“Your mother said that?”
“Our mother said many things.” Her eyes went distant for a moment. “She saw stories everywhere. In the threads she wove, the patterns of weather, the way streams carved through rock. She said the world was always talking to us, as long as we knew how to listen.”
Like the bond,he thought.Like the thread connecting me to you, growing stronger every day.
He pushed the thought aside and focused on setting up the stones for another game.
Around midday, Jessa declared it was time for treats.
“Storm holidays require storm food,” she said firmly. “Special things you wouldn’t make on an ordinary day.”
His stores were simple—dried meat, grain, preserved vegetables, wild honey from a hive he’d found the previous summer—but she surveyed them with the critical eye of a general planning a campaign.
“Honey cakes,” she decided. “Dani, you’re in charge of mixing. Tarek, you’re in charge of not eating the batter before it’s cooked.”
“I have never eaten raw batter in my life.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” She handed him a wooden spoon with exaggerated ceremony. “Consider this your initiation into proper holiday behavior.”
He took the spoon, acutely aware of her fingers brushing his. “What’s your role?”
“Supervision. And quality control.” She swiped a finger through the bowl Dani was mixing and popped it into her mouth. “Mm. Needs more honey.”
“Jessa!” Dani protested. “You just said he couldn’t eat the batter!”
“I’m testing. That’s different.”
“It’s not different!”
“It’s extremely different. I’m the eldest. Elder privilege.”
Tarek watched them bicker with something that felt dangerously close to contentment. His den, his lonely refuge, was filled with warmth and laughter and the sweet smell of honey cakes cooking over the fire. Rain drummed steadily against the stone. Thunder rumbled in the distance like a contented beast.
This is what it could be,whispered something deep inside him.This is what you gave up when you left.
No. This was not the same. What he’d left behind had been duty and politics and the constant pressure of expectation. This was…
This was Dani licking honey off her fingers and Jessa arguing about proper cake consistency and the three of them crowded into an alcove that was barely big enough for two.
This was family.
His knees actually weakened at the thought and he had to turn away, pretending to check the fire, until he could compose his features.
“Tarek?” Dani tugged at his sleeve. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he said roughly, clearing his throat. “The cakes need to be turned.”
He busied himself with the cooking, keeping his back to the room until he trusted himself to face them again.
The honey cakes were delicious—crispy on the outside, soft in the center, dripping with the last of his summer honey. They ate them gathered around the fire, Dani cross-legged on a cushion and Jessa in her chair while he sat on the floor with his back against the hearth.
“Tell a story,” Dani demanded through a mouthful of cake. “That’s part of storm holidays too.”
“Is it?”
“It is now. Jessa, you first.”
She licked honey off her thumb, considering. “What kind of story?”
