Page 62 of Of Wind and Terror

Aleksander snaps his fingers together with a triumphant smirk. “Blaze is taking a shit!” he translates proudly.

I cover my mouth to hide my growing smile, even as I shake my head no.

“Dammit.” Aleksander pouts. “And here I thought I was getting good at Falkan.”

I decide to mime my words instead of signing them. I pretend to flex my muscles.

“Blaze!” Aleksander exclaims, and I nod.

Next, I point between my eyes and the Forest repeatedly until the elf understands my meaning.

“Oh! Blaze is keeping watch!” He rubs his hands together with glee. “I love this game. Keep going.”

For Treyton, I throw my hair back dramatically and pretend to admire myself in an invisible mirror.

“Treyton!” Aleksander’s practically bouncing up and down in his excitement.

It’s strange to see. He’s a huge, terrifying elf…yet he has the temperament of a child sometimes. He’s the epitome of contradictions, and I can’t help but want to know both sides of him. The childlike elf and the terrifying assassin.

I rub my stomach like I would after eating a filling meal and then pantomime shoving food in my face.

“He’s…eating?” His brows furrow. “No, that’s not it…” He begins to rock from side to side as he thinks. “He’s cooking!”

I smile and nod, pleased that Aleksander was finally able to understand me. It may not be Falkan, but I suppose it’s the next best thing.

Aleksander’s eyes glow in the moonlight breaching the stone room. The blue almost appears black—a midnight sea, when the waves are tranquil. The difference between this Aleksander and the one who was sleeping only a few ticks ago is striking. The latter appeared almost…innocent. Vulnerable. Without that combative, sinister glint in his eyes, he could’ve been a completely different male.

But I can’t imagine Aleksander being anything but cunning and wicked. Even when he was pretending to be a fae named San, there was always a spark of something in his gaze that made me cautious. Something keen and cutting, like a knife that is all blade and no hilt.

Who exactly is Aleksander? Which version is the real him?

The elf seems to be studying me as intently as I am him. A contemplative expression takes over his face as one corner of his mouth bends upwards.

“Can I ask you something, cherub?”

I’m instantly wary but reluctantly nod.

“How do you say my name in Falkan?”

The question takes me by surprise. For a moment, I simply gawk at him, unsure if I heard him correctly. But his gaze is surprisingly earnest, almost eager, as he leans towards me, draping his long arms over his knees.

I hesitate but see no harm in teaching him.

Names are usually spelled out in Falkan, at least until you become intimately familiar with someone. Then, they receive a Falkan name—which is just a basic hand gesture you use whenever you’re referencing them.

For some reason, Blaze’s Falkan name is the pressing of my middle finger and thumb together. Treyton’s is my hand fisted and my thumb pointed to the side.

After I finish spelling out Aleksander’s name, I fold my hands in my lap and wait for his response.

He sits backwards—looking eerily like a predator just waiting for the opportunity to strike—and seems to consider something.

After a few ticks, he says, “Most elves call me Aleks.”

“Aleks,” I sign, staring up into his dark-blue eyes.

I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. He ensnares me as artfully as a trap hidden beneath foliage, designed to capture unsuspecting prey and hold them hostage.

“It suits you.”

---