Chapter 12 Ressa
RESSA
My head feels like someone took a hammer to it repeatedly, then filled the cracks with sand and regret.
I stand next to Falla in the gathering clearing, acutely aware of every single sound—the murmur of conversation, the crackle of the fire, even the way fabric rustles when people shift position.
Everything registers too loud, too sharp, a reminder that I drank far more yesterday than my body was prepared to handle.
And I don't remember half of it.
That's the worst part. The memories exist in fragments—Falla's voice, steady and calm. His arms carrying me. The smell of herbs and smoke. Saying things I definitely shouldn't have said but can't quite recall the specifics of.
I sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He looks completely unaffected by yesterday's festivities, standing with that same neutral expression he always wears, blue-green eyes scanning the gathered crowd with clinical assessment.
He hasn't mentioned anything about yesterday. Hasn't brought up whatever mortifying confessions I probably made or how I clearly needed to be carried home like a child.
Professional silence. Healer discretion.
I should be grateful. Instead I'm just embarrassed.
Around us, it's clear I'm not the only one suffering. Most of the gathered orcs look distinctly worse for wear—eyes slightly glazed, movements more careful than usual, several wincing at louder sounds.
Ursik looks actively terrible.
The massive orc captain sways slightly on his feet, his usual boisterous energy replaced by something that looks like barely contained nausea. Kerra keeps shooting him amused looks while he tries to maintain dignity through what's clearly a catastrophic hangover.
"You look like death," Falla observes, his voice carrying just enough to reach Ursik's ears.
Ursik's response comes as a low groan. "I'm fine."
"Yes. Very convincing." Kai appears beside his friend, a smirk playing at his mouth that suggests zero sympathy. "How many times did you visit the waste bucket this morning?"
"That's private medical information."
"Six times," Kerra supplies helpfully. "And he couldn't eat breakfast."
"Traitor," Ursik mutters, though without any real heat. He presses a hand to his temple and grimaces. "Why does Drogath keep making these festivals involve drinking?"
"Because you're an idiot who can't pace yourself," Falla says mildly. "I literally told you yesterday to slow down."
"I was celebrating."
"You were showing off for your partner and now you're paying for it." The assessment comes completely dry, clinical observation without judgment. "Drink water. Lots of it. And stop whining."
Kai's smirk widens into an actual grin. "Remember when you said you could drink anyone under the table? That you had legendary tolerance?"
"I remember regretting many life choices, yes."
Saela appears at Kai's side, her expression soft with fondness as she watches the exchange. She looks completely fine—clear-eyed and steady, no visible effects from yesterday's drinking. When her gaze finds mine, she offers a small smile that I manage to return despite my pounding head.
She's been a good friend throughout all of this. Patient with my healing, understanding when I can't handle crowds, never pushing me past what I can manage. I feel bad for the way I've shut her out.
"At least you're suffering with dignity," she tells Ursik. "Bronn looks ready to die."
I follow her glance toward where Bronn stands with Shae. The massive orc chieftain does indeed look distinctly unwell—his green skin pale and carrying a slight sheen of sweat, his usual intimidating presence undercut by the way he's very carefully not moving too quickly.
Shae circles him with obvious amusement, her warm green eyes dancing with laughter. "My strong, fearless mate. Brought low by ceremonial brew."
"I'm fine," Bronn manages, though his voice lacks its usual commanding edge.
"You're sweating through your shirt."
"It's warm today."
"It's barely above freezing." Shae pats his arm with exaggerated gentleness. "Should I get you some water? Maybe a bucket for later?"
"I don't need—" Bronn cuts himself off and swallows hard, pressing a hand to his stomach. "Water would be acceptable."
The gathering erupts in low laughter. Even with my headache, watching the stoic clan leader reduced to hungover misery while his mate teases him mercilessly brings a smile to my face.
There's something oddly comforting about this—seeing everyone brought together by shared suffering, the easy teasing between partners, the way even the most intimidating orcs can't escape the consequences of drinking too much.
It feels normal in ways I haven't experienced since before everything fell apart.
Before the Stonevein. Before captivity. Before my entire world narrowed to survival and fear.
This week has been strange. Challenging. But also... good. Being part of something communal, watching relationships play out, slowly finding moments where anxiety doesn't consume everything.
And Falla. Having him as my partner has made it possible to participate at all.
I glance at him again. He's still watching Ursik with that same dry amusement, arms crossed over his chest. The morning light catches in his black hair, highlights the strong line of his jaw, the subtle warmth in his expression when someone says something particularly ridiculous.
He's attractive. Once I thought it, I couldn't stop. Lean but muscular build, the kind of controlled strength that comes from precision rather than brute force. Sharp eyes that notice everything but judge nothing. The rare smile that transforms his usually neutral expression into something softer.
And yesterday I probably told him all of that while drunk and mortifying myself completely.
Heat crawls up my neck at the thought. I definitely said things I shouldn't have. Admitted things I normally keep carefully hidden. The fragments I remember involve trusting him, feeling safe, maybe something about how he smells?
I want the ground to open and swallow me whole.
