Page 8 of Rings and Wings and Stardust Things

Those four words reverberated through me, stirring a strange, possessive yearning I couldn't quite name. All I knew was that I wanted - needed - to be the one she relied on.

“I was hoping we could arrange some bonding activities for Helko and Sharlar,” Savannah continued, mistaking my silence for confusion. “A chance for them to get to know each other better before the wedding.”

I blinked, her words finally registering. Of course, she didn't mean... My throat felt unbearably tight as I swallowed hard.

“That's an excellent idea,” I managed, willing my ruffled feathers to settle. “Though I'm not sure how much help I can provide.”

Savannah's brow furrowed in that achingly familiar way. “Well, we could start with some kind of activity, right? Anything has to be better than the painful silence I witnessed earlier.”

I bobbed my head in agreement, grateful for her practicality grounding me once more. An idea began to form, one that could allow Helko and Sharlar to interact without the weight of family expectations bearing down on them.

“I may have a suggestion,” I said, my voice regaining its usual confidence. “But you'll have to trust me.”

Utensils jangled, ingredients scattered across the countertops like they had a life of their own. I stood there, feathers fluffing up slightly, trying to keep my cool in this strange new battlefield.

Savannah was soaking it all in, her eyes wide with excitement as she picked up a long, pronged tool. “This is amazing,” she whispered, twirling it like a wand.

“Whoa, careful with that!” I gently nudged her hand away. “That’s a vektrik skewer—sharp as a politician’s tongue.” I couldn’t help but stroke the soft skin of her finger. “We don’t want to lose a finger before we even start.”

She shot me a playful glare, but before she could fire back, our instructor waddled over—a portly Draen with feathers mottled in fifty shades of brown.

“Welcome, welcome!” he boomed, his wings flapping excitedly. “Today, we’re making a classic Teloriln delicacy—spiced terksha wraps.”

Just then, Helko and Sharlar joined us. The tension between them was thick enough to slice with one of those vektrik skewers. My brother gave Savannah a terse nod, while Sharlar looked at the ingredients like they were about to come to life and attack her.

The instructor droned on about the recipe, but my focus drifted to Savannah. The way she was so engrossed, hanging on every word—it was utterly adorable.

A sharp elbow in my side snapped me back to reality. Helko gave me a look that said, “Get your head out of the clouds.” Oops, the class had moved on to actual cooking.

Grabbing a small blade, I tried to mimic the instructor’s slicing technique on the terksha root. The purple veggie was tougher than it looked, and my cuts were more like mangled chunks. Savannah stifled a giggle next to me.

“Like this,” Helko said, with that annoying hint of impatience he always has. He took the knife and diced the root into perfect cubes like it was nothing. I glared at him, but he just shrugged with that infuriatingly smug look.

A yelp drew our attention. Sharlar was clutching her hand, feathers all ruffled. The instructor hurried over, carefully prying her fingers apart to reveal a red welt.

“Ah, the zyrra peppers,” he said, shaking his head. “Their oils can irritate the skin.”

As Sharlar nursed her hand, Savannah stepped in, wrapping a kitchen towel around her fingers and dicing the peppers like a pro. I couldn’t help but admire her quick thinking and, well, the delicate curve of her jaw as she worked.

The pungent smell of something burning pulled everyone’s attention. Helko cursed under his breath as he yanked a tray of charred protein strips from the oven. My feathers fluffed up in amusement at his defeated look.

“Timing’s a bit off, huh, brother?” I teased.

His glare could have melted durasteel. “Like you could do better.”

Determined to prove him wrong, I grabbed a big stirring spoon and started mixing the ingredients together. Maybe a bit too enthusiastically, because next thing I knew, the spiced mixture was flying everywhere, splattering us all in bright orange goo.

Savannah burst out laughing, and even Sharlar cracked a smile. My feathers were now a lovely shade of pumpkin.

As the instructor fussed over the mess, I caught Savannah’s eye. We shared a look, her laughter still sparkling in her eyes. Maybe this cooking class wasn’t such a disaster after all.

SAVANNAH

The elegance of the opera was a world away from the chaos of the kitchen. Following the schedule Ryon and I had come up with for our group date, we’d had only a bare hour to change from our aprons to formal wear.

I’d been sent a gown made of thin layers of silk that fell from gathers at my shoulders to a swirl of rust and tan at my knees, a light wrap around my shoulders to balance the bare back.

A crucial design element if you were making clothing for a winged species, but a little chilly for me.

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