Chapter 15 Falla
FALLA
The feast hall pulses with noise and bodies—laughter ricocheting off stone walls, conversations layering over each other in waves of sound that would normally grate against my nerves. Tonight the chaos feels almost tolerable, background texture to the anticipation thrumming under my skin.
I tell myself it's just the festival energy affecting me. That I'm not specifically waiting for one person to arrive.
I'm a terrible liar.
"—and that's how I convinced three different females to partner with me before finally choosing Kerra," Ursik finishes whatever boast I stopped listening to five minutes ago, gesturing broadly enough his ale sloshes dangerously close to the rim. "Strategy, my friends. Pure strategic brilliance."
"Strategic." Kai takes a measured drink from his own cup, ice-blue eyes carrying that flat amusement he wears when Ursik gets particularly ridiculous. "Is that what we're calling luck now?"
"It's not luck when it's calculated charm."
"Nothing about you is calculated." I lean back against the stone pillar we've claimed as territory, scanning the crowd with practiced casualness. "You operate on pure chaos and hope things work out."
Ursik clutches his chest like I've wounded him mortally. "You cut me deep, healer. After everything we've been through."
"We've been through you making terrible decisions and me patching up the consequences." My gaze catches on movement near the entrance—red that makes my pulse spike before I realize it's not her. It's a piece of fabric.
Fuck.
"The point," Ursik continues, undeterred by my lack of attention, "is that I'm going to dominate tomorrow's Leprechaun Trail. Kerra and I have a strategy. We've been planning routes all week."
"There's no dominating," Kai points out with the patience of someone who's explained this concept multiple times already. "It's not a competition. The whole point is partnership bonding."
"Everything's a competition if you have the right attitude."
"That's why you lost three fingers to frostbite two winters ago." I shift position, the new angle giving me better sight lines across the hall. Still no sign of her. "Too competitive to admit when you needed to stop."
"I got those fingers back."
"After I spent six hours reattaching them while you complained the entire time."
Ursik waves off the memory like it's irrelevant. "Details. The important thing is I won that challenge."
"You nearly died."
"But I won." He grins with the particular brand of stupidity that's kept me employed as a healer for years. "And I'll win tomorrow too. Watch and be amazed."
Kai catches my eye over Ursik's shoulder, his expression carrying a knowing quality that makes my spine stiffen defensively. He's noticed I'm distracted. Noticed I keep scanning the crowd instead of engaging properly with their conversation.
Noticed I'm waiting for someone.
"Speaking of partnerships," he says, tone carefully neutral in a way that immediately puts me on guard. "How are things progressing with yours?"
"Fine." The answer comes automatic, clipped. "Ressa's doing well with the festival activities."
"Doing well." Ursik's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "Is that healer-speak for something more interesting?"
"It's regular-speak for she's managing the challenges without issue."
"Right. Managing." He exchanges a look with Kai that I don't appreciate. "Nothing else happening there."
I level him with the flat stare I usually reserve for patients who insist injuries aren't serious despite obvious evidence otherwise. "What exactly are you implying?"
"Nothing! Just making conversation about festival partnerships and bonding progress and—oh, there's Saela."
Kai's entire demeanor shifts the moment Ursik speaks.
The careful neutrality dissolves into something warmer, his gaze tracking across the hall to where Saela's just entered with Shae.
Even from this distance I can see the way his expression gentles, the slight curve to his mouth that he probably doesn't realize he's doing.
"I should—" He doesn't finish the sentence, already moving toward her with the single-minded focus of someone who's stopped pretending he has other priorities.
Ursik watches him go with a grin. "Look at him. Completely gone."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Not bad. Just funny watching the mighty warrior reduced to puppy eyes over a human female half his size." He takes another drink, his attention shifting back to the crowd. "Though I suppose we're all—wait. Is that Ressa?"
My entire body goes taut like a bow string drawn too tight.
She's standing near the entrance with Shae, the two of them clearly just arrived together. And she looks—
Fuck.
Beautiful doesn't adequately cover it. Ressa's wearing a green dress I've never seen before, simple in design but the color brings out the warm undertones in her skin, makes her brown eyes look almost gold in the firelight.
