ELEVEN #3
“You made me stand there while they all pitied me!” I toss a napkin at her. “They thought I wasn’t right in the head!”
Lyra dodges effortlessly. “I mean, would you rather be pitied or married?”
Sera lifts her glass, eyes twinkling. “To Amara, our accidental bride.”
Rowena clinks her glass against Sera’s. “And to her valiant escape into the woods.”
Lyra leans in, barely containing her laughter. “And to the poor boy whose heart she absolutely shattered.”
I point at Lyra again, still riding the wave of it. “For the record, I’ve saved your life more than once.”
Rowena straightens, eyes narrowing. “Wait. I thought we agreed that was too soon.”
Lyra scoffs. “Please. I’m fine.” She gestures toward me. “And she is absolutely never letting that go.”
I grin. “Not a chance.”
Lyra lifts her glass. “Also, no one is telling Thane about that boy.”
Rowena snorts. “Of course he’d be jealous. He can be a bit of a hothead.”
Sera’s lips curve faintly. “A bit?”
Lyra snorts. “He’d hunt that poor man down.” She leans forward, lowering her voice just slightly. “Did you see the way he looked at Kieran?”
I wince.
“Exactly,” Lyra says, satisfied. “That farmer’s son would be nothing more than a bard’s tale if he found out.”
“Wait—wait—” Rowena cuts in. “Who’s Kieran, and why am I only now hearing about this man Thane is jealous of?”
Heat rushes to my face. “It’s nothing. Just a soldier from the outpost.”
“A soldier Mara kissed,” Lyra adds helpfully.
Sera’s brows lift. “My word. You are busy,” she teases.
“It’s nothing!” I protest. “One drunken kiss.” My gaze flicks to Rowena. “Before Thane.”
“Oh, it’s fine, Amara.” Rowena waves me off.
Lyra leans in again, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “And he’s here. In the capital.”
“For all the Elemental gods, Ly,” I groan, dragging a hand down my face.
Sera barks out a laugh.
“He is?!” Rowena exclaims. “Oh, I need to meet him!” Rowena glances at me with a mischievous look in her eyes. “To Amara, our very own heartbreaker.”
They raise their glasses, cheering.
I let out a defeated sigh as they drink to my suffering.
Rowena leans back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, studying me for a moment longer than necessary. Then, something in her expression shifts.
“I am glad you’re here,” she says.
Her gaze flicks toward Sera before returning to me. “He’s . . . different. In a good way.” A beat. “Happier.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“And for that,” she adds, more quietly now, “I’m grateful.”
Sera’s hand lifts, brushing lightly through Rowena’s dark hair, her fingers lingering at the back of her neck. It’s an easy gesture, one she’s likely done countless times.
Rowena leans into it without thinking.
Lyra, who has been watching all of this with a barely contained grin, finally chimes in.
“Well, of course he is,” she says. “Have you met her?”
I roll my eyes. “Ly—”
“No, I’m serious,” she insists, leaning forward. “She’s always been like this. Wild. Stubborn. Doing things no one else would even attempt.” Her grin softens. “It was only a matter of time before the rest of the world caught up.”
Rowena arches her brow. “Wild, is she?”
“Very,” Lyra says without hesitation.
Sera smiles slightly. “That tracks.”
Rowena’s attention returns to me, more curious now. “So. How is all of this going?” She gestures to the room, but her meaning is clear. All of it. The Spiritborn, the capital, my life being completely redefined.
I hesitate, then answer honestly. “It’s . . . a lot.”
Sera nods. “I imagine it is.” She tilts her head slightly. “And how are you handling it? Being the Spiritborn?”
Lyra’s eyes meet mine, understanding in them. She’s been with me since the beginning—since my powers awakened the night my parents died.
I let out a breath. “Some days are better than others.” A small pause. “I’m still figuring it out.”
“That sounds about right,” Rowena mutters.
I glance at Lyra, a small smile pulling at my lips. “I couldn’t do any of it without her.”
Lyra blinks, clearly caught off guard for once. “Well,” she says, sitting up a little straighter, “obviously.”
I laugh softly.
The night stretches on, the laughter spilling over like the wine in our cups.
Three bottles of deep red, rich and heady, now empty, sit clustered in the center of the table, their corks discarded somewhere among the crumbs of dinner. I cut myself off after three glasses, knowing my limits, but the others? Not so much.
Rowena lounges in her chair, one boot propped up beside her, looking entirely at ease. Sera still sips, slower now, her sharp gaze softened by the wine.
And Lyra—
Lyra is a disaster.
She’s half-slumped over the table, giggling at something no one said, her glass abandoned after nearly slipping from her hand twice.
I shake my head, amused. “Alright, that’s it for you.”
Lyra lifts a hand, wagging a finger in the air. “You always say that, and yet—I am still drinking.”
“No, you’re not.” I gesture towards her. “You finished that half an hour ago.”
Lyra blinks at her empty hand, then pouts. “Betrayal.”
Rowena lets out a drunken guffaw. “You’re a lightweight.”
Lyra pushes herself upright—and immediately tips to the side.
“I am perfectly fine,” she declares, the words slightly slurring.
Sera hums. “Really? Then stand up.”
Lyra plants both hands on the table and pushes herself to her feet with tremendous determination.
She manages to stay upright for a single triumphant second before swaying, blinking at the room as though it has somehow shifted around her.
A moment later, she loses her battle with gravity and drops straight back into her chair.
The impact rattles the table.
Lyra immediately points an accusing finger at the floor. “That moved.”
I raise a brow. “Perfectly fine, huh?”
Lyra squints at me, attempting a glare. “You’re just jealous because I can glug glug more than you.”
I scoff. “Glug-glug? Sure. But stand? Not so much.”
Lyra waves a hand. “Semantics.”