Page 51 of Shadows and Flames
Tomás’s voice startled me, but I kept my physical response still. “Is this ritual to protect yourself?”
“Yes, but you can make one for anyone you wish and dedicate it to them. Meline and I do so every year.”
My cousin flipped her book, keeping her place while she rested it in her lap. “I’ll make mine now if you can spare the supplies.” Her eyes flicked to me, the request for permission unspoken yet clear. I nodded quickly, closed-lipped smile an attempt to reassure. My frustrations, at her and myself, had bubbled up in our first true disagreement in… decades.
What could you fix, though, when the strain was impending change?
Meline began to pick out her ingredients, no longer needing my instruction after the past three years.
A dark, cool-toned finger jutted in my line of sight. Two thick silver rings shone under the bright sun. “Can I make one, as well?”
Surprised, I pursed my lips and appraised the mouthy male. The usual taunting smirk was wiped clean from his face, so I acquiesced. The herbs were meant to be used, and they were typical enough in most regions, so procuring more was no hardship. And, after centuries of studying, I needed little to harness the aether to my will. Even now, with just water and sky around us, I felt it humming.
“You don’t feel confident in your own abilities to protect yourself?” Meline challenged while she worked on two sachets simultaneously. Her Shadow watched.
Tomás scoffed. “I could take down an army with one hand tied behind my back, love. Confidence, I do not lack.”
A faint growl carried in the wind, and we all turned to Elián. He was glaring right back at his brother.
“And which part do you disagree with, Nogón?” Tomás took the empty pouch I offered him. “My abilities or the endearment to your intended?”
My eyes grew wide, despite becoming quite accustomed to how much this one teased. Meline froze with sprigs of lavender twisting between her gloved fingers.
“Um…” I grasped at anything to diffuse the tension. “What does that mean? Nogón.” I tried to mimic the accent Tomás used, but it didn’t come out the same.
Meline shot me a grateful glance, and I nodded. Though she’d feigned giving up on finding him, the life that filled her eyes, now sitting next to the male she’d lost, was impossible to ignore. I’d already made my position known, that to make this life possible with him, she would have to be honest. To tell himeverything.
While we’d packed our things and made the journey to the port, I vowed to not mention again. By the tightening of her shoulders, she knew.
“It’s Zonoran for ‘dragon,’” Tomás supplied while the fire in Elián’s eyes calmed. At least, as much as it could. “I’ve been pulling his tail since we were wee lads. Got burned a couple times, but it’s always worth it.”
Said dragon grumbled, as evidence of the Shadow’s point, and my cousin and I chuckled. “And what were you like as a boy? I’m guessing your disposition has not changed.”
“No,” Elián answered for him. “It has not.”
Tomás flashed his fangs and winked. “Came out of the womb a charmer. One of us has to be the interesting one.”
“I think he’s plenty interesting,” Meline qualified, but her trembling mouth revealed how amusing she thought the flat look on Elián’s face was.
I pointed Tomás to the ingredients used for the protection ritual, and he handled them with fingers far gentler than I’d anticipated. Carefully, he placed one after another, hunched slightly over his lap as he worked. He shook his head, locked hair running across his shoulders and smiling to himself. “Nor called it, I think.”
“What?” I asked.
“Our sister, Noruh. She likes to tease us.”
I felt Meline stiffen again beside me, but she did a better job of hiding the grinding of her jaw.
“About?”
Tomás waved his hand, as if mimicking someone else, and his accent changed from the Sjatan cadence to one similar to Grimm’s. “‘You two are the most insufferable papas. One who lets the boy skirt the rules at every turn, the other a stifling worry wort.’”
My hand landed on Meline’s leg beside mine, not even needing to look. I smiled along with the joke, eventually catching on that they had sponsored the young boy from Nethras. I’d only met him once or twice, but he was a sweet soul.
“Frankly, he needs the excitement. Acolyte chores are boring as all hell, and Nogón’s grunts don’t add very much.”
“I think you misunderstand who she was labeling the worrier, Tom.”
“What?” he laughed, aghast.
