Page 118 of The Demon Tide

Nym’ellia casts a fearful, unsure glance up at Mora’lee, who nods reassuringly. She swallows. “Nym’ellia Elmyllyn.”

The Kin Hoang soldier scrutinizes Nym’ellia, not seeming to spare a detail as dread tightens my gut. Nym’ellia looks transformed, garbed in clean emerald Smaragdalfar clothing, her black hair neatly combed and braided.Mora’s work, I imagine.This kind woman I’m putting in life-threatening danger. Along with Nym’ellia.

Feeling as if I’m about to step off a cliff, I ready myself to throw out a blast of wind with my blade and pray I can outrun these elite assassins. But then the lead sorceress seems to pause.

“What happened to your ears?” she demands of Nym’ellia, the ragged tips of the teen’s ears poking up through her hair.

Nym’ellia’s face tightens with a look of pained outrage.

“They werecropped,” Mora snaps, eyes blazing.

The sorceress peers even more closely at her, then scowls and shakes her head, the dangerous tension on the air dissipating like weapons abruptly drawn down. I let out a shaky breath, remorse roiling through me over putting Nym’ellia in this situation. Again.

The sorceress turns to Mora’lee, seeming to have lost interest in Nym’ellia. “We’re looking for Elloren Gardner Grey.”

Mora’lee’s eyes flick toward the wanted postings tacked to the furious trees. “I’ve seen the posters,” she says shortly. “But Nym’ellia is not her. She’s part Urisk, as you can plainly see.”

Olilly’s gaze pins on the scarred tips of Nym’ellia’s ears, a look of quiet devastation in her eyes.

“You have papers for the girl?” the sorceress asks Mora’lee.

I notice that Zosh Lyyo from across the street is watching the proceedings like a hawk, his teen son wearing a look of concern.

“Of course,” Mora’lee says, smooth as butter. She fishes in her pocket and draws out the identity papers.

The Kin Hoang takes a cursory look at the papers, then hands them back to Mora. “I’m sorry to have troubled you,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. Sounding like someone thwarted from her true quarry.Me.

“A Blessed Xishlon to you,” the golden-eyed sorceress curtly adds before she turns and throws out her hand in a commanding sweep, urging her fellow Kin Hoang to follow. They fall into step behind her and take their leave.

I exchange an intense look with Bleddyn, hit by a dizzying rush of relief as Nym’ellia rushes to me, the teen catching me off guard when she throws her arms around my shoulders like we’re long-lost friends.

“I thought youdied,” she says as she draws back, her heart-shaped face bright with relief.

Her honest emotion sends a guilty pang through me as I angle my head down to avoid Olilly’s gaze. I take Olilly in out of the corner of my eye, tension knotting my gut. Like Nym’ellia, she’s a changed girl, garbed in a lovely lavender Xishlon tunic the same hue as her skin, the silk embroidered with tiny purple flowers. Her hair has grown back a bit in the past months, her short locks decorated with violet-gemmed barrettes and a single purple orchid. And her ears—their edges are adorned with bejeweled silver tips that restore their graceful points.

Realizing I might draw more scrutiny staying quiet than answering, I launch into an attempt at normal conversation, modifying my voice by lowering and softening it. “How’s your mother and sister?” I ask Nym’ellia in Uriskal.

A faltering smile forms on Nym’ellia’s mouth as she indicates the rune-ship door she emerged from. “They’re here too. A Mage gave them medicine when we got through the border last night. He had a spider tattooed to his face. And then...they woke up this morning, already a bit better. Tibryl can take a deep breath!”

“They’re recovering from the Grippe,” Mora unnecessarily tells me. “But they’ve been given Norfure tincture.”

Gratitude for both my apothecary uncle Wrenfir and incredibly kind Mora’lee fair explodes in my chest. “I’m happy for you all, Nym’ellia,” I tell her, briefly meeting Bleddyn’s furtive look.

“What a great stroke of luck that you know each other!” Mora says to Nym’ellia and me, beaming, but then her smile dampens as she glances in the direction the Kin Hoang went. “I’m sorry our introductions happened this way.” She forces a small smile, as if attempting to shake off the stress of it all. “Olilly,” she says congenially, “as you’ve gathered, this is Ny’laea and Nym’ellia. They’ll be joining our little party of castaways for a day or two.” She winks at us. “Possibly more, if they’d like.”

Olilly gives me a welcoming smile as my heart thumps and I doggedly keep my head lowered.

“You look all decked out for Xishlon,” Bleddyn says to Olilly, overbright, in an obvious attempt to deflect her attention.

But Olilly doesn’t bite. She leans down a bit to take a better look at me, a sympathetic look on her lovely face. “Welcome, Ny’laea.” She extends her slender hand. “It’s nice to...”

The blood drains from my head as I watch the look of shocked recognition spread across Olilly’s features. I break into a cold sweat, my fate dropped into the palm of Olilly’s hand.

Mora’lee gives us both a shrewd, searching look. “Do you two know each other, as well?”

Olilly nods, her gaze riveted on me. “Yes,” she says as her face rearranges itself into a more neutral expression. “Do...do you remember me, Ny’laea?”

Thump, thump, thumpgoes my heart. “Yes, um...we were in Verpacia. I was working in the city. You were in the University kitchens, isn’t that right?”

---