Episode 103
Confession
“They’ll sleep for a while,” Tharios whispers to Cerian after Rominy rejoins Elowyn in the heartlanding. “You don’t have to stay.”
Before Cerian can respond, the door to Elowyn’s hotel room slowly opens as the rest of his family returns from their walk.
Mother stops short at the sight of the singed curtains before glancing at the bed and then at Cerian.
“It wasn’t me,” he says.
Though he did singe that rug. The hotel owner will never allow them to return if they keep lighting his hotel on fire.
“It was me,” Viala says, her frustration still evident. “I was practicing creating lights, and one of them caught fire. If Cerian hadn’t been here...”
She doesn’t finish her thought as she rubs her closed eyes with her hands.
But they all know what she’s thinking. If he hadn’t been here to contain the fire, Tharios would have been compelled by the magic of the oathbinding to do so himself.
“No one was hurt?” Father asks, and Tharios shakes his head.
“We’re all fine. It’s just some singed curtains.” Tharios pulls Viala close again, and she clings to him.
“We’ll pay to replace them,” Father says. “It will be all right. And when we return to Windhaven, we’ll practice with your magic more. In the meantime, how is Elowyn?”
“Exhausted, as far as I can tell,” Tharios says without letting Viala go. “She’s been fighting to reach Rominy all day. She needed to rest.”
Mother lowers herself to the side of the bed and takes Elowyn’s hand. “They both needed to rest. As do you, Tharios. A nap in a chair is not enough.”
“I’m f—”
“Do not tell me you are fine. You will rest, or I will douse you. And then you will rest.”
Cerian struggles not to smile.
“So I either rest while dry or while wet?” Tharios asks, his own mouth twitching into a grin.
“Yes.” Mother sends him a glare hearkening back to her warrior days. Whistling wind, she can be fierce.
Tharios seems unfazed, though. “I believe I would prefer dry if given the option.”
“Wise choice, my elfling,” Father whispers.
As they speak, Arisanna watches from Rominy’s side. What thoughts fill her head when his family jokes this way in front of her? It warms his heart that she’s settled into his family so fully that they speak freely in her presence.
“Someone other than Elowyn could use your attention now,” Grandmera says pointedly to Tharios, and Tharios turns more serious again as he tightens his hold on Viala.
Thoughts of Arisanna suddenly coming into barely controlled magic terrify Cerian. He doesn’t envy Tharios having to guard Viala’s burgeoning power.
“I’m fine,” Viala insists, but she doesn’t look fine.
“Come on. Let’s go for a walk,” Tharios says, and Viala only hesitates for a moment before nodding.
Soon, they’re gone, and Cerian clears his throat. He should probably just get this over with.
“Why do I have the feeling you’re about to make a confession of your own?” Father asks with the hint of a smile. “Did you catch something on fire, too?”
Cerian glances at Arisanna, who has turned bright red.
“I singed a small rug,” he says quickly. “In our suite.”
“He is your son,” Mother says from the bed.
Whistling wind. Cerian pushes that thought away.
But he may as well keep going.
“I also may have inadvertently turned our suite into a jungle.”
Everyone stills before turning toward him. Everyone but Arisanna, who seems to be struggling not to melt into the floor. A feeling Cerian can identify with strongly at the moment.
“I believe he is your son, my love,” Father says to Mother as he attempts unsuccessfully to hide a smile.
“I can’t get rid of all the vines,” Cerian mumbles as he looks down at his hands. “I’m uncertain what to do about it.”
“Let’s go see, shall we?” Father claps him on the shoulder. “We’ll get it cleaned up.”
Reluctantly, Cerian nods.
Arisanna meets his gaze, and he steps closer to her, leaning down to speak in her ear. “You’re welcome to come, but I anticipate this being an awkward encounter. It might be less awkward without you there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll likely go mad thinking about you, but I believe I’ll survive.”
