Page 92 of Our Radiant Embers

“That”—Laurie set her knife and fork down with the precision of a surgeon—“was not a no.”

“Made any plans lately to marry Nathaniel Hartley?” I countered.

”Oh, are we engaging in a round of whataboutism?” She tilted her head. “Weak, Liam.”

She had a point. While it had been years since I’d easily won a verbal sparring match with my siblings, this was me practically down for the count before the opening whistle. I blamed the distracting weight of my magic. It didn’t feel rebellious, nothing like the overwhelming force in my dreams that crushed buildings like cardhouses—more like swimming in a restless sea, the current pulling me this way and that, or an excited child tugging on my sleeve to show me fifteen things at once. But between that and memories of the weekend like iridescent soap bubbles in my mind, well, I wasn’t at the top of my game.

I took a bite of my mum’s vegetable stew and chewed with pointed slowness before I swallowed and sent her an unimpressed look. “You seem to be under the illusion that I intend to share my feelings with the class.”

“So you don’t deny that there are feelings,” Laurie said primly. Jack mimed throwing a handful of popcorn into his mouth before passing an imaginary bucket to Nan Jean while my parents watched me with a mix of amusement and concern.

Maybe it was the latter or maybe it was sudden exhaustion prompted by my magic’s relentless agitation. Either way, I sighed and put my fork down. “Look. Even if I was emotionally compromised, it wouldn’t matter.”

I didn’t quite look at any of them, choosing instead to focus on the chipped wood of our table. Dried paint marked some of its grooves, a relic of when us kids had done everything at it, from homework to more or less capable attempts at art. Mine had scarcely surpassed caveman quality; I was an engineer, not an artist. Jack, on the other hand, had some actual talent and was able to bring the same single-minded concentration to a drawing that he applied to fiddling with software.

“Why would it not matter?” It was Mum who asked, her voice gentle.

I glanced up briefly, and then back down at the table. “Because he’s trapped by family obligations.”

There was something poignant about the exceedingly rare event of my entire family being silent for a whole five seconds. It echoed hollowly in my chest.

“I like that boy,” Nan Jean said in a decisive tone, as though that somehow changed things. My chuckle caught in my throat.

“Yeah. Me too.” I shook my head. “Anyway. Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

“But it does.” For once, Laurie’s voice held no teasing edge, and when was it that the women in my family had all joined Team Adam?

My question to that effect was met by another moment of silence before my dad raised his hand. “Count me in, too. He’s a good lad. Shame about his family.”

“His brother’s all right,” Jack put in, and right, he and Gale had spent an afternoon trying to outrace each other in Mario Kart. In Jack’s book, that counted as a reliable test of character.

It was true, though—Gale was all right. He was also a Spark. Meanwhile, I was…something. A caterpillar turned butterfly, wings still stuck in an awkward tangle.

“Nan?” I straightened in my chair and turned to properly face my grandmother. Time to steer this conversation away from my hopeless feelings. “My magic has been off. Like, restless. And Adam thinks I’m growing stronger. Can you…?”

“Stronger?” Laurie repeated softly, her eyes wide.

“Like…” I flattened my hands against the table, hesitating. All my life, I’d barely qualified as a Blaze. Now? “Maybe upper-level Blaze? I’m not sure.”

Nan Jean levelled me with a clear look before her eyes turned distant. I held my breath.

A moment passed, then the colour drained from her cheeks. “Oh my.”

“What?” Jack’s voice was sharp. He’d always been impatient for explanations, hated feeling like others knew more than he did.

“Mum?” my mother asked, much more quietly, and Nan Jean’s gaze refocused. She was quiet for a beat, staring at me with an odd tilt to her mouth.

“Honey, you are…” The words were halting. “I do believe you qualify as a Sun now.”

With a jerky nod, I twisted my hands in my lap and didn’t dare look at my family.

“A Sun?” Dad echoed, disbelief coating the question. “How is that even possible?”

I inhaled. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe Adam rubbed off on him.” That, of course, was Laurie illustrating her ability to bring innuendo to any situation. It made me bite down on a slightly hysterical smile.

“I really don’t think that’s how it works.”

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