Mother clasps my arm firmly.
“Come,” she says gently, guiding me forward.
The smell of fresh bread usually reminds me of comfort, but it doesn’t quite reach as we walk away.
We’re halfway down the main street when a voice calls out—low, certain, edged with disbelief.
“Well I’ll be godsdamned. Branik!”
My father goes still, then turns. Mother and I look in the direction of the voice calling Father’ name.
A woman stands near the well, arms crossed, her stance steady as an old oak tree. Her braid of light brown hair is streaked with silver, but her presence is anchored, commanding. Earth Clan, without question.
“Aiel,” Father says, a slow smile breaking across his face. “Didn’t think I’d see your face again.”
She strides forward in three long steps and pulls him into a hug that nearly lifts him off his feet.
“You stubborn ox,” she mutters. “You disappeared.”
“You told me about Liora,” he says. “Said it was quiet. That it was enough.Poof!Gone.” He gestures like a peddler doing a disappearing act.
“I didn’t think you’d actually listen.” She leans back, giving him a once-over. “You look good. Softer. Not softer-soft, but . . . settled.”
“I am.”
Her gaze shifts, landing on my mother.
“And this is?”
Father steps aside, placing a gentle hand on my mother’s back.
“Aiel, this is my wife—Mira Thalor.”
He glances at her affectionately before turning back.
“Mira, this is Aiel of Stonebridge Hold. We served together in the infantry—met during recruit training.”
Before he can say more, my mother cuts in. “Took him ages to ask me to dinner. But he got there eventually.”
Father exhales through his nose, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
Aiel’s eyes narrow slightly as she studies my mother, then nods in approval.
“You chose well.”
“I got lucky—she chose me,” he grins.
Mother smacks him lightly on the arm and rolls her eyes. Watching my parents, I can’t help but smile.
Then Aiel’s attention turns to me, her appraising gaze lingering.
“And this one?”
“Amara,” I answer. “Their daughter.”
She continues her assessment of me, like a measurement of my worth.
“You carry yourself like a Thalor,” she says at last. “Steady. Like the ground doesn’t get to decide where you stand.”
