Page 173 of The Demon Tide

Nym’ellia hesitates, then fumbles with the ear-cuffs. Olilly reaches up to help her, feeling a bit breathless, knowing the moment is fraught with an importance that runs much deeper than most things.

Olilly reaches toward the side table and lifts a small handheld mirror. She holds it up to Nym’ellia, who stills, as if mesmerized by the point-eared girl staring back at her.

“You’re beautiful,” Olilly breathes and is rewarded by Nym’ellia’s lovely, trembling smile. “I’ll go down to the pier,” Olilly offers, returning her smile. “And I’ll bring back Xishlonnecklaces for both of us.”

Nym’ellia nods, roughly wiping away her tears. “Olilly,” she says, heartfelt, as she runs her finger over one of the sparkling silver ear-cuffs. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“Forever,” Olilly vows, holding out her free hand.

Nym’ellia grasps it, their fingers interlacing. “Forever,” Nym’ellia vows in turn, matching Olilly’s wide, beaming smile.

Olilly closes the door to Nym’ellia’s room, and the beauty of the Xishlonnight hits her anew, every shade of purple cascading over the Vo River’s surface in rippling designs.

Beautiful.

She pauses, leaning over the balcony, entranced as she kicks up her feet in a small dance, unable to suppress the happiness that’s sparking along the edges of her ever-present grief and trauma and fear. The echo of the Western Realm’s cruelty is so strong, it has the power to overtake everything else. To scar a person’s heart and never let go.

But not tonight.

She reaches up to touch her scarred ears and waits for the familiar misery to overtake her, but only a trace of it jabs in. And oddly, in this moment, Olilly feels more Urisk than she ever has before. Regardless of the lack of points on her ears. A wide smile overtakes her face as she finds herself suddenly exhilarated to be in this new place, so full of possibility.

“Olilly.”

The shy male voice rides out to her from the far end of the ship’s walkway.

Olilly straightens with the speed of a startled bird, her heart picking up into a swifter rhythm as she turns.

Handsome Kir Lyyo from the restaurant across the street steps toward her, then stops, seeming unsure. He blinks at her in that quietly intent way of his. She watched him throughout the entire day, their eyes shyly meeting multiple times as they cleared tables, brought out food, both restaurants having just closed for the evening, their covert glances and shared smiles growing slightly more bold as the purple moonlight shimmered to life.

Olilly steps away from the metal balcony to face him, overaware of herself. He’s holding a phosphorescent river lily in his hand, a puff of violet light emanating from the graceful flower.

“This...this is for you,” he says, holding the flower out to her, a besotted look on his face, the purple moonlight gleaming off his spiky black hair.

Olilly’s heart is now pattering fast as a hummingbird’s. She takes the lovely flower, their fingers brushing as she does so, and Olilly feels that brief touch straight to her toes.

“I’ve... I’ve seen you from across the street,” he says, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “You’re...very beautiful, and... I wanted to wish you a joyous Xishlon.”

Suddenly, Olilly is feeling equally breathless. She glances away, emotions fluttering, then dares a glance back at those riveting kohl-lined eyes of his.

“I’m Kir Lyyo, but you can call me Kirin,” he encourages, and Olilly is touched by his offer to let her use the familiar form of his Noi name.

“I know,” she says shyly, her mind awhirl.He’s given me a flower.

Kirin’s brow tenses. “Your ears,” he says, motioning to his own ear, “the points are gone.”

The Western Realm abruptly intrudes, knotting Olilly’s throat, bringing the pain that always prowls around the edges of any happiness that tries to get a tentative start in her heart. An image of Kirin’s angry father accosts her mind. The sign on their restaurant.Noilaan for the Noi.And the Noi flags. The religious banners. Olilly knowsexactlywhat those flags and banners are meant to convey, and it isn’t his father’s love for the Vo religion or the Eastern Realm.

Olilly looks Kirin right in the eye. “A mob in the Western Realm cut the points off my ears. They were chanting ‘Erthia for Gardnerians’ while they did it.”

She catches his flinch, as if he’s been physically struck by the horrible truth.

Kirin swallows, looking stunned. “I’m sorry,” he says, almost a whisper.

“I gave my jeweled points to Nym’ellia,” she tells him evenly. “Because they cut off her ears’ points too. She’s Urisk, like me.”

More shock, and she can see the wheels of his mind turning.

“I’m sorry that happened to you both,” he finally says, obviously rattled but unmoving. Still here. Stubbornly still here.

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