Page 170 of The Demon Tide

Their first kiss.

Sparrow flushes over her bold scheming as Thierren’s gaze slides over her silken dress, an ardent warmth lighting in his eyes. “You belong somewhere like that this evening,” he manages throatily. “Somewhere beautiful and covered in flowers, like you. And even with a Crow on your arm, they won’t be able to resist letting you in.”

Sparrow cradles her fragrant violet cordial, Thierren beside her at their corner table on the tavern’s open-air balcony, the Vo River’s warm breeze caressing them both. A wooden trellis supporting vines covered in lavender blossoms surrounds them, the Xishlon moon’s purple light filtering through.

Reclining back in her luxurious floral dress, Sparrow feels like an intrinsic part of the surrounding explosion of blossoms. And the moon’s beckoning pull makes it easier to cast off the shadows of the world for just this one evening, but still, Sparrow’s gaze is ever drawn toward the storm-limned mountains in the distance.

Toward the West.

Where a nightmare is gathering. Threatening this miracle of a realm.

The East has time to strengthen their defenses, Sparrow comforts herself. And both Elloren and Yvan Guryev are aligned with them, the entirety of the Prophecy on their side.

Sparrow looks to Thierren, a warm swell of emotion blooming. “Not long ago,” she says, “you and I were huddled together in the desert, fending off storm spiders and wraith bats. Not knowing which day might be our last. And now...here we are.”

A deeper warmth ignites, fed by their shared history and the way the cherished angles of his glimmering green face are highlighted by the moon’s purple glow.

Thierren takes her hand, a spark of affection firing in their locked eyes as they both attempt to ignore the glares Sparrow can feel boring into them, unfriendly murmurs rising up from the packed tables. Thierren glances out over the river, his gaze sliding up the mountains and fixing there, his mouth turning down in a troubled frown, and Sparrow can tell he’s having similar thoughts about what’s coming for the East.

“We should fight with them,” Thierren says as he stares west.

“You’re about to,” Sparrow says, confused by his pronouncement.

He turns to her. “I mean the Dryad Fae. There are never any of them among the refugees who are streaming in. Have you noticed that?” He peers northwest. “But they’re out there. In the Northern Forest, most likely. The Gardnerians seemed sure of it. They’ll go after them, if they haven’t already.” Thierren’s gaze turns haunted, and Sparrow can tell he’s thinking of the massacre he witnessed in the farthest northeastern reaches of Gardneria, not one Fae left alive.

Sparrow’s grip on his hand tightens, this thing between them so much more than their physical attraction. She loves the traumatized thing inside Thierren that has solidified into rebellion.

Because that same thing lives inside of her.

A kinship was forged the night she first laid eyes on Thierren, so many months ago. The night she and Effrey fled by boat from the Fae Islands to the continent, braving the stormy ocean and kraken, and hid in Thierren’s family’s deserted horse stables in Gardneria. Thierren had stumbled in, strung-out on nilantyr and spirits.

Sparrow recklessly stopped him from incinerating himself with Magefire that night. Convinced him that there was another path. Another way to channel the guilt and despair that was eating him alive.

Rebellion.

Full-blown rebellion.

“Convince the Vu Trin to find the Dryad Fae,” she urges as tears sting her eyes. “Then fight with them.”

Thierren’s eyes gleam with his own tears as he meets her gaze and nods.

“But give me tonight,” Sparrow insists, able to absorb his intensity because she understands his darkness. Understands the tortured side of him that’s seen too much. “And kiss me,” Sparrow says. “Right here. In full view of the city.”

Thierren’s eyes widen a trace. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You’ll harm your place here if we’re that open about this.”

Defiance sparks in Sparrow’s eyes. “I had to hide my true self for far too long in the West. No more. The Eastern Realm needs to come to terms with me, not the other way around.”

An ardent warmth lights his gaze. “I love you, Sparrow.”

“I love you too, ish’sholuun.” Sparrow reaches up to caress his cheek, and Thierren’s breath hitches. “This isexactlywhat the Gardnerians and the Alfsigr and even some here want to destroy.Love.The kind that breaks down their boundaries and defies their rules. So kiss me and then come back to my lodging with me. We’ll drink Mii Vun’s wine and fight the Western Realm without weapons tonight.”

“Ish’uuldur imorz ish’sholuun,” Thierren murmurs ardently, the Uriskal words forI love youfluent on his tongue. And then he leans in, brings his lips to hers, and Sparrow falls into his loving, passionate kiss, the murmurs of disapproval all around them floating away on the lavender Xishlonmoonlight.

CHAPTER SEVEN

XISHLONGARDEN

Mora’lee Starr’lyrion

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