Chapter Six Lyra #3
“That’s Rab arriving,” Nova murmured, suddenly at my elbow. Instinctively, I stiffened. She never asked me any questions about him, understanding in her own way that I didn’t want to discuss it. For as much as we poked at each other, my sisters still showed up when it mattered.
Like now. I glanced over my shoulder to see Rab, looking incredibly dashing, leading Broca toward where some dancers swayed by the fire. They had a special bond, the two of them, but to her credit, Broca had never once tried to interfere with my non-relationship with Rab.
Nova hooked an arm through mine and steered me toward the long tables where I’d be setting out my desserts later, using the excuse of “helping” to guide me past the arrivals before I could get stuck in the line of greetings.
Between the trees, more people flowed into the clearing, lanterns swinging from their hands and cloaks swirling. Music lilted, a jaunty wee tune, and snatches of conversation and laughter floated our way.
“Much fancier than the Mabon festivals we had when we were growing up,” Nova said, leaning into me, as we waved at a few people who smiled brightly at us.
It was a far cry from the way people had first reacted when we’d returned to Briarhaven.
The response had been lukewarm at best and the mood wary.
Since then, we’d basically gone on a publicity tour of the town, slowly winning our way into everyone’s hearts.
Well, not everyone’s. Mandy still hated us.
But now the clearing was packed with people dressed in their finest gowns and cloaks, and to my delight, everyone had gone all out.
There were antlers and flower crowns, painted faces and rune-etched masks.
Fae wings, witch hats, and even a man dressed in an elaborate crow costume that made him look like he’d flown out of some goth fairy tale.
In moments, people surrounded me, and the evening took on a blurred quality.
I slipped easily into hostess mode, helping Henry set out the platters of harvest breads, cinnamon-sugar twists, honey-roasted nuts, and the berry tarts I’d managed to bake without accidentally burning the house down.
But only because I’d forced myself to not use my magick at all, no matter how much it called to me.
We moved along the trestle tables together, arranging dishes under lantern light while townsfolk drifted over with warm smiles and full mugs.
Mrs. Kerr complimented my blackberry crumble and pressed a crocheted acorn charm into my hand for good luck, elderly Mr. Murphy insisted I try a sip of his allegedly award-winning equinox tonic—which nearly singed my eyebrows—and a trio of teenagers played a game of fetch with Haggis.
For the first time, instead of feeling like an outsider passing through, I felt woven into the very fabric of Briarhaven—laughing, chatting, refilling platters, until warmth prickled at my back, and I turned to see my father watching me from the edge of the clearing, pride softening every line of his face.
“Dad!” I crowed, delighted. I hadn’t been sure he’d be able to make it down from the ridge where he would be helping with the final act of the festival—the dragon flyover.
“I’m so glad you were able to make it down here,” I said, leaning into his hug.
The rough wool of his cloak scratched my cheek in the best way.
“I know how hard it is for you to get away. The dragons don’t exactly like to share you.
” My father had been working for years for the dragons, one of the few humans they trusted fully, and we had slowly been working on rebuilding our relationship after his absence in our lives.
He huffed a laugh, eyes crinkling. “They can be bribed with sweets or sparkles if the occasion’s important enough.” He stepped back, gaze soft as he took me in. “This felt important. It’s the first time the dragons are formally flying over Briarhaven in my lifetime.”
“It does feel special, doesn’t it?” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about my worries about my magick.
“Listen, Lyra, I have something for you. A belated birthday gift. Consider it… an aid.”
“An aid?” My heart kicked. “For what? My chronic inability to fold fitted sheets?”
“For your magick, imp.” He reached into an inner pocket of his cloak and drew out a small charcoal-gray pouch, soft as smoke, tied with a bit of braided leather. “Broca told me that it’s finally come in, but you’re struggling. And, well, the dragons insisted.”
“The dragons got me a present?” I clapped my hands together under my chin, bouncing on my heels as he handed me the gift. “Can I open it now?”
“Of course.” Russell’s lips quirked.
