Page 23 of The Dark Elf's Found Family
I cannot imagine a future that doesn't include Brynn Corven and her remarkable daughter in it.
13
BRYNN
The village center has transformed into something from a winter dream. Snow blankets every surface—the cobblestones, the rooftops, the branches of the old tiphe trees that ring the square—turning Eryndral into a crystalline wonderland. Strings of paper lanterns in deep blues and silvers hang between the buildings, swaying gently in the cold breeze like captured stars. The scent of roasted burgona and sweet rirzed wine drifts from the various stalls that have sprouted around the square's edges, mingling with woodsmoke from the great fire crackling in the center.
People gather in clusters around the flames, their faces flushed with warmth and good cheer. Korin the blacksmith holds court near one side of the fire, his booming laugh carrying across the square as he shares some tale with a group of younger men. Eda bustles between her bakery stall and the fire, pressing warm pastries into the hands of anyone who looks cold. Even Serenya the seamstress has emerged from her shop, her usually sharp expression softened as she admires the decorations strung between the lampposts.
The festival is still a week away, but already the community pulses with anticipation. These nightly gatherings have become tradition in the days leading up to Ikuyenda—a chance for neighbors to share food, stories, and the simple pleasure of each other's company during the darkest part of winter.
I stand at the edge of it all with Ciaran, watching as Nya and Rhea help Veyra, the young harpist string more lanterns along the temporary stage someone built near the fountain. Veyra's patient voice carries to us as she explains the proper way to tie the cords, her dark fingers deft and sure as she demonstrates. Both girls hang on her every word, their faces bright with concentration and excitement.
"Rhea, mind the—" I start to call out as my daughter reaches for a lantern that's dangling precariously from its string.
"I've got it!" she calls back, her tongue poking out between her lips as she carefully adjusts the paper shade. The lantern settles into place with a satisfied rustle, joining the dozens of others that will cast their gentle glow over the festival crowds.
Beside me, Ciaran chuckles softly. "She's got the same stubborn streak you do."
I snort, crossing my arms against the cold. "Stubborn? She's determined. There's a difference."
"Is there?" His violet eyes dance with amusement. "Because I seem to remember someone insisting she could carry three crates of parchment up two flights of stairs by herself, despite having a perfectly willing dark elf offering to help."
Heat rises in my cheeks, though whether from embarrassment or the memory of how his muscles had flexed beneath his tunic when he'd finally wrestled those crates away from me, I refuse to examine too closely. "That was different. I didn't want to impose."
"Brynn." The way he says my name, low and warm with affection, shouldn’t make me forget everything else going on around me. But it does. "You could never impose."
Before I can respond to that—before I can figure out what to do with the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious—Nya's voice pipes up from across the square.
"Dad! Can you make the lanterns glow? Like you did with the window frost?"
Several other dark elves in the crowd turn toward Ciaran, their expressions eager. Magic has always been a communal thing among their people, I've learned, shared freely for the joy and wonder it brings. It's so different from the stories I grew up hearing about dark elf sorcerers hoarding their power, using it for dominance and control.
Ciaran glances at me, a question in his eyes that I don't quite understand. Then he steps forward, raising one hand toward the strings of lanterns. His magic unfurls like invisible silk, wrapping around each paper shade and settling into the colored glass baubles that hang between them. One by one, the lanterns begin to emit a soft, steady glow—not harsh like torchlight, but gentle and warm as candleflame.
The effect is breathtaking. The entire square bathes in pools of blue and silver light that dance across the snow and reflect off the icicles hanging from the eaves. Gasps and delighted laughter rise from the crowd as the magical illumination transforms the already beautiful scene into something truly enchanting.
"More!" Rhea demands, clapping her hands together. "Can you make them change colors?"
Other voices join hers—children and adults alike caught up in the magic of the moment. I watch Ciaran's face as he listens to their requests, see the way he smiles at their enthusiasm. There's no arrogance in his expression, no sense that he's showing off orexpecting praise for his abilities. He looks genuinely pleased to be able to give them this gift.
His magic shifts, and suddenly the lanterns cycle slowly through a rainbow of hues—deep purples and midnight blues giving way to warm golds and soft greens before settling back into their original silver-blue glow. The crowd erupts in applause, and I find myself clapping along, caught up in the wonder of it despite myself.
This is what magic should be, I realize. Not a tool for manipulation or control, but something beautiful shared freely with others. Something that brings joy instead of pain.
"Show-off," I murmur as Ciaran returns to my side, but there's no bite in the words.
He grins, unrepentant. "Rhea asked nicely."
"She has that effect on people." I watch as my daughter throws her arms around Nya in celebration, both girls laughing as they admire the glowing lanterns overhead. "Gets them to do things they normally wouldn't."
"Wonder where she learned that trick."
The teasing note in his voice makes me look at him sharply, but his expression is fond rather than mocking. We're standing slightly apart from the main crowd, close enough to keep an eye on the girls but far enough away that their chatter and the musicians' practice songs create a buffer of privacy around us.
"She's stubborn, remember?" I say, trying to maintain our light banter even as something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest at the way he's looking at me. "Runs in the family."
"So does being remarkable."
