Page 146 of The Demon Tide

“I did too here in the East.” He gives me an acerbic look. “It smacks of my Gardnerian blood.” He glances around at the tree-lined space. “It’s part of the reason I’d never let anyone come up here, even if they could. I can be myself here without anyone seeing the ‘polluted’ parts of me.” The undercurrent of deep-set pain in his tone strikes hard, feeling all too familiar.

“I know all about being judged for things I have no control over,” I say as a kindred bond sets down unexpected roots between us.

Or’myr lets out a bitter laugh. “Yes, well, I’d rather judge people based on the things theycancontrol, and make no mistake, cousin, that still leaves me with quite a bit to judge.”

I lower my gaze toward the purple-wood flooring and notice a wine-hued violin propped in the shadows between tree trunks. My pulse deepens with emotion as I scan the entire lower portion of the circular room and take in the multitude of violins recessed between the trees, some of the instruments of an unfamiliar Noi design, black lacquered and imprinted with pearlescent dragons, some possessing extra strings.

Grief pressing in around my heart, I remember Uncle Edwin, patiently teaching me to play and sharing the craft of violin making with me. As well as Lukas’s dream...how he placed the violin and bow in my hands...

“I play violin too,” I tell Or’myr, my voice hitching. “I’m a luthier, as well.”

“I know,” he says, voice subdued. “Trystan told me.”

Uncle Edwin taught me, Or’myr,I think, but am unable to say.But he should have been able to teach you too. Tears glistening in my eyes, I turn to the nearest violin and the haphazardly stacked pile of music next to it, taking hold of the first few pieces, absently riffling through them. My hands still as my eyes light on a familiar composition.

Winter’s Dark.

“This was Uncle Edwin’s favorite piece,” I murmur, lips trembling, as the song’s melancholy notes fill my mind. “We used to play this piece quite a bit...” A memory of Uncle Edwin, Trystan, and I playing the melody by a winter’s fire in our cozy cottage in Halfix suffuses my mind, Rafe drinking hot cider as he listened.

“My mother is a musician, as well,” Or’myr quietly says. “This was the song she and my father chose for their private Luth’yllion in Gardneria.”

The rune behind my ear translates the Urisk word—their binding as life mates.Understanding rolls through me as I finally comprehend, in this moment, the mournful look that came over my uncle’s face whenever he played this piece.

He was grieving when he played it. Grieving for his love, Li’ra. And for Or’myr too.

My hand flies to my mouth, and I’m barely able to hold back my tears. “He should have been able to stay with you,” I manage in a forced whisper, shaking my head as I internally rail against the cursed Gardnerians. Against my cursed grandmother. “It’s not right that they kept him away from you.”

“I know,” comes Or’myr’s choked reply. Shards of violet lightning knife through his aura.

I hold my cousin’s sorrowful gaze. “He would love who you are,” I tell him, this certainty making the tragedy of it even more unbearable. “He would love you a great deal.”

Or’myr nods stiffly and glances away, his own eyes glazed with tears, his mouth twisting into what looks like a mixture of jagged bitterness and profound grief. He sniffs, then scrubs a hand across his eyes and meets my gaze once more as he suppresses his magic’s discordant flare.

He angles his wand toward the stones looped around my arm. “Let those do their work, cousin,” he says, voice steadying with resolve. “We should grab an hour or two of sleep while we can. Before your power comes unbound and the whole world changes.”

I wake a little over an hour later as Xishlon day fully breaks over Noilaan, sunlight streaming through the Vonor’s windows. I push myself up to a sitting position on his tower room’s couch as my disheveled cousin presses a steaming mug of what he informs me is “rejuvenating mushroom tea” into my hands, which strikes me as outrageously prosaic given the situation at hand.

We pore over piles of spell and rune books all morning into the afternoon, then move to magical shielding concepts, the city’s rising swell of Xishlon music and celebration emanating through the tower’s propped-open windows. The repeated chimes of what Or’myr tells me are “welcoming bells for Vo’s love incarnation” ring bright on the air as we pause periodically for Or’myr to feed magic into the zoisite crystals wrapped around my wand arm. A palpable tension builds as we note, with a single, shared glance, that a quarter of Sage’s line of runes is now lit up bright.

“Is the Xishlon moon’s thrall like spirits?” I ask Or’myr as he charges the zoisite, their rich purple glow having dimmed a fraction.

He shakes his head, frowning at the stones. “No—it’s not intoxicating...it’s more of a shift infocus. Toward love. Of all kinds. And...well...” His mouth thins. “To romance.” He says the word with more than a trace of disdain. “You’ll see. It’s exasperating. It takes more than a bit of effort to think about anyone else.” Color lights on his cheeks. “I meant...about anythingelse.” He pauses, seeming annoyed with himself. “Especially for me, with all the damned purple. It’s like the whole festival was set up with the sole intent to thoroughly scatter my wits.”

A lavender-feathered rune hawk alights on the balcony’s railing, and I look at Or’myr in surprise. We rush onto the balcony and he unfastens and unscrolls the missive, scanning its message. His eyes meet mine, a smile lifting his lips as my heartbeat accelerates.

“Is it from Yvan?”

“It is,” he says with a trace of disbelief. “Vang Troi is portaling here from the Western front. Overnight. She’s open to an alliance with you, Elloren. She’s agreed to meet with all of us at the Wyvernguard, tomorrow morning. After Xishlon.” His grin widens as he hands me the missive. “Well, cousin. It looks like we’ve something to celebrate this Xishlon after all.”

Or’myr and I wait on his tower’s balcony that evening, pausing with what seems like the entire city. A bright white full moon hangs high over the Vo Mountains, hope lit like a beacon in my center.

It’s surreal, to be having this idle moment with my cousin after studying spells and shielding throughout the day at such a dedicated pace before the moon’s thrall descends. It’s even more surreal to consider that I might be on the brink of a true alliance with the Vu Trin forces.

“Any moment now...” Or’myr murmurs, looking toward the shining orb.

A few stars appear in the darkening sky, then a few more.

And then a luminous lavender appears around the moon’s edges and flows inward, both the moon and stars morphing to a vivid, enthralling purple.

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