Cerian struggles not to smile.
“So I either rest while dry or while wet?” Tharios asks, his own mouth twitching into a grin.
“Yes.” Mother sends him a glare hearkening back to her warrior days. Whistling wind, she can be fierce.
Tharios seems unfazed, though. “I believe I would prefer dry if given the option.”
“Wise choice, my elfling,” Father whispers.
As they speak, Arisanna watches from Rominy’s side. What thoughts fill her head when his family jokes this way in front of her? It warms his heart that she’s settled into his family so fully that they speak freely in her presence.
“Someone other than Elowyn could use your attention now,” Grandmera says pointedly to Tharios, and Tharios turns more serious again as he tightens his hold on Viala.
Thoughts of Arisanna suddenly coming into barely controlled magic terrify Cerian. He doesn’t envy Tharios having to guard Viala’s burgeoning power.
“I’m fine,” Viala insists, but she doesn’t look fine.
“Come on. Let’s go for a walk,” Tharios says, and Viala only hesitates for a moment before nodding.
Soon, they’re gone, and Cerian clears his throat. He should probably just get this over with.
“Why do I have the feeling you’re about to make a confession of your own?” Father asks with the hint of a smile. “Did you catch something on fire, too?”
Cerian glances at Arisanna, who has turned bright red.
“I singed a small rug,” he says quickly. “In our suite.”
“He is your son,” Mother says from the bed.
Whistling wind. Cerian pushes that thought away.
But he may as well keep going.
“I also may have inadvertently turned our suite into a jungle.”
Everyone stills before turning toward him. Everyone but Arisanna, who seems to be struggling not to melt into the floor. A feeling Cerian can identify with strongly at the moment.
“I believe he is your son, my love,” Father says to Mother as he attempts unsuccessfully to hide a smile.
“I can’t get rid of all the vines,” Cerian mumbles as he looks down at his hands. “I’m uncertain what to do about it.”
“Let’s go see, shall we?” Father claps him on the shoulder. “We’ll get it cleaned up.”
Reluctantly, Cerian nods.
Arisanna meets his gaze, and he steps closer to her, leaning down to speak in her ear. “You’re welcome to come, but I anticipate this being an awkward encounter. It might be less awkward without you there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll likely go mad thinking about you, but I believe I’ll survive.”
When he pulls back, she’s smiling, and the startling urge to kiss her fills him.
She probably wouldn’t appreciate that.
A hesitancy fills her eyes. Whistling wind. Is he that transparent?
But she offers him her hand. What is he supposed to do now? Is she offering to join him?
