—a controlled rage that's more frightening than any outburst.

"You were supposed to be in Lezer a week ago." He closes the distance between us, heedless of the humans scattering from his path. "The market opens tomorrow. Your pieces are sitting in crates. Collectors are asking questions I can't answer."

I shrug, which only darkens the thundercloud of his expression.

"I'll get to it."

"You'll get to it?" Sior's voice drops dangerously. Ink-stained fingers clench at his sides. "Do you have any idea what I've done to maintain your reputation while you've been—what exactly? Playing village idiot in this human cesspool?"

Market-goers watch from a safe distance, transfixed by the spectacle of two xaphan locked in conflict. I feel my lips curl into something that's not quite a smile.

"Careful. The humans might take offense."

"I don't give a shit what they take." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Have you ever been painting? Or are you just here stirring up more drama to sabotage everything we've built?"

My hand slips into my pocket, fingers finding the rough edges of the blue crystal. It grounds me, keeps me from shoving him backward into the dried fruit stand.

"What I do is my business."

"Your business?" Sior laughs, a sound like breaking glass. "Everything you are is my business. I made you. I took a half-starved xaphan orphan and turned him into New Solas' most celebrated artist. And this is how you repay me? By hiding out in some backwater village?"

I feel something dangerous uncurling in my chest. The crystal cuts into my palm as I squeeze it harder.

"Watch yourself."

"What the fuck are you thinking, Adellum?" Sior's eyes narrow, scanning my face. "You look like shit. You're dressed like a peasant. Is this some creative crisis? Some artistic statement I should be preparing the critics for?"

People are staring. I can feel their eyes, hear their whispers. In New Solas, this would be tomorrow's gossip in every high tearoom. Here, it's just unsettling—a reminder that I've brought something dark into their peaceful world.

"Go back to New Solas," I say quietly. "I'll deal with Lezer."

"When? After you've burned your career to the ground?" He steps closer, voice dropping to a hiss. "Or is this about that human girl? The one you were obsessing over? Did you track her down to this gods-forsaken place?"

My vision edges with red. The crystal in my pocket feels white-hot now.

"Don't." It's all I can manage through clenched teeth.

I watch Sior's jaw work, the tendons in his neck taut as bowstrings. He's never understood when to stop pushing. In the early days, that quality kept us both alive—his relentless drive that turned my paintings into fortunes. Now it just makes me want to shove him through a wall.

"This isn't just about you anymore." His voice drops to a dangerous purr. "The Praetora's commission?—"

"Can wait." The crystal in my palm feels like it's burning through my skin.

Sior follows as I stride across the market square, his footsteps sharp against the cobblestones. The villagers part like water, giving us a wide berth. I can smell their unease—it hangs in the air like smoke.

"You keep saying everything can wait! But you are just neglecting it all! I've spent half your life cultivating their interest in you." His wings flare slightly, an unconscious display of dominance that works in New Solas but looks ridiculous among Saufort's woven awnings and pots of meadowmint. "Do you know how many artists would kill for this opportunity? And you're throwing it away for what? Some rustic vacation?"

My reply dies in my throat as my eyes catch on a familiar figure across the square. Harmony stands outside the herbalist's shop, her dark curls caught up in a loose scarf, wisps escaping to frame her face. Brooke clutches her hand, waving the wooden lunox through the air with her free arm, mouth moving rapidly as she recounts her adventure.

The sight of them hits me like a physical blow—how I want them both with an intensity that frightens me. How right they look together in the gentle afternoon light.

Sior follows my gaze, and something cruel unfurls across his face like ink dropped in water.

"Ah." His mouth twists. "So that's why we're here. It is the servant girl. The one who ran from you."

"Enough." My voice drops to a growl.

"And does she have a little brat, now?" Sior's eyes narrow, calculating. "The timing is... interesting."

My hand shoots out before I can stop myself, gripping his forearm hard enough that he hisses. "You won't speak of them. Not a word."

He wrenches free, smoothing his sleeve with precise movements, but the damage is done. Something has shifted between us, some final tether snapped. I can see it in his eyes—the realization that he's miscalculated.

"You can't honestly think to throw everything away for a human and her half-breed child." He keeps his voice low, but the contempt drips from every syllable. "Where's your pride? Your sense of duty to our kind?"

"My duty?" I laugh, the sound sharp enough to make a passing woman jump. "My duty was fulfilled a hundred commissions ago. My debt to you paid with interest."

"Is that what you think?" His eyes glitter. "That our arrangement can be measured in portraits and sculptures? That we're simply business partners who can part ways with a handshake?"

I take a step toward him, my shadow falling across his face. "I think you're not my master, Sior. And you need to stop treating me like it."

The words hang between us, heavier than I'd intended. For a heartbeat, something like hurt flashes across his face—genuine, unguarded. Then it's gone, replaced by the cold mask I know so well.

"Fine." He straightens, wings pulling tight against his back. "Play your little domestic fantasy. When it inevitably falls apart, don't expect me to put your career back together."

"Noted." I keep my voice level, though my pulse hammers in my throat.

Sior holds my gaze for one final moment, then turns sharply on his heel. The crowd parts for him again as he stalks away, his wings a slash of darkness against the colorful market stalls. He doesn't look back.

I stand rooted to the spot, feeling the eyes of the market-goers on me. The crystal in my palm has left an impression, its edges cutting into my skin. Across the square, Harmony has noticed our exchange, her body tense and protective as she draws Brooke closer to her side.

There's no going back now. The life I built in New Solas is unraveling—but I've never cared. Not as long as I can have Harmony.