Drogath emerges from the main longhouse with his usual dramatic flair, arms spread wide and voice booming across the clearing. "Partners! Gather close for the most sacred of St. Padraig's rituals!"
The dramatic announcement makes several hungover orcs wince. Ursik actually closes his eyes like the sound physically pained him.
"Day Five," Drogath continues, either oblivious to or uncaring about his audience's collective suffering. "The Rainbow Vigil! When couples demonstrate their ability to create prosperity together through the ancient art of rainbow manifestation!"
"He means making rainbows with water and light," Falla murmurs beside me, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "Nothing mystical. Just physics."
The dry delivery makes my lips twitch despite my headache. "You don't believe in the sacred nature of rainbow creation?"
"I believe in light refraction through water particles." But there's warmth in his tone, subtle amusement that suggests he's enjoying my sarcasm. "The rest is Drogath inventing meaning."
Saela steps forward at Drogath's gesture, and the crowd quiets. She looks confident in a way I've only seen here among the clan—comfortable in her role as Kai's mate, engaged with the orcs. At first, I didn't know how to feel. Now…It makes me feel like I could have that too. Maybe.
"Alright," she begins, her voice carrying clearly. "Making rainbows isn't complicated. You need three things: water mist, sunlight or bright firelight, and the right angle. I'll show you how."
She demonstrates with practiced ease, using a water skin to create fine spray that catches the morning light. Within seconds, a small rainbow shimmers in the mist—delicate colors arcing through droplets.
The gathered crowd makes appreciative sounds. Even hungover, there's something magical about watching colors appear from nothing but water and light.
"The key is getting the spray fine enough and positioning yourself so the light source is behind you," Saela continues. "It takes practice, but once you get the angle right, the rainbow appears naturally."
Drogath spreads his arms wider. "This sacred knowledge, passed down from St. Padraig himself, represents the prosperity couples create when they combine their strengths! Today, each partnership will work together to manifest their rainbow blessing!"
"Still just physics," Falla mutters.
"Still pretty though," I counter.
His mouth quirks—not quite a smile but close. "Fair."
Partners begin spreading out across the clearing, claiming spaces to attempt their rainbow creation. Falla gestures toward the edge of the gathering area, away from the main crowd and noise.
"Better light angle over there," he explains. "And quieter."
Relief washes through me at the consideration.
He knows I still struggle with too many orcs in close proximity, that the crowd can overwhelm my carefully maintained composure.
Positioning us away from everyone else gives me space to breathe.
And might help this killer hangover that I'm surprised Falla doesn't have some magic remedy for.
We walk to the clearing's edge where morning sun streams through the trees at a better angle. Falla produces a water skin from somewhere and hands it to me.
"You try first," he says. "I'll watch and adjust if needed."
"You're not going to demonstrate?"
"I'm better at observing technique than executing it." His expression stays neutral but I catch the hint of self-deprecation. "Healer hands are trained for precision, not creating mist patterns."
I take the water skin and position myself the way Saela showed, trying to recall the exact angle. The first attempt produces water that's too heavy—droplets that fall rather than mist.
"Higher arc," Falla suggests from beside me. "And squeeze more gently."
I adjust, trying again. This time the spray comes finer but the angle's wrong—no colors appear.
"Turn slightly left. About three degrees."
"Three degrees?"
"Approximately." There's warmth in his voice now, subtle amusement. "I'm estimating."
I shift position and try again. The spray catches light differently this time and for just a second, I see it—a faint shimmer of color appearing in the mist before fading.
"Almost," Falla says. "Same angle but higher arc."
I make the adjustment, squeeze the water skin, and watch as a small but distinct rainbow appears in the spray. Colors arc through the mist in perfect progression—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet. Delicate and beautiful and completely real despite being made from nothing but water and light.
"I did it!" The words burst out before I can stop them, delight flooding through my chest at the success.
When I turn to Falla, he's watching me with an expression I've never seen on his face before. Soft. Almost tender. His blue-green eyes warm in ways that make my stomach do complicated things completely unrelated to my hangover.
He's usually so neutral—professional healer composure maintained at all times. But right now he's looking at me like I just accomplished something miraculous instead of creating basic light refraction.
The expression makes heat crawl up my neck again, different from my earlier embarrassment. This warmth has nothing to do with mortification and everything to do with the way he's seeing me right now.
"What?" I manage, suddenly very aware of how close we're standing.
"Nothing." But he doesn't look away, doesn't restore his neutral mask. "You looked happy. It's good to see."
The observation lands heavy in my chest. When was the last time someone told me it was good to see me happy? When was the last time I felt happy enough for it to show?
"It's just a rainbow," I say, though my voice comes out soft.
"It's not just anything." His gaze holds mine. "It's you creating something beautiful after everything tried to break you. That's worth acknowledging."
The words steal my breath. I stand there holding the water skin while he watches me with that impossibly soft expression, and I can't remember what I'm supposed to say or do or think.
All I know is that Falla sees me. Really sees me. Not as damaged or broken or something that needs fixing, but as someone capable of creating beauty despite everything.
And I have no idea what to do with how that makes me feel.