Chapter Twenty-Two #2
His dragon circled once more before settling onto a hillock, head raised and alert.
Snapdragon streaked behind him, finally settling on the dragon’s back as though it was a perfectly normal thing to do.
Briar’s cheeks warmed and she refused to look at Ethan.
Familiars weren’t supposed to flirt with each other, for the moon’s sake.
Were they? But her swan had never looked more comfortable.
And the dragon did not try to swallow it whole in retribution, so she supposed it was fine.
Embarrassing, but fine.
She turned back to the pond, waiting for the fireflies to come out of hiding.
The arrival of a dragon, corporeal or not, sent most living creatures scurrying for cover.
It was not long before a yellow-green flash of light drifted from the grasses, from the marsh marigolds. One, then two, then a hundred.
Every year, when the nights turned hot, the fireflies came.
And it never failed to amaze her. She followed their trail of lights as they darted in and out of the shadows.
She counted twenty-seven before she turned to Ethan, but he was watching her, not the fireflies. “Aren’t you counting?” she asked.
“I don’t need luck,” he said quietly, eyes still on her.
“What do you need?”
“Careful, little thorn. Or I might answer.”
She couldn’t pretend not to know what he meant, but she did not press him either. The pull between them was alive, full of its own magic. He might have tried to warn her away earlier with his little trick, but he couldn’t pretend to be indifferent. Not fully.
And she had a few tricks of her own.
“I thought a captain would be more superstitious,” she said. “Don’t ships have all those rules? Don’t set sail on a Friday? Never kill an albatross?”
“Matthias hangs a hot cross bun in the galley to prevent fires,” he admitted. “And I have rules,” he added. “Those aren’t them.”
He didn’t elaborate.
“There’s nothing you do for luck? Pick four-leaf clovers? Make a wish on dandelions?” That was a favorite of hers. “Wear daisies in your hair?”
“How did you guess?”
“You seem the type. So frivolous.”
His mouth twitched with amusement. “Do I?”
She grinned. “I could make you a daisy crown. It would be very fearsome. King of the Iron Crows.”
“As fearsome as you?”
“Oh, at the very least.”
“Best not risk it. Not sure Haven could handle it.”
She sat at the edge of the pond when her hip began to protest the uneven ground. Ethan sat next to her, lithe and graceful. “Your hip is bothering you.”
She shrugged. “It comes and goes.”
“Did someone…hurt you?” The question was both gentle and rough. Patient but commanding. A dagger through the still night air. Pure Ethan.
She shook her head. “It’s always been like that. Sometimes it’s perfectly fine and then other times it does not like to stay in its place. The doctors all say the joint is weak, or loose.”
“And the witches?”
“No spell for this kind of thing. It is what it is.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t say anything else, not for a long moment, until he added, “Look up.”
She did as he asked, expecting his dragon to be showing off, or a swallow to be diving for insects. But it was only the night sky, on fire with stars and magical in its own way.
“I count stars,” he said. “My mother told me they would bring me luck when I was a boy.”
“She did? Oh, I like that. It means I don’t have to wait for the fireflies. Sometimes I need luck in January too.” She slid him a sidelong glance. “Where is your mother now?”
“She died a long, long time ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My father left soon after, but that was for the best. I hopped on the first ship that would have me.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight.”
“Eight years old?” She sounded as scandalized as she was. When she was eight years old, she was building twig houses for snails and trying to catch fireflies and then releasing them immediately when she felt bad for putting them in a jar.
He shrugged one shoulder, faintly amused at her outburst. “My father was gone, thank God, and I loved the sea and that was good enough for me.”
It made sense for a boy who had power over water. She still hated it on his behalf. He ought to have had birthday cakes and holidays at the beach and someone to make him tea when he was cold.
“And then Granny Gallows claimed me and it wasn’t so bad.”
“Who is Granny Gallows?”
“She was an ornery old weather witch who could make any man cry at ten paces. She bullied everyone. She would have bullied the king if she’d met him.”
Briar smiled at the image and the softness to his tone when he spoke of her.
“I’ll make dandelion wishes on her behalf,” she said, and then instantly felt silly.
He did not need her prayers. “I never met my father,” she added.
“He died a year after Petal and I were born, but my mother liked to tell stories of how he rode into the village on a gold Pegasus. Or how he called all the bluebirds from the sky on her birthday.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure any of them are true.”
“My father tossed me in the well on my birthday because he made a wager over my powers. Keep your stories. They’re not harming anyone.”
“That rat. Where is he now? I have a lovely tea blend in mind, just for him.”
Ethan did smile then. “If I can’t murder Aster, it doesn’t seem fair that you get to murder my father.”
“I suppose,” she grumbled. “But I could make his nose bleed stinging nettles. Or give him violent stomach cramps.”
“If my mother never managed to murder him, I’m not sure anyone could,” he said wryly. “She was not an easy woman, but she did her best by me.” He frowned. “I haven’t spoken about any of them in years.”
She slipped her hand into his because she understood perfectly well that sometimes families were complicated. You could love them and still find it easier to be on your own, all while your chest cracked with the grief of missing them.
They stayed like that for a long moment, lying in the warm grass, the stars glittering above.