Page 168 of The Demon Tide

But the Eastern Realm has meant more to Sparrow than just the blessing of a fair wage for hard work.

It’s meant freedom.

Freedom that Sparrow has no intention of ceding ever again. And that includes freedom to love who she loves.

Fyya Lo’s purple-glittering mouth has turned down in a tight, judgmental frown. “You’re going to spend Xishlon night with aGardnerian,” she flatly states.

“Yes, Fyya Lo,” Sparrow evenly replies. “I’m spending it with a Gardnerian. And I’m going to ask him to be my Xishlon’vir.”

Mii Vun pulls in a tight breath as Fyya Lo narrows her amethyst-glittering gaze on Sparrow, her tone biting when it comes. “You will not attract a single benefactor if you are connected to a Crow and I cannot, in good conscience, remain your friend.”

Steel rises in Sparrow. She straightens and glares at Fyya Lo, no longer needing to pretend to be timid and demure. Not here. Sparrow has no intention of feigning intimidation ever again. “Don’t call him a Crow,” she firmly throws down.

“I agree,” Mii Vun says, and Sparrow’s head whips toward the elderly seamstress, astonished to find her giving Fyya Lo a look of censure.

“They shouldn’t be here!” Fyya Lo insists to them both as purple-clad Xishlon revelers stream past the shoppe’s open doors. “It’s a mistake to let them in.”

“Let who in?” Sparrow challenges, growing ever more incensed. “The refugees from the Western Realm? Like Effrey? Likeme?”

“Heavens, no,” Fyya Lo cries, seeming honestly bewildered. “Youbelong here. And Effrey too. But the Gardnerians and the Alfsigr are ourenemies.They’re not like us! And you make yourself an enemy too by falling in with them!”

Sparrow catches sight of Thierren and Effrey striding through the festive crowds toward the shoppe’s entrance, Thierren's black Vu Trin naval uniform standing out in bold relief against the sea of purple garb, the emerald shimmer of his skin blaringly pronounced. Effrey stands in bright contrast beside him, looking like a Xishlon beacon in his purple garb, a soft violet geomancy glow surrounding him.

Thierren’s green eyes find Sparrow’s, a palpable charge passing between them that feels enhanced by the Xishlon moonlight. She drinks him in, an excited flutter in her belly. Because everything has shifted here, and her feelings for him are shifting, as well.

From staunch friendship...to the admission of something much stronger.

“Thierren, my love,” Mii Vun enthuses as she steps forward, and Sparrow’s throat tightens with vast, grateful relief. The seamstress warmly kisses him on both cheeks as Fyya Lo glowers at Thierren, arms tightly crossed against the Xishlon moon on her torso.

“I’m thrilled to see you both,” Mii Vun gushes as she pats Effrey’s head, purple moon rings sparkling on the seamstress’s artistic brown fingers. “A joyous Xishlon to you.”

Thierren dips his head, a weighty gratitude in his eyes. “To you as well, Nor Mii Vun.”

Fyya Lo knifes a glare at Thierren in response to his respectful Noi greeting. She spits out a sound of disgust, then turns on her pretty, moon-decorated heels and disappears into the shoppe’s back rooms, shutting the door behind her with an emphatic slam.

Outrage kindles in Sparrow, fast and hot. Rattled, she meets Effrey’s bespectacled amethyst gaze, some of her ire drawing down as she takes in how transformed he is here after such a short time—his magic taking off like a shooting star to the point that he’s surrounded by the color aura that eventually manifests around all strafelings—the most powerful class of Urisk geomancers. Apprenticed with Or’myr Syll’vir to hone his magic, his purple hair cut short, his large, pointed ears sweeping up through it. And tonight, he’s all decked out for Xishlon, whimsical violet-glowing lizards embroidered up the side of his purple tunic.

Effrey motions worriedly for Sparrow to lean in, placing his hand on her shoulder to draw her close. “Some Noi’khin called Thierren names on the way here,” he confides in a troubled whisper. “They spat at him when he passed. Cursed at him and told him he doesn’t belong. Like they did to us in the West.”

“I know,” Sparrow grimly whispers back. “It’s hard to hear.”

Effrey’s brow knots with concern. “Or’myr’s half Gardnerian, and he doesn’t get treated like that. And he’s the grandson of the Black Witch herself.”

“That’s true,” Sparrow concedes. “But it’s different with Or’myr, you know that.”

And it is, most Noi’khin seeming to concentrate on Or’myr’s blaringly obvious Urisk half and selectively ignoring his Gardnerian green eyes and the echo of the Black Witch’s visage on his face. But Sparrow also knows that many of her fellow Urisk hold Or’myr suspect, reviling his mother, Li’ra, for consorting with a Mage.

“Thierren’s my friend,” Effrey states, the declaration full of defiance.

Sparrow nods, emotion welling. She glances at Thierren and their gazes catch, a flush warming her cheeks from the intensity that crackles on the air whenever she and Thierren get within a few feet of each other.

As Mii Vun and Thierren exchange pleasantries, Sparrow takes note of the expressions of the Noi entering the shoppe, their eyes snagging on the Gardnerian in their midst before many quickly exit, their angry epithets trailing back to Sparrow with a biting sting. It’s so unfair—Thierren’s getting ready to deploy west to fight the Gardnerians. And she’s seen the bruising on his wand arm from sparring with fellow soldiers so they can learn how to subdue Mage power.

She moves toward Thierren and watches as his eyes fix on her tight Xishlon dress, heat kindling in his gaze. Sparrow basks in his reaction, unable to suppress a slight smile.

Thierren leans close to her ear, his hand gently touching her arm as he ignites a deeper warmth within her with that low voice of his. “You’re almost too beautiful to take in.”

“Does that mean you won’t take me?” Sparrow whispers back.

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