Excited, I opened the soft pouch and drew out a delicate gold chain. On it nestled a pendant in the shape of a bloomed rose. I studied the pale pink petals, which shifted in color beneath the festival lights, and the faint glow of magick that seemed to pulse from within.
“What is this flower made of?” I looked up at him, confused and awed. “This is… exquisite. Really, really beautiful, Dad.”
The smile widened on his face.
“It’s dragon scales.”
My mouth dropped open.
“No way,” I breathed. My fingers tingled where they brushed the petals. Power hummed against my skin.
“Aye. They gave me permission to collect the dropped ones.” Pride warmed his voice.
“I’ve been fiddling about with how to make the idea I had in my head.
Once they caught wind of it, everyone wanted to chip in.
So I should say, this is a gift from me and the dragons.
For you. Hopefully to help with your magick. ”
“Dad,” I whispered.
“The scales are from different dragons,” he continued.
“Some strong in fire, some in air, some in the steadiness of stone. Woven together, they hold balance. When you wear it, it should help you find your center when your spells want to do the opposite of what you ask.” His mouth twisted.
“Call it a… magical stabilizer. Like training wheels, but shinier.”
Dragons were fiercely loyal to those they loved, so this was no small gift.
“Och.” I waved my hands in front of my face as my eyes filled. “You’ve got me going.”
Instantly contrite, my dad shoved his hands in his pockets, awkwardness making his shoulders jerk. “I didn’t mean… I thought you would—”
“No, no.” I waved his words away and turned, baring my neck to him, lifting my hair. “Please. Can you put it on for me? My hands are shaking too much, and I’m worried I’ll drop it. What a stunning gift.”
As soon as the necklace slid around my neck, clasp settling at the nape, I could feel the power humming through it. Warmth spread down my sternum, a gentle press, as if someone had rested a hand just over my heart.
There was no other way to explain it, but I just felt love. It was as though the necklace would be a constant reminder that I was loved, even if not always in the way that I needed. The sheer enormity of the present—birthday gifts had been rare growing up—caused the tears to spill over.
“Dad, you’re the best,” I said thickly. “I’m just going to pop to the springs to collect myself and make sure I don’t ruin the very expensive artwork on my face.
” I turned and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
My father looked relieved, and I squeezed his arm before slipping away, weaving among clusters of people and ducking under a line of hanging lanterns.
Sometimes my feelings were just like that. Too big. Too all-encompassing. They’d take over and I’d need a moment to sort through the thoughts in my head, making sense of the scramble of emotions.
A quiet moment alone was all I needed, and I’d be back, ready to watch dragons set the sky on fire.
The path away from the main clearing narrowed, pine needles soft under my boots.
To the left, laughter and music faded, and to the right, the forest deepened into a hush broken only by the crackle of distant fires and the occasional shout.
The coven had set up small reflection glades off the main clearing.
They were places for offerings, for meditating, or, in my case, for trying not to bawl like a baby.
I followed a trail of floating will-o’-the-wisp lights to the small spring that fed the stream running past town.
It shimmered in a hollow between moss-covered stones, the surface reflecting the lanterns that had been hung in the branches overhead.
Someone had placed flat stones around it in a rough circle, and on one side a small standing stone had been carved with runes that glowed faintly blue.
Untying my mask, I fanned my face as I walked, dragging in deep breaths to calm myself. The cool air off the water kissed my flushed cheeks.
How did you not become emotional when your father and a bunch of dragons gifted you something so… priceless?
He was a good man.
How close we’d come to not giving him the second chance he so deserved.
I sank down on one of the flat stones and closed my eyes, pressing my fingers lightly to the pendant. The warmth pulsed under my palm in steady, reassuring beats. Gradually, my breathing eased.
I was not alone.
I knew it a second before I heard footsteps and the sensation of being seen pricked along my skin. My eyes flew open.
Across the spring, someone stood in the shadows, half hidden by the standing stone. The lantern light caught on a familiar jawline, stubble, the edge of a tartan, the glint of a mask.
Rab.
Of course it was Rab.
We stared at each other across the water, the spring reflecting our faces back in distorted smears of color.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. His voice was rough, like he’d had to drag the words out. “You bolted like the bonfire was about to explode.”