51. Submersion
Submersion
Morning brought with it the sounds of a household already in motion—children's laughter, the clatter of cookware, voices raised in conversation.
I woke slowly, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar room before remembering where I was.
Sunlight streamed through the window I'd left open, carrying with it the scent of fresh bread and flowering vines.
Eventually, I rose and dressed, splashing water on my face from the basin before venturing out to join the household.
The main room was already bustling with activity—breakfast preparations in full swing, children darting between adults, conversations flowing in that musical language I couldn't understand.
"Ah, she wakes!" Teller called out when he spotted me, raising a steaming mug in greeting. "We thought you might sleep the day away."
"Sorry," I said, suddenly self-conscious. "I didn't realize?—"
"He's teasing," Amara said, appearing at my side with a warm mug that she pressed into my hands. "The morning is still young. Drink. It will clear your head."
The drink was fragrant and slightly sweet, with unfamiliar spices that tingled pleasantly on my tongue.
"Where's Xül?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I scanned the room.
"Gone before dawn," Nuri said, settling into her chair by the window. "A fishing expedition with some of the men."
A pang of disappointment shot through me, though I tried not to examine it too closely.
"He promised to return for the evening festivities," Amara added, clearly reading my expression.
"Oh," I said. "That's... good."
Nuri's knowing smile made me flush. I busied myself with my drink, pretending not to notice.
The day passed in a pleasant blur of preparation for the solstice celebration.
I was put to work, helping to prepare special dishes and decorations that would be used in the evening's festivities.
Dara and Davi followed me around when they weren't being shooed away by their mother, asking endless questions about Saltcrest, about Xül, about my powers.
"Can you make a big star?" Davi asked for perhaps the tenth time, his eyes wide with fascination. "Like, big enough to ride on?"
"It would burn you to cinders before you got anywhere near it." I explained, kneading dough.
"Awesome," he breathed.
As sunset approached, the household transformed—special clothes were brought out, faces painted with intricate designs, hair adorned with beads and tiny fresh flowers.
Amara found me in my room, where I'd retreated to adjust the clothing I'd traveled in—a poor choice for a celebration, but all I had.
"This won't do at all," she declared, eyeing my attire with dismay. She disappeared briefly, returning with a folded bundle of fabric in rich blues and purples. "Mena is closest to your size. She said you may borrow these."
The garments were beautiful—a flowing dress with embroidery along the hem and sleeves, and a shawl of finely woven fabric that shimmered subtly in the light. I protested weakly, but Amara was insistent.
"It's the solstice," she said, as if that explained everything. "Now, sit. Your hair needs attention."
I let her work it into an elaborate style with small braids woven through the loose waves, adorned with white flowers from the garden. When she was finished, she stepped back to assess her work.
"Better," she pronounced with satisfaction. "Now you look like you belong."
The words sent an unexpected pang through me. I didn't belong here, no matter how much I might have wished to. Soon we would return to Voldaris, to the Trials, to the brutal reality waiting for us there.
As if reading my thoughts, Amara's expression softened. "Tonight, at least, you are one of us. Try to make the most of it."
The celebration began as the sun dipped below the horizon. The village center had been transformed—lanterns hung from every available surface, tables laden with food lined the edges of a central square, and musicians had set up near a wooden platform that served as a dance floor.
The entire village seemed to be in attendance, from infants to elders, all dressed in their finest clothes and adorned with flowers and paint. I stayed close to Amara's family.
And then Xül was there, appearing at the edge of the gathering just as the first stars became visible in the darkening sky.
He'd changed as well, wearing a simple but elegant tunic in deep blue with silver embroidery at the collar and cuffs.
His hair was still braided in the style Nuri had given him, small wooden beads, replacing the gold ones he always wore.
Our eyes met across the crowded square, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. He made his way toward me, acknowledging greetings from villagers with nods and brief smiles, his gaze never leaving mine .
"You look..." he began when he reached me, then seemed to reconsider his words. "Different."
I raised an eyebrow. "Different good or different bad?"
