feel a desperate longing for the fay land. Now homesickness was not only a wistful pining for distant shores and bygone days, but something far more profound; it was a soul-deep yearning for what could have been and would never be—a need to grasp everything wholesome and beautiful in this world yoked with an acute awareness that it was not mine to grasp.
I shoved aside my melancholy thoughts as I reached the tasting table on the veranda. The cook delivered steaming samples of the menu I’d requested for the Realm Alliance gathering tomorrow. We would watch the sun setting over the sea as we dined—Fabian’s idea. The menu would be Erdemese, full of aromatic spices and earthy flavors—my idea.
Nothing brought me more joy than hosting my friends. Business took precedence, but after our agenda, we would eat and laugh and speak candidly of our dreams for the realm’s future.
Our guests didn’t usually tarry long. Even six months after the fall of the Moth King, there remained so much work to do. The elicromancers would materialize back to their homes after dessert. But that only made those moments with Valory, Glisette, and Mercer more precious.
I lifted the lid to the turmeric cauliflower soup, but my appetite balked at the thought of telling the others about Rayed’s disconcerting letter. I believed in the work of the Realm Alliance. I believed we could make the benefits of magic accessible to the many instead of only the few, that we could restore balance. But a damaged relationship with Erdem, prominent ally, would present a challenge unlike any we had faced so far.
A hand reached over my shoulder and grabbed one of the savory lentil cardamom pastries. I smiled up at Fabian. “Sometimes I think your true elicrin gift is sensing the exact moment a plate of food touches a table anywhere in the palace,” I teased.
“It’s more of a skill I’ve developed,” he managed to say through a mouthful, pulling out the empty chair across from me. The sunlight shimmered like brushed gold over his black hair and reflected in his bright green elicrin stone.
“Have you received any correspondences from Erdem recently?” I asked with a forced tone of nonchalance. I spooned some soup, almost too distracted to appreciate its flavors.
He shook his head. “No. But we do need to reply to Myron’s invitation to visit Perispos during their upcoming religious celebration. We’ve sat on it for weeks.”
I had grown up knowing Erdem’s neighbors in Perispos practiced the Agrimas religion, but I struggled to believe in something that could not be proven. Here in Nissera, magic itself took the place of religion: it was ancient, revered, coveted, and feared. Instead of prayers, people found comfort in spells and charms.
Likewise, most Erdemese citizens collectively shrugged at organized religion, much to the chagrin of the nearby Perispi. Many believed that kind deeds would ensure prosperity in the afterlife, but we exalted our lore and family histories more than any moralizing texts.
“We declined Myron’s last invitation,” Fabian said. “Should I tell him the truth, that you dread sea travel?”
“No,” I sighed. “We’ll ask to use Valory’s portal box when she returns from answering that distress call.”
“I can kindly refuse, if you’d like.”
“But should you?” I asked, searching his slate-gray eyes. The bone structure of his suntanned face was so refined that he seemed chiseled of stone. The physical tasks of seafaring that he so enjoyed had carved lean strength into his frame. For years I’d tried so earnestly to admire his physique the way I’d felt I was meant to.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “My mother would have known.”
I reached over the platters and gripped his hand. “She and your father would both be proud of how we’ve handled ourselves.”
“No, they would be proud of you, Kadri,” he said. “Of your bravery.”
Squeezing tighter, I tried to infuse him with confidence that he had been wholly forgiven—by me, by the others, by his parents before they died.
“I should have been here,” he whispered. “I failed everyone.”
“You didn’t know,” I assured him, as I had so many times since I’d returned to him.
Both were true: he had failed, and he hadn’t done so knowingly.
The rogue wave had been one of the first harbingers of the Moth King’s rise last year. It had crashed ashore during Fabian’s birthday celebration, which took place aboard his anchored ship in the bay. Fabian had acted nobly, intending to sacrifice his life to save others, until a mysterious girl saved his life at the