8. Consider It Done
Consider It Done
Sigurd
Incense smoke drifts across the open-air ceremonial courtyard, catching in the breath of the monster elite gathered for the rite. I stand in the front row with my hands at my sides, close enough to Valerie that the fabric of her dress brushes my trousers whenever she shifts.
The mountain air is cold, but heat rolls from the altar ahead.
Rakan stands beneath the carved arch with Iris beside him.
He looks more at peace than I have seen him in years.
Iris never shrinks from his temper or his fire.
She meets both on her own terms. Somehow Rakan found exactly what he needed in her.
The djinn officiant steps forward and raises both hands over them. Frankincense and scorched desert sand fill the air with the first pulse of magic. A low vibration travels through the stone beneath my shoes and presses against my eardrums.
Golden embers appear above the altar and drift through the thin mountain air. One passes close to Valerie’s face, catching in the pale strands of her hair before rising out of reach.
She has kept her distance since Maren cornered her yesterday. Valerie is still polite and composed, but the ease between us has disappeared. Standing this close to her without touching her has become increasingly difficult.
The officiant’s voice carries across the courtyard and silences the remaining whispers.
“We bind the fire to the earth. We bind the ancient to the brief. What is spoken here is written into the fabric of the mountain.”
The embers gather over Rakan and Iris, and then spiral around their joined hands in a luminous thread. The bond ties Iris’s human lifespan to Rakan’s, keeping age from taking her centuries before it takes him.
Rakan looks down at his bride. “I give you my fire, Iris. All of it.”
He slides a plain gold band onto her finger. The metal catches the ritual light, and the thread sinks into their joined hands until nothing remains.
I find myself watching Valerie instead. She follows the ritual with quiet concentration. She’s seemingly unaware of how often the edge of her sleeve nearly touches mine. Yesterday, I would have closed that distance without thinking about it.
One of my tentacles curves around her shoulders and draws her gently against my side. Valerie stiffens immediately, though she keeps her attention on the altar.
“Sigurd, people are watching us.” She glances toward the guests nearest us before looking up at me.
I lower my head enough to keep my answer between us. “Let them watch. I’m jealous of my best friend, Valerie. Let me hold you.”
She remains tense beneath the tentacle, so I ease my hold and give her room to move away. For a moment, she stays exactly where she is, caught somewhere between resisting me and accepting the invitation.
Then Valerie leans into my side.
The choice eases something that has been wound tight inside me since last night. My tentacle shifts lower around her waist, settling there without drawing her any closer than she has chosen to come.
Valerie watches the last embers circle the altar. “It really is beautiful. The magic doesn’t look frightening at all.”
“Magic is only terrifying when the person wielding it gives you reason to fear it,” I reply, glancing at my friend. Rakan has barely taken his eyes off Iris since the ritual began. “Rakan is devoted. That makes it safe.”
Valerie turns her face toward me. “Are you safe, Sigurd?”
Yesterday changed something between us, even if I still do not know what Maren said to cause it. The fact that Valerie is asking me now matters more than I want it to.
“With you? Always.”
Some of the caution leaves her face. She turns back toward the altar and remains against me, with my tentacle still curved around her waist.
The courtyard erupts into applause when Rakan bends to kiss his bride. The remaining embers burst above them and drift across the guests in a harmless shower of sparks. Valerie stays beside me through all of it.
Watching Rakan and Iris makes the temporary nature of my arrangement with Valerie harder to tolerate. I promised to protect Saltweather, but delaying Lotan only leaves the threat waiting for another opportunity.
He needs somewhere else to go. One of the disputed basins could give him that if the water were warm enough. I know those territories, and Rakan has the power to make the change possible.
The ceremony ends, and the rows of guests begin to break apart. Conversation swells across the courtyard as everyone moves toward the banquet hall. I guide Valerie through the crowd until I find Camille near one of the archways.
She is arguing with a waiter over a missing tray of champagne flutes. The man spots us, mutters something about checking the kitchens, and disappears before Camille can stop him.
“Coward,” she says under her breath, and then gives us her attention.
