Page 4

4

HARMONY

I slip through the tall grass along the riverbank, my heartbeat drumming like summer thunder in my chest. The evening air carries the scent of sun-warmed earth and river water, mingling with the wildflowers I've woven into my hair.

Foolish, that's what I am. Absolutely foolish for coming. For wearing my faded blue dress—the one with twice-mended seams but a flattering cut that brings out the gold flecks in my eyes. For brushing my curls until they gleamed in the lamplight before tying them back with a scrap of ribbon I've been saving.

I tell myself I'm here only because standing him up would be unforgivably rude. That I'm merely being polite. That this means nothing.

Liar.

I pause at the edge of the trees, my bare toes curling into the soft earth. The setting sun casts everything in honey-gold light, transforming the ordinary into something magical.

And there he is—Adellum—sitting on a flat rock by the water, wings slightly folded behind him. He's set up a small easel, and his brush moves with confident strokes across the canvas, capturing the dying light as it shimmers across the river.

I allow myself a forbidden moment just to watch him. His white-blond hair falls carelessly across his forehead, and he absently pushes it back with paint-smudged fingers.

He's rolled up his sleeves, revealing the strong lines of his forearms, dusky bronze skin catching the last rays of sunlight. His expression is one of complete absorption—brow slightly furrowed, jaw set in concentration, those silver eyes intense as they move between the canvas and the sunset before him.

Something twists in my chest, sharp and sweet and painful all at once. I've seen him in grand chambers wearing fine clothes, seen him laughing with Lord Arkan over expensive wine. But this—Adellum lost in creation, unaware of being watched—feels like glimpsing something sacred and private.

He dips his brush, tilts his head critically at his work, and suddenly smiles—that quick, crooked smile that makes the air catch in my lungs. The one that transformed his face the first time we met, turning him from intimidating to irresistible in an instant.

"Are you going to lurk in the shadows all evening, little bird, or will you join me?" he calls without looking up.

Heat floods my cheeks. "I wasn't lurking," I step from the trees' cover. "I was... appreciating the composition."

Adellum looks up then, his brush pausing mid-stroke. Those silver eyes sweep over me, lingering on my dress, my hair, my bare feet, and something in his gaze shifts, softens.

"The composition improves dramatically with you in it." He sets his brush down, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Though I'd have to start a new canvas entirely to do you justice."

"Flatterer." I approach, trying to ignore how my pulse jumps when he looks at me that way. "You don't need to waste your talents on me when you have this." I gesture to the sunset reflecting on the water, all crimson and gold ripples.

"Waste?" Adellum rises in one fluid motion, his wings adjusting naturally behind him. "Harmony Aven, sunsets happen every day. You, however—" He reaches out, hesitates, then gently tucks a stray curl behind my ear, his fingertips grazing my skin. "You are decidedly more rare."

I roll my eyes to hide how his touch affects me. "There are thousands of human women in New Solas."

"None who look at river weeds and see medicine. None who argue with Lord Arkan about the proper way to plant moon lilies." His mouth quirks. "None who throw bread rolls at famous artists."

"That was an accident! You startled me." I laugh despite myself, remembering just that instance. "And you deserved it, sneaking up on people like that."

"I've never been so delighted to be assaulted with baked goods." Adellum's wings shift slightly, catching the fading light. He gestures to the blanket spread beside his easel. "I brought wine. And those little cakes you pretend not to love."

My chest tightens at the thoughtfulness. It's these small things—remembering what I like, noticing the details—that make him dangerous to my heart.

"I only came because it would be rude not to," I say, even as I move to sit beside him.

Adellum's eyes crinkle at the corners, seeing through me completely. "Of course. Your impeccable manners are legendary."

I shake my head and take a seat next to him. I lean back on my elbows, watching the stars peek out one by one against the deepening indigo canvas above us. The blanket beneath us is one of Adellum's—finely woven, softer than anything I've owned, yet he tosses it onto the ground without a second thought.

"Careful with that cheese," I say, reaching over to break off a piece of the creamy white wedge he's brought. "It costs more than I make in three days."

"All the more reason to enjoy it." Adellum offers me a slice of crusty bread. "I think about you tending Lord Arkan's gardens all day. The least I can provide is decent food."

I accept the bread, our fingers brushing. "I like my work. The gardens are the only place I feel..." I search for the right word.

"Free?" he suggests.

"Mine," I correct him. "Something I've made, nurtured." I take a bite, savoring the contrast between the bread's chewiness and the cheese's silky richness. "Though Lord Arkan takes all the credit when visitors marvel at his moon lilies."

Adellum chuckles, pouring more wine into our single shared cup. "Arkan wouldn't know a moon lily from a weed if you didn't tell him the difference."

"Don't let him hear you say that." I accept the cup, sipping the tart liquid. It's bright and cool on my tongue, nothing like the watered-down ale served in the staff quarters.

Between bites, Adellum returns to his work, his hands swift and sure as he adds touches to his canvas. The light is nearly gone now, but he works confidently in the dim glow of the small magical lantern he's brought. He rarely uses magic, so unlike most xaphan. I watch his face—the intense concentration, the flicker of satisfaction when a stroke pleases him.

"Stop squinting at me," I protest when I realize I'm the subject of his current focus. "The real view is over there." I gesture toward the river, where silver moonlight now dances across the rippling waters.

"I've painted that river a hundred times," Adellum murmurs, his eyes flicking between me and the canvas. "But you—the way you sit with your knees pulled up, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're thinking..." His brush pauses. "You're a part of this place. Wild and soft and stubborn. I can never capture you properly."

My cheeks warm, and I'm grateful for the growing darkness. "You're just looking for a challenge since landscapes have become too easy for the great Adellum Vey."

He sets down his brush, eyes bright in the lantern light. "You've always been my muse, little bird. Since the first time I wandered into your gardens, when you lectured me about trampling your seedlings." His voice drops, rough with honesty. "You make me see things differently."

Something inside me trembles at his words. I pluck a blade of grass, twisting it between my fingers to have something to look at besides his face. "I'm just a gardener."

"No." Adellum shifts closer, his wing brushing my shoulder, light as a whisper. "You're the reason I can paint at all. Before you..." He hesitates, and I look up to find his gaze intent on me. "Before you, I was just making pretty pictures for Sior to sell. Now I remember why I started."

I flush under the weight of it, the rawness of being seen so completely. My mother's warnings echo: Never trust a xaphan—their beauty is designed to lure you in. They can afford to play with human hearts; we cannot afford to lose them.

I know I should be careful. I know xaphan are dangerous in ways mortals can't afford to forget. But when he looks at me like that, I don't feel like prey. I feel like a miracle.

"You give me too much credit," I whisper.

Adellum reaches out, calloused fingertips tracing my jawline with feather-light precision. "You don't give yourself enough."