50. Reflections
Reflections
I stumbled through the portal after Xül, Heron's words still burning in my mind. Your brother's line is cut short. The moment the silvery light of the portal gave way, the world transformed around me.
The desert heat vanished, replaced by cool, gentle air that carried the scent of water and greenery. I blinked, momentarily forgetting my panic.
Mist hung low over canals that stretched in every direction, their surfaces reflecting the golden afternoon light.
As the haze thinned, it revealed buildings that seemed to float upon the water—cottages with steep thatched roofs, their walls painted in vivid colors that stood out against the brilliant green.
Footbridges arched over narrow waterways, connecting homes that would otherwise be isolated islands.
The world painted itself before my eyes: a child running along a narrow path, trailing a colorful kite; birds with over-stuffed plumage soaring between trees; flowers climbing trellises and spilling over window sills in cascades of purple and white .
"Where are we?" I whispered, afraid to break the spell of this place.
"Somewhere I should visit more often," Xül replied. “The Village of Mireen.”
A narrow boat glided past, steered by a woman with dark skin and long black curls. She called out in a language I didn't recognize. Xül responded in the same tongue, raising his hand in greeting.
"You speak their language," I said, stating the obvious as I tried to gather my scattered thoughts.
"It would be strange if I didn't." He began walking along a narrow path that bordered one of the wider canals. "This is where my family lives. Osythe's descendants."
I hurried to catch up with him, pushing thoughts of Thatcher aside for the moment. "You didn't mention we'd be meeting more family."
His eyes scanned the village, taking in details with quiet appreciation. "I didn't want to miss the opportunity."
"How long has it been?" I asked, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch covered in small white flowers.
"Two years," he said, his voice carrying a hint of regret. "Maybe three."
We turned down a narrower waterway lined with flowering bushes that trailed their branches into the canal.
The water was so clear I could see tiny fish darting between water plants with trailing roots.
I glanced up as we approached a large cottage set slightly back from the water on a small rise of land.
Unlike the others, this home was surrounded by a garden—tall stalks with broad leaves, bushy herbs with tiny white flowers, vines climbing into crevices in the cottage’s exterior.
Before we reached the door, it swung open. A woman stepped out—tall and regal with walnut skin and black hair woven into elaborate braids. She wore a dress of deep indigo embroidered with patterns in gold thread. Her eyes fixed on Xül, and she smirked, crossing her arms.
"So, the wanderer returns," she said, her voice carrying an accent I couldn't place.
Xül inclined his head slightly. "Amara."
The woman studied him for a long moment, then broke into a wide smile. "It’s been a while, Prince."
To my shock, she stepped forward and pulled Xül into an embrace, which he returned without hesitation. When they separated, her gaze shifted to me.
"And who is this you've brought to our doorstep?"
Xül said. "She's?—"
"He’s my mentor," I interjected, not entirely sure why I felt the need to define our relationship so quickly. “I’m Thais Morvaren.”
Amara's eyebrows rose as her gaze moved between us. "Thais." She smiled again. "Well, any guest of Xül's is welcome in our home. Come in, both of you."
As we followed her inside, I whispered to Xül, "Who is she to you?"
"A distant relative," he replied.
His arm brushed against mine as we entered the house, and fire licked its way up my spine. It had been like this since that night—every accidental touch charged with the memory of his hands in my hair and his eyes drinking me in.
The interior of the home opened into a large central room filled with light from windows that faced the canal. At least a dozen people of varying ages moved about, preparing what appeared to be some kind of feast. Unfamiliar spices filled the air.
Conversations in that same language flowed around us, punctuated by laughter. Everyone had similar deep brown skin in various shades, many with features that reminded me of Xül and his mother—the particular shape of their eyes, the angle of their cheekbones, the way they gestured when they spoke.
"Xül!" A deep voice boomed across the room. A man with broad shoulders and gray-streaked hair twisted into thick locs pushed through the crowd. "About time you showed your face around here! "
"Teller," Xül greeted him, clasping forearms. "Still making trouble for Amara?"
"Every chance I get," the man replied with a hearty laugh, clapping Xül on the shoulder. His eyes found me. "And who's this?"
"Thais," I said before anyone could answer for me.
“I’m her mentor,” Xül added, glancing quickly over at me.
"Interesting." Teller's eyebrows rose as he glanced between us. He extended his hand to me. "Teller, Amara's long-suffering husband."
