They painted symbols on her exposed skin—arms, stomach, back, legs. The paint was cool at first, then warmed, tingling slightly.
Sian was brought in next, already dressed in similar garments but in blue tones that complemented her water magic. She looked as uncomfortable as Briar felt, constantly trying to adjust the minimal coverage.
"This is..." Sian gestured at herself, at Briar, at the whole situation.
"I know."
"When they said celebration, I thought formal dinner. Maybe some speeches."
"Not being basically naked?"
Sian laughed, though it sounded slightly hysterical.
The bronze-scaled woman returned. "The men are ready. Come."
They were led through the settlement as full dark fell. Bonfires had been lit throughout the central area, massive ones that sent sparks spiraling into the night sky. The smoke smelled of herbs and wood, sweet but not cloying. Drums had started, a rhythm that seemed to sync with heartbeats, deep and primal.
The entire settlement had gathered, it seemed. Hundreds of Drak in their own celebration attire—leather and scales and exposed skin, bodies painted with symbols Briar couldn't read.
She saw their men before they saw her.
Eliam stood near one of the fires, dressed in Drak traditional clothing that left his chest bare except for crossed leather straps. His pants were leather, sitting low on his hips, and his skin had been painted with symbols that seemed to move in the firelight.He looked dangerous and beautiful and completely out of place trying to maintain his usual cold control while essentially shirtless.
Arion was beside him, similarly dressed but in lighter colors. The paint on his skin seemed to capture and reflect his light, making him glow subtly. He was in conversation with Halian, who looked better than he had since Ferria's death, the celebration atmosphere working its magic even on grief.
Thaine stood apart, arms crossed, looking deeply uncomfortable in the minimal clothing but wearing it with the resignation of someone who'd given up fighting. Even Karse had changed into traditional garb, though he looked natural in it, comfortable in a way the others didn't.
Then Eliam saw her.
His expression shifted through several things quickly—surprise, hunger, something possessive and dark. His gaze tracked over the exposed skin, the paint, the bones in her hair marking her as someone who'd survived something significant.
She watched him take a step toward her, then stop, like he'd hit an invisible wall. His hands clenched at his sides.
Arion turned to see what had caught Eliam's attention, and his reaction was similar if more controlled. His light pulsed once, bright enough that several nearby Drak stepped back.
"Shadow Walker!" Mor'va's voice carried across the space. "Join me."
The crowd parted, creating a path to where the elder stood near the largest bonfire. Briar walked through, hyperaware of the eyes on her, of the way the skirt moved, of how much skin was exposed.
Mor'va held a carved horn, filled with a drink that smelled sweet and alcoholic.
"Here, you drink first," she said, loud enough for all to hear. "It is an honor, for surviving the cave."
Briar took the horn. The liquid inside was amber-colored, thick looking. She raised it to her lips and drank.
It burned going down, then spread warmth through her chest, her limbs. Not unpleasant, but strong. Immediately, colors seemed brighter, the fire more vivid, everything taking on a slight dreamlike quality.
"What is that?" she asked, trying not to make a face as she handed the horn back.
"It is a celebration drink," Mor'va said with obvious amusement. "Made from fermented fruit and dragon blood. Very mild."
"You call that mild?"
"For Drak." The elder's smile showed too many teeth. "For humans and fae... perhaps less mild."
The horn was being passed around now, everyone drinking. Briar saw Eliam take his share, then Arion, both of them still watching her with that intensity that made her skin warm beyond what the drink was doing.
"Now," Mor'va announced, "we dance!"