Her red hair falls loose around her shoulders instead of tied back, soft waves framing her face.
She looks healthy. Rested. The gauntness that haunted her features for weeks has filled out slightly, her cheeks carrying color instead of the pale exhaustion of someone barely surviving.
She looks like herself again. Like the person she was before everything went wrong.
"Not you too," Ursik mutters, but I'm already moving, my feet carrying me across the hall before conscious thought catches up with action.
The crowd parts around me—clan members making space for the healer out of habit or respect or simple survival instinct. I don't care about the reason. I only care about closing the distance between myself and the female who's consumed my thoughts for weeks now.
Ressa sees me coming. Her eyes widen slightly, then her mouth curves into a smile that hits me square in the chest.
That smile. Open and genuine and directed at me without the usual wariness lurking underneath.
I reach her position and stop, suddenly uncertain what to do with my hands. Touch her? Keep distance? The kiss yesterday gave me permission for more intimacy, but we're in public now, surrounded by clan members who will notice and comment and make assumptions.
"Hi," she says, the word carrying traces of shyness that shouldn't be endearing but absolutely is.
"Hi yourself." My voice comes rough, scraped raw by feelings I don't have adequate vocabulary to express. "You look—" I pause, searching for words that won't sound awkward. "The dress is nice."
Smooth, Falla. Truly eloquent.
But Ressa's smile widens anyway, pleasure flickering across her features. "Saela helped me make it. Festival colors."
"Green suits you."
"It suits you too." Her gaze travels over my own festival clothing—dark leather with green accents that Kai insisted I wear instead of my usual practical healer gear. "Though I think you'd wear dirt-brown and still look good."
The compliment catches me off guard. I'm not accustomed to Ressa offering unprompted praise, her usual communication style running more toward practical observation—or outright resistance—than flirtation. Heat crawls up the back of my neck despite my better efforts at maintaining composure.
"That's—thank you."
Shae makes a sound that might be a suppressed laugh. I glance over to find her watching us with undisguised amusement, her green eyes bright with mischief.
"I should go find Bronn," she announces, the statement carrying a performative quality that suggests she's creating an exit rather than genuinely searching for her mate. "You two should find seats for the exchange. It starts soon."
She disappears into the crowd before either of us can respond, leaving Ressa and me standing together in the middle of the feast hall with half the clan probably watching.
I don't care.
Let them watch. Let them make whatever assumptions they want. Right now all I care about is the female in front of me and the gift I've been carrying in my pocket all evening, waiting for the right moment to present.
"Want to find somewhere to sit?" I gesture vaguely toward the tables arranged throughout the hall. "Before all the good spots get claimed."
"Sure." Ressa falls into step beside me as we navigate through the crowd, close enough our shoulders brush occasionally. Each incidental contact sends awareness sparking through my nervous system like touching live flame.
This is new. This acute consciousness of another person's proximity, the way my entire focus narrows to her movements and expressions and the small sounds she makes when navigating tight spaces between bodies.
I've spent forty years avoiding this exact sensation—the vulnerability of caring whether someone stays close or drifts away.
Turns out I'm terrible at avoiding it when Ressa's involved.
We claim spots at one of the smaller tables near the outer edge of the hall, the position offering relative privacy despite the crowd. Ressa settles onto the bench with careful movements, her body language still carrying traces of old injuries even though I know she's healing properly.
Old habits. Protective instincts that linger past their usefulness.
I want to tell her she doesn't need to move carefully anymore, that her body's proven its resilience through proper healing. But that seems too clinical for tonight, too much healer and not enough whatever-we-are-now.
"Nervous?" I ask instead, the question covering multiple potential concerns.
"A little." She touches the fabric of her dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles. "I've never done gift exchanges before. Not formal ones like this."
"It's not complicated. We give each other what we made. People make speeches if they want. Mostly it's an excuse for the clan to eat too much and get sentimental."
That earns me a small laugh. "You make it sound very romantic."
"Romance involves sentiment. I'm just stating facts."
"Right. Facts." Her mouth quirks with suppressed amusement. "No sentiment involved at all."