"He means I've suffered long because of him," Amara said dryly as she moved past us toward the kitchen.
Children raced over, calling out to Xül in their language. An elderly woman rose slowly from a cushioned chair by the window, her face creasing into a maze of wrinkles as she smiled. Two young men abandoned a game they'd been playing to join the growing circle around us.
"Children, give our guests room to breathe," Amara commanded, though her tone was gentle. "Nuri, come meet Thais."
The elderly woman approached, leaning on a carved wooden cane. Her white hair was braided and piled atop her head, adorned with small wooden beads.
"So," she said, her voice surprisingly strong despite her age, "this is the one you've chosen to train." Her eyes studied me. "She has fire in her."
"She’s certainly something.” The side of Xül’s mouth twitched.
"Much like you, then," she replied with a wry smile before turning her gaze back to me. “Are you as big a troublemaker as this one, here?"
I laughed. “I wouldn’t even try to compete.”
“Wise girl.” She nodded, elbowing Xül in the ribs.
A younger woman approached, balancing an infant on her hip. "Grandmother, let them at least come in properly before you start interrogating them." She turned to me with a warm smile. "I'm Layla. Welcome to our home. "
"Thank you," I said, suddenly aware of how out of place I felt in this close-knit family gathering. "It's beautiful here."
"We think so," Layla agreed, bouncing the baby who had begun to fuss. "We're preparing for the summer solstice feast tomorrow. You've arrived just in time."
“Oh, we’re not staying,” Xül said.
“Nonsense.” Nuri swatted at him with her cane. “You can stay for a night. We probably won’t see you for a few more years, after all.”
Xül simply sighed and plopped down on the sofa, crossing his legs.
"Solstice?" I asked, attempting to steer the conversation. “We had smaller celebrations in Saltcrest.”
Layla's eyes widened with interest. "The coastal town?"
I nodded, surprised. "You know of it?"
"My granddaughter traveled a lot when she was younger," Nuri interjected. "She said the food was to die for."
"Come," Amara cut through the conversation. "I promise I won’t continue this interrogation in the kitchen."
I laughed, following her to a large wooden table where colorful vegetables were piled high. Several women were already at work, cutting, grinding spices, or kneading dough. A girl of perhaps twelve sat cross-legged on a stool, sorting through a basket of beans.
"Dara, make room for our guest," Amara instructed.
"Are you really Death's chosen?" she asked immediately, her voice hushed but eager.
"Dara!" Amara scolded. "Mind your manners."
"It's alright," I assured her, taking the offered seat beside Dara. "Yes, I am. Though he's not really?—"
"He's not really Death," Dara finished for me, nodding sagely. "He's the Prince of Death. Grandmother explained it all. His father is the real Death, but Xül works for him."
I blinked. "That's... basically right."
Amara handed me a knife and a pile of root vegetables. "These need to be sliced thinly for the stew," she instructed. "Like this." She demonstrated, her movements quick and precise.
I followed her example, settling into the familiar rhythm of kitchen work. Across the room, I noticed Xül had been cornered by Teller and two other men and was deep in conversation.
"So," Layla said, taking a seat across from me while continuing to balance her baby, "how is Voldaris treating you?"
"Some days are better than others," I replied, focusing on my cutting. "But not nearly as terrible as I’d imagined."
"Xül hasn’t driven you mad yet," she said with a laugh. "So I’d have to imagine you’re pretty resilient."
"That's one word for it," I agreed, unable to suppress a small smile.
"He's different with you," Nuri observed, settling into a chair at the head of the table. "More at ease."
I glanced up, surprised by the comment. "I wouldn't say that."
"I would," the old woman countered. "I've known that boy his entire life."
I felt suddenly exposed, as if she could see right through me to the confused tangle of emotions I'd been trying to ignore—desire and fear and something far too illicit to acknowledge.
Layla cut through my thoughts. “You dice those very well for someone who's never prepared kalara before."
"I'm used to prepping food," I explained. "In Saltcrest, I worked with my father harvesting oysters."
"Oysters!" Dara exclaimed. "I've never had those. Are they good?"
"The best," I assured her. "Especially fresh from the sea."
Xül was seated on a low stool surrounded by several of the older family members. Nuri had left our table and now stood behind him, her fingers working deftly through his braids.