Page 48 of Monster's Secret Baby

And that's as close to letting him in as I can get. I fear it's the wrong move, but I am only so strong.

And Adellum was always my weakness.

23

ADELLUM

I'm strolling through the market, Brooke's small hand in mine, when the air changes. It's subtle—a shift in the current, the way birds fall silent before a storm. My wings twitch instinctively, feathers bristling.

"What's that?" Brooke points at a booth selling carved wooden animals.

"A lunox." I crouch beside her, trying to ignore the prickling between my shoulder blades. "See the white tail with the blue tip? They live in the mountains where it snows."

"Can I have one?" She looks up at me with eyes that mirror mine—silver, luminous. My eyes in her mother's face. The sight never fails to knock the breath from my lungs.

"Of course, little one."

I hand the vendor a nodal—grossly overpaying for the trinket—but the old woman's grateful smile is worth it. This is what I've discovered in Saufort: the unbought joy of simple transactions. No agendas, no hangers-on, no keeping score.

The quiet breaks like glass when I hear him.

"Are you fucking serious?"

Sior's voice cuts through the market chatter, silencing conversations in rippling waves. I straighten slowly, positioning myself between Brooke and the approaching storm.

"Go find your mother," I tell her, pressing the wooden lunox into her palm. "Right now."

She hesitates, eyes wide, but something in my face makes her nod and dart away through the crowd. I watch until I'm certain she's heading toward Marda's before turning to face him.

Sior stands like a knife thrust into the soft earth of Saufort, all sharp edges and cold purpose. His wings, near-black and meticulously groomed, are pulled tight against his back—a controlled rage that's more frightening than any outburst.

"You were supposed to be in Lezer a week ago." He closes the distance between us, heedless of the humans scattering from his path. "The market opens tomorrow. Your pieces are sitting in crates. Collectors are asking questions I can't answer."

I shrug, which only darkens the thundercloud of his expression.

"I'll get to it."

"You'll get to it?" Sior's voice drops dangerously. Ink-stained fingers clench at his sides. "Do you have any idea what I've done to maintain your reputation while you've been—what exactly? Playing village idiot in this human cesspool?"

Market-goers watch from a safe distance, transfixed by the spectacle of two xaphan locked in conflict. I feel my lips curl into something that's not quite a smile.

"Careful. The humans might take offense."

"I don't give a shit what they take." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Have you ever been painting? Or are you just here stirring up more drama to sabotage everything we've built?"

My hand slips into my pocket, fingers finding the rough edges of the blue crystal. It grounds me, keeps me from shoving him backward into the dried fruit stand.

"What I do is my business."

"Your business?" Sior laughs, a sound like breaking glass. "Everything you are is my business. I made you. I took a half-starved xaphan orphan and turned him into New Solas' most celebrated artist. And this is how you repay me? By hiding out in some backwater village?"

I feel something dangerous uncurling in my chest. The crystal cuts into my palm as I squeeze it harder.

"Watch yourself."

"What the fuck are you thinking, Adellum?" Sior's eyes narrow, scanning my face. "You look like shit. You're dressed like a peasant. Is this some creative crisis? Some artistic statement I should be preparing the critics for?"

People are staring. I can feel their eyes, hear their whispers. In New Solas, this would be tomorrow's gossip in every high tearoom. Here, it's just unsettling—a reminder that I've brought something dark into their peaceful world.

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