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Just different. I'm used to seeing you covered in training bruises and scowling at me."
"I do not scowl," I protested.
"You absolutely do," he countered, his eyes traveling over my borrowed dress and adorned hair. "But not tonight, it seems."
Before I could respond, Teller appeared, clapping Xül on the shoulder. "There you are! Come, both of you. The ceremony is about to begin."
We followed him to where the villagers were gathering in a circle around a shallow pool that had been constructed in the center of the square. Floating in the water were dozens of small clay bowls, each containing a candle surrounded by flower petals.
Nuri stepped forward, her face solemn as she raised her hands for silence. When the crowd quieted, she began to speak, her voice carrying clearly across the square. Though I couldn't understand the words, the rhythm of them was hypnotic, almost like a chant or prayer.
"She's blessing the waters," Xül murmured close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "Asking for fertility for the crops, for health for the children, for peace for the village."
As Nuri continued, young girls moved around the circle, handing each person a small clay bowl with an unlit candle. When Amara placed one in my hands, I looked to Xül questioningly.
"Your wishes for the coming season," he explained softly. "You light it from the central flame, make your wish, and set it afloat."
One by one, villagers stepped forward, lighting their candles before placing their bowls in the pool. Some whispered before releasing them; others simply closed their eyes for a moment, faces serene in the flickering light.
When my turn came, I lit my candle, the warm light illuminating my hands. What did I wish for? Survival seemed too basic, too selfish. Success in the Trials felt hollow.
In the end, I closed my eyes and wished for Thatcher's safety, for a future where his fate wasn't cut short as Heron had warned. I pulled on our bond, and I felt a pulse as he pulled back. Still safe. When we were back in Draknavor, I’d find a way to get to him, to speak with him. I had to.
I knelt and gently placed my bowl in the water, watching as it drifted to join the others.
Xül was the last to add his light to the gathering.
As he returned to my side, the musicians began to play—strings and drums and flutes creating a melody both joyful and haunting. The formal part of the celebration apparently complete, people broke from the circle to fill plates with food, to dance, to gather.
Without warning, Xül extended his hand to me.
"What are you doing?"
"Dance with me, starling," he said, a challenge in his eyes. "Might as well get to use those skills I taught you."
I hesitated only briefly before taking his hand, allowing him to lead me to the edge of the platform where other couples moved in time to the music. His hand settled at my waist, mine on his shoulder, our other hands clasped together.
"I'm still not very good at this," I warned as we began to move.
"Fortunately, I am," he replied, guiding me with subtle pressure at my waist. "Just follow my lead."
And I did, letting him steer us through the simple steps of the dance. After a few moments, I relaxed into the rhythm.
"You're full of surprises tonight," I said as he turned us smoothly to avoid an enthusiastic older couple.
"Only tonight?" he asked, his voice pitched low.
I thought of all the ways he'd surprised me since we'd met—his unexpected kindness, his dry humor, his momentary vulnerabilities.
"No," I admitted. "Not just tonight."
His eyes held mine, and for a moment, it seemed like he might say something more. But then the music ended, and he stepped back, releasing me.
"Thank you for the dance," he said formally, though his eyes stayed trained on me.
"My pleasure," I replied, meaning it more than I cared to admit.
"Come.” He said.
I followed him. Several small boats had been decorated with flowers and lanterns, and villagers were climbing into them, laughing and calling to one another across the water.
"The midnight boat procession," he said. "We float through the village, visiting springs at the heart of the oldest canals."
"A midnight boat ride with the prince of Draknavor? How intriguing." I teased.
"I suppose we don't have to," he said, echoing his words from the previous night.
"No, I'd like to," I admitted. "If you don't mind."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded, holding the boat steady as I carefully stepped in.
It rocked alarmingly beneath my weight, but Xül's hand at my elbow kept me balanced until I could sit on one of the two narrow benches.
He followed with considerably more grace, taking the seat opposite me and reaching for the single oar stowed along the side.
Around us, other boats were pushing off from the bank, forming a loose procession that began to move slowly down the canal. Our small craft joined them.