Page 149 of The Demon Tide

“My fireline,” he spits out, giving me an incredulous look, as if I should know the answer already. “It’s much too strong. Too strong for anyone to take.” He lets out an exasperated sigh and leans into the railing. “Therewasa Noi woman,” he grudgingly admits. “About three years ago. We attended the Wyvernguard together. And...we hadfeelingsfor each other. One night, in the runic lab, I professed my great love for her, and we kissed.” Pain tightens the edges of his gaze. “She pushed me away with sheer terror in her eyes. And that’s how I learned that it’s physically painful to kiss me. Like a burn. Not a good, passionate burn. An actualburn.The type of burn you flinch away from and avoid from there on in.”

He peers back at the city and goes stone-still, but there’s nothing calm or still about the way his violet fire’s crackling. Raucous cheers go up from the distant tiers as more runic fireworks explode over the river, bursting into giant lilac stars.

“You know what we’ll do?” I say, flashes of purple light illuminating his angular face. “When we’re done taking down Vogel and subduing the Gardnerians and Alfsigr, we’ll find you a nice Lasair girl. Or maybe a Wyvern shape-shifter. Someone who isn’t scared off by bolts of lightning.”

Or’myr coughs out a laugh, some of the bitterness fading from his expression as he shoots me a sarcastic look. “Yes, the Fire Fae and Wyvern women are falling over themselves to kiss the grandson of the Black Witch.” He shakes his head, as if resigned to fate. “No. I think Rivyr’el is correct. I’m destined to be the Lonely Old Sorcerer in the Hidden Tower.”

“So tragic,” I chide, the moon’s loving thrall making it impossible to concede to his gloom.

“Hmm.” He smirks.

One of the luminous rune orbs floats near as I bump his shoulder with mine. “I’m sorry you have such a frightening kiss, cousin.”

Amusement lightens his expression. “You do realize this is a truly ridiculous conversation, faced, as we are, with the destruction of all that is good on Erthia. And I imagine your kiss is about as frightening as mine. Probably more so.”

I raise my brow at this. “Are you saying that...if I kissed someone without fire power, I’d actually hurt them?”

“Undoubtedly.” Or’myr narrows his gaze on me. “Clearly you haven’t.”

Unsettled emotions rise, even through the moon’s embracing thrall.

No, just Lukas.

And Yvan.

Memories of heatedly kissing them both surface once more. As well as how Lukas shielded and protected me over and over through so many of those kisses.

“It’s true, I haven’t,” I admit, subdued now as I struggle to tamp back the worry for Lukas threatening to rise through the moonlight like a tide. I glance at Or’myr. “Do you think it’s the same for Trystan?”

“Without question,” he answers, certain. “But he’s found himself a Zhilon’ile Wyvern. Perhaps the most powerful one in the Eastern Realm. Vothendrile is famous for his storm magic. Lots and lots of lightning. I doubt your brother will scare him off.”

“So you know about them, then?”

He casts me a wry look. “Everyone knows about them, Elloren.” He cocks his head, viewing me searchingly. “Oh...that’sright. You’re from the Western Realm where they have those horrid, fanatical views about men like Trystan and Vothe.” He huffs out a derisive sound. “Vothe’s entire family despises Trystan, but for reasons completely unrelated to his gender. We find other reasons to hate people here in the enlightened Eastern Realm.” He sends me a look rife with cynicism.

“Vothe’s family has forbidden him from seeing Trystan,” I mention, outrage breaking through.

Or’myr coughs out a laugh. “Yes, that ultimatum is working out so spectacularly well. Because there’s nothing at all entrancing about forbidden romance.”

My lips quirk up at this. “I suppose Vothe’s family is destined to lose that battle.”

Or’myr’s grin widens. “They arecompletelydestined to lose that battle.”

My eyes snag on a violin propped against the balcony and I gesture toward it. “So, do you play out here?”

He throws a quick look at the instrument. “I do. Tragic, heartbreaking songs of unrequited love.” He grins slightly at me again, but I notice the melancholy edge that’s crept in.

“I saw all your books of love poetry,” I tease.

Color spots his cheeks but he smiles. “Well, that’s the danger of having someone invade this hallowed, private space. You know my deepest secret now. Beneath this cold, unfeeling exterior lies the heart of a burning romantic. Whose kiss is like a bolt of lightning. And, like I said, not in a good way. In a ‘run from the bolt of lightning screaming’ sort of way.”

I can’t help but smile in return, grateful for his humor in the face of it all. And suddenly grateful for how the moonlight is making this wait bearable. “I’m glad to have found you, cousin,” I tell him, heartfelt, feeling like I’ve fallen right into a swift, unexpected friendship with this look-alike family member of mine. “I like you a great deal.”

“I like you a great deal as well, Cousin Ren,” he warmly returns as he pushes himself off from the railing. “And I need all the family and friends I can get, since I’m destined to be the Lonely Old Sorcerer in the Tower.”

I laugh, but our joint amusement rapidly fades as we both glance out over the water.

Toward Gardneria.

---