Page 39 of The Dark Elf's Found Family
Her casual confidence in something I'm still terrified to hope for sends my pulse racing. I thank her again and turn back toward the crowd, scanning for Brynn's familiar figure among the dancers and revelers.
Tonight, I think, my hands already trembling slightly with anticipation. Tonight everything changes.
21
BRYNN
The square pulses with life around me, a living tapestry of sound and color that makes my chest tight with something I can't quite name. Lanterns bob overhead like captured stars, their warm amber light washing over faces flushed with joy and rirzed wine. The air thrums with music—Veyra's harp weaving silver threads through the deeper notes of Korin's homre, while someone keeps time on a small drum that echoes like a heartbeat through the crowd.
I've never seen Ikuyenda like this. Growing up, it was just me and my mother in our cramped cottage, making do with what little we had. After the raids, I was too busy surviving in a new town to celebrate much of anything. And these past ten years with Rhea, I've been so focused on keeping our heads above water that festivals felt like luxuries I couldn't afford—not just the coin, but the hope they represented.
But tonight... tonight everything feels different.
Maybe it's the way Rhea and Nya dart between the dancers, their hands linked, faces bright with pure delight. Maybe it's watching Nya bloom these past weeks, her cheeks pink with health instead of pale with exhaustion. Or maybe it's the manstanding beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body, his presence a steady anchor in the swirling celebration.
Ciaran shifts slightly, his shoulder brushing mine, and that familiar flutter starts low in my belly. He's been doing this all evening—small touches, gentle gestures that speak louder than words. His hand finds the small of my back as we move through the crowd, fingers splaying warm through the fabric of my dress. When the wind picks up, carrying snow that should chill me to the bone, I realize I'm perfectly warm. Not just from the fires scattered around the square, but from something deeper. Magic, subtle and constant, wrapping around me like an invisible cloak.
He's been keeping me warm all night without my even asking. Without making a show of it or expecting gratitude. Just... caring for me in a way that makes my throat tight with emotions I'm not ready to name.
"Look at them," I murmur, watching the girls spin past in a whirl of dark hair and breathless laughter. Rhea's teaching Nya some complicated dance move, both of them stumbling and giggling when they get the steps wrong.
"They're perfect together," Ciaran says, and there's something in his voice that makes me glance up at him. His violet eyes catch the lantern light, soft with affection as he watches our daughters. "Nya's never had a friend like Rhea."
Our daughters. The words hit me like a physical force, and I have to look away before he sees too much in my expression. Because that's what they've become, isn't it? Not just Rhea and her new friend, but sisters in all but blood. The way they curl up together when Nya's feeling poorly, how Rhea automatically brings an extra blanket when we visit the inn, the fierce protectiveness in my daughter's eyes when anyone looks at Nya sideways.
And the way Ciaran looks at Rhea—like she's already his. Like he's been waiting his whole life for a little girl who chatters about everything and nothing, who brings him pressed flowers and terrible poetry, who lights up when he teaches her new words in the old tongue.
My heart clenches, equal parts joy and terror. This is what I wanted for Rhea. A father figure who actually cares about her, who sees her intelligence and encourages her dreams instead of just tolerating her existence. But wanting it and trusting it are two very different things.
The music shifts, Veyra's harp taking on a more complex melody that has couples pairing off around the square. I watch them move together, bodies swaying in perfect rhythm, and feel that old familiar longing rise in my chest. I've never been one for dancing—too self-conscious, too afraid of making a fool of myself. But tonight, with the lanterns casting everything in gold and the wine warm in my veins, it looks like the most natural thing in the world.
"Dance with me."
Ciaran's voice is low beside my ear, and I startle, heat flooding my cheeks. Did I speak my thoughts aloud?
"I don't dance," I say automatically, the same response I've given to every invitation over the years.
"Neither do I, usually," he admits, extending his hand. "But tonight feels different."
It does. Everything about tonight feels suspended between reality and dream, like we've stepped into one of the stories I tell Rhea before bed. The kind where ordinary people get extraordinary endings, where love actually conquers all the practical concerns that usually keep me up at night.
Before I can second-guess myself, I place my hand in his.
His fingers close around mine, warm and sure, and he leads me toward the other couples without giving me time to panic.The touch of his hand at my waist sends heat spiraling through me, and when he pulls me closer, I can smell the faint scent of ink on his skin, the rirzed oil he uses in his hair.
"I'm going to step on your feet," I warn, even as my body seems to know exactly what to do.
"I'll survive," he says, and there's something in his smile that makes my knees weak.
We move together slowly at first, finding our rhythm. He's a better dancer than he claims, leading with subtle pressure that guides me without overwhelming. When I stumble slightly, he steadies me with gentle hands, never making me feel clumsy or foolish.
"See?" he murmurs, his breath warm against my temple. "You're a natural."
I laugh, the sound escaping before I can stop it. "You're a liar."
"Maybe," he agrees, spinning me in a careful circle that makes my skirts flare. "But you're smiling."
I am. I can feel it stretching across my face, probably looking ridiculous, but I can't seem to stop. When was the last time I felt this light? This free? Not just from responsibility or worry, but from the careful walls I've built around my heart.