“I need a private word with Rakan before the feast begins,” I tell her. “Can Valerie stay with you for a few minutes?”
“Of course she can.” Camille glances toward the banquet hall, where several members of the floral staff are carrying arrangements inside. “I will guard her with my life. Unless the florists mess up the anemones, in which case she is on her own.”
The smile that escapes Valerie is enough to make leaving her slightly easier. I let my tentacle slip from her waist and immediately notice the absence of her warmth.
“I won’t be long,” I tell her. “There is something I need to discuss with Rakan before everyone disappears into the feast.”
“You said something similar yesterday, and I survived that too.” Valerie gestures toward Camille. “Go. I seem to have acquired professional supervision.”
I head back toward the altar before Rakan gets buried beneath another round of congratulations.
He has just finished speaking with two elderly djinn when I catch his eye. Rakan watches them leave, and then gives me the resigned look of a man who has known me long enough to recognize trouble from a distance.
“Sigurd, I have been married for less than ten minutes, and my wife still does not have a drink. Please tell me you’re not about to make that my second-largest problem.”
“I need your help with Lotan.” I keep my voice low enough that the passing guests cannot hear us. “I need you to warm a section of the ocean, Rakan. I need to offer Lotan an alternative to Valerie’s town.”
The heat radiating from him intensifies. Crimson flashes through the gold fire beneath his skin as the scale of the request settles between us.
“Heat the ocean?” he repeats in disbelief. “I never thought I’d say this, but that is a difficult wish to fulfill.”
“I know how much I am asking.” There is no point pretending otherwise, especially with him. “You know why I was in that trench, Rakan. I went there to get Kasim’s lamp.”
The mention of his brother stills him. I hate bringing Kasim into this, but the history belongs to both of us, and neither of us has ever pretended otherwise.
“I never wanted it to get to this point, and I don’t blame you for what happened,” I continue. “Lotan and the clans were already at war. The ocean was fracturing before I ever crossed the boundary. But as things stand, we have no choice.”
Rakan listens without interrupting. The heat around us begins to recede as I give him the part that matters most.
“My mother decided to pacify Lotan by giving him Valerie’s city. I won’t allow her to pay the price for our mess.”
For a while, neither of us speaks. The distant conversation from the banquet hall reaches us through the archways, but Rakan keeps his attention on me.
Eventually, he looks down at his hand and brushes his thumb over the ring on his pinky.
“You’re right,” he says. “I asked you to walk into a live minefield, and this is part of the fallout. Truth be told, I had a feeling something like this might happen.”
“Then you understand why I need to offer Lotan somewhere better than Saltweather.” I keep my voice low. “You are the only one who can make that happen.”
Rakan considers the problem in silence before looking toward the steps leading away from the courtyard.
“A new oceanic basin could work. The volume of water means I would have to drive the magic directly into the trench floor. The tectonic friction would need to generate enough baseline warmth for the change to last.”
“I can show you the coordinates. I know the topography of the contested zones, and we can find a stable fault line.”
He looks back at me, the fire beneath his skin settling into its usual gold. “A spell of that size will take work, Sigurd. I will need to inspect the site before I know exactly what it requires.”
“I know. I am not asking you to solve it tonight.”
Rakan is quiet for another moment before giving me a small nod. “Consider it done. I won’t let your human lose her home because of my family.”
The tension I have carried since my mother walked into my office finally breaks. Saltweather is not safe yet, but for the first time since Lotan threatened it, the path forward is clear.
I put a hand on Rakan’s shoulder. “Thank you. I owe you.”
Rakan glances at my hand before meeting my eyes again. “You owe me nothing. You went into that trench for me without asking what I would owe you afterward. There should never be such talk between us.”
I let my hand fall. He is right, and several centuries of friendship make arguing about it pointless.
“Now,” Rakan continues, adjusting his cuffs, “go find your fake girlfriend before Maren decides to corner her again. The feast is starting.”
He turns toward the hall to find Iris. The biting mountain air fills my lungs as music and conversation drift through the open archways.
Saltweather is not safe yet, but for the first time since Lotan threatened it, I have more than another delay to offer Valerie.