Chapter 75 Taera
Taera
“Gramps,” I cry out, and rush to him.
“Taera.” He pulls me into a hug so tight my back makes a popping noise. I squeeze him in return.
“You came home,” Gramps says. “You really came home.”
“I did.” Tears flow down my cheeks. “I came home.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you more,” I half-sob, pulling away to look at him. Gramps is the same as ever: desert-weathered and timeless.
“How did you—”
“Where’s Ezran?” I blurt, peering behind him.
His face tightens. “He should be home later, he’s—”
“Taera.” Ez’s voice rings out, wavering between the light timbre I recognize and the deepness of a man. When I turn, I stare. His eyes aren’t just level with mine, they’re higher. I feel a pang of loss for the last weeks I was still taller than my little brother.
“Your ankle,” I say.
“My ankle’s fine.” Ez glares past me at the magician. “What’s going on?”
“This is Nikolai. He… brought me home,” I finish lamely.
“He’s a mage.” My brother glowers, stock-still.
It’s true. The sight of Nikolai in blue robes—robes I miss—is too beautiful for this village, for the dust that swirls around him. His golden hair dances in the sunlight, although his green eyes are hard.
“He’s a magician,” I say. “But he’s not—”
“What’s he still doing here?” Ez turns his punishing stare on me and hurt punches through me.
“Ez…”
“It’s alright,” Nikolai says. “I’ll go.”
“Please don’t.” I scramble for words. “You need to make sure my magic—that I—”
“You’re safe, Taera. You have everything you need,” he says, gaze flickering to my neck.
“Your magic?” Ezran cuts in. “What has the mage tricked you into believing?”
“He has a name,” I snap. Ezran’s face flashes with surprise, quickly twisting into something uglier. I look to Gramps for help, but the old man only grimaces, shaking his head.
“He’s a mage,” my brother hisses. “Get away from him.”
“He isn’t what you think! He’s my…” I stop short.
“I’m a friend,” Nikolai offers, his expression unreadable.
Ezran’s disbelief is almost painful to witness. He spins on his heel and storms inside the hut, slamming the door hard enough to make the frame shake.
“I’ll check on him,” Gramps says gruffly, staring at me for several long seconds—his eyes full of questions, worry, and something that feels like disappointment—before stiffly leaving me alone with the magician.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Ezran doesn’t mean it. He just doesn’t know you. Please, just… wait—so I can say goodbye?”
He considers me, and my heart pinches. I don’t know whether I mean enough to Nikolai for him to wait.
“Alright,” he says at last. “Take the time you need. I’ll be where you first met me at sundown.”
“Thanks.” My hand twitches, wanting to reach for him, but I hold myself still, heart aching.
“Good luck,” he says, nodding toward the door to my hut. Then he turns away, heading toward the desert in long, steady strides.
I hope he told the truth. That this isn’t the last time I’ll see him. I try to remember the shimmer of his hair and swish of his robes as he fades into a mirage, watching him until he’s out of sight.
Taking a deep breath, I approach the door to what used to be my home, lay my palm against it.
Then I push it open.