When he pulls back, she’s smiling, and the startling urge to kiss her fills him.
She probably wouldn’t appreciate that.
A hesitancy fills her eyes. Whistling wind. Is he that transparent?
But she offers him her hand. What is he supposed to do now? Is she offering to join him?
Or is she attempting to meet him halfway?
She starts to pull it back, but he draws her inner wrist to his lips before letting her go, and she looks at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks.
Then he recalls the images in those books about human customs Elowyn was always shoving his way. Not that she read them. She just enjoyed looking at the images.
Images like the one of a man kissing the back of a woman’s hand. Fates save him. That would have been a much less intimate touch than what he just did.
When he gazes at his family, they all glance away, but he sees the look Mother and Father exchange.
“He is your son,” Mother says under her breath, and Father chuckles.
“He is both of yours,” Grandmera says. “Now off with you before some poor maid discovers a jungle in the hotel and sends us packing.”
Cerian glances at Arisanna’s flushed face before doing as Grandmera says, and Father follows as Cerian closes the door to Elowyn’s room and heads to the stairs.
“How is your fire magic?” Father asks in quiet Elvish. “Aside from the rug.”
The urge to turn and run the other way fills Cerian, but he forces himself to continue forward.
“I’m...managing.”
Father just nods, much to Cerian’s relief, and they climb the stairs in silence. When Cerian turns to the door of the honeymoon suite, Father chuckles. “They’ve got you quite isolated up here.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Father studies the placard hanging from the doorknob before chuckling again. “Let’s see what you did.”
Reluctantly, Cerian pushes the door open, and Father follows him inside. Father takes in the vines still dangling from the walls and littering the floor before his eyes alight on the bathtub and the bed, and Cerian forces his feet not to carry him far away from this moment.
“I’m impressed. Aside from your vines, I see no plant life within this room. You grew it all from dead wood?”
“I seem to have done that. Yes.”
“Before I go to all the trouble of helping you clean this up, are you planning to do it again?”
“I wasn’t planning to do it at all. My plant magic...got a little carried away.”
“Just a little.” Father smiles, and Cerian groans.
“Please tell me this is normal.”
“For a Westaria? Very normal. Though it’s usually air magic that gets...eager. I’m not sure a Westaria has ever had plant magic as powerful as yours. I truly am impressed, Cerian.”
“So was Arisanna. Which...you probably didn’t need to know.”
Laughter bursts from Father at that. “Struggling not to think about her?”
“I believe you know the answer to that.”
“I do, indeed. Well, we have a few options. I can help you clean this up now, and we can burn it all.”
“Or?”
“Or we can wait in case you want to play with your vines more before we leave.”
Cerian scowls at Father before he can stop himself.
“There’s my Cerian.” Father grins.
“I haven’t run yet. I’m beginning to regret that.”
“You’re doing just fine, my elfling. Truly.”
“I am...trying.”
Father wraps an arm around Cerian and draws him close. “I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”
“Arisanna makes it easy. And I can’t seem to stop thinking about her.”
“Or talking about her.” Father lets him go with a wink. “It’s good to hear you speak, Cerian. You have worthwhile thoughts to share with the world. Now, let’s get this cleaned up so you can return to making her blush in front of everyone.”
“I didn’t know what she wanted from me!”
“I doubt she minded what she got.” Father’s swirling air currents begin lifting vines from the floor and carrying them toward the hearth, and Cerian sends more vines after them. Memories of how it felt to catch Arisanna with his magic warm him, but he pushes them away.
What is she doing now? Sitting beside Rominy still, probably.
“Cer.”
Cerian looks up. “What?”
“Perhaps you should avoid using your plant magic right now.”
Whistling wind. The vines are longer than when they started.
“Or we’ll be here all night,” Father adds. “Why don’t you burn everything down while I worry about moving it to the hearth?”
Cerian nods as he wills his ears not to flame. Hopefully, he won’t catch the whole room on fire.