With a book dangling from one hand, she moves further outside and meets Alexus nearly eye-to-eye beneath the chandelier. The stare she directs over his shoulder makes me want to recoil, uncertain if we’re as welcome here as Harmon said. Nervously, I shift my pack from one shoulder to the other as she devotes her attention to Alexus.
“Zahira Osane,” he says. “It’s been too long, old friend.”
Alexus has told me about his friends here, how he met them while in Malgros for meetings with the Watch years ago. But I still find myself unsure what to think as the pair stand face to face or when the woman rips off her spectacles and gives Alexus a thorough and measured once-over.
“Yes, it has,” she replies. “Three years.” She draws a deep breath, tucks her book beneath her arm, and slips her spectacles into her trouser pocket. She looks so severe. But then a bright smile spreads across her face. “Which is far too long, you beautiful, magickal bastard. Don’t just stand there. Kiss me, for gods’ sakes.”
Light-hearted joy floods the rune as Alexus cups Zahira’s face and kisses both apples of her cheeks. He presses his forehead to hers, and she fists a handful of his hair, holding him to her. They remain frozen in that intimate stance for several long moments, happiness radiating from them both. That feeling fills my heart with warmth.
“You have explaining to do,” I hear her say.
“You have no idea,” he replies.
Another woman, wearing a cream-colored tunic and leggings, appears in the doorway behind them. Her hair is pinned in a crown of loose curls, the dark mane interspersed with silver strands that compliment her golden-brown skin.
“Alexus Thibault? Is that really you?”
Zahira steps aside, still smiling, while the other woman bounds toward Alexus and throws herself into his waiting arms. The impact knocks a laugh out of him, but he barely stumbles, holding her against him, her feet off the ground.
“You act as though you’ve missed me, Yaz.” He lowers her until her bare feet touch the stone entryway once more and kisses her forehead. “And I know that can’t be true.”
“Never.” Yaz presses one hand to his face and clutches the buckles of his jacket in the other. She lets a gentle smile unfurl and winks. “All right. Maybe a little.”
Breaking the tender moment, Zahira raises a brow. “We’re thrilled to see you.” She gestures our way. “But is there a reason you’ve brought a small army to our door? Without Colden?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Alexus glances over his shoulder, then faces the women again as his voice momentarily dims.
As he talks, the women’s expressions turn grave, and the color drains from their cheeks. Zahira wraps a comforting arm around Yaz’s shoulders. Shaking her head, Yaz presses her hand to her stomach, then to her mouth, as though what Alexus is telling them is making her sick. I’m sure it is.
Alexus’s voice finally becomes audible again. “I’ll explain in more detail later. For now, these Northlanders need rooms for a few nights, if you’re comfortable with having us in your home.”
Zahira reaches for Alexus’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Of course we are.” She steps to the threshold and rings a small bell that hangs near the door. “If some of you can double up, there should be plenty of beds.”
The house is expansive, but can it be so easy to care for so many on a whim?
Yaz motions for us to join them. Nephele, Hel, and I lead the way, and Alexus rushes through an introduction of each member as we approach.
The moment I reach his side, he says, “And this is Raina.”
Gently, lovingly, he brushes his fingers across the back of my hand. After so little contact these last weeks, this simple caress is enough to make my heart skip a beat. Unashamed and with no fear, I take his hand in mine. He stares down at me with surprise that softens into a smile. Gods, I’ve missed him.
I inhale a shaky breath and face our guests. Zahira and Yaz lift their curious stares from our hands and study our faces instead, as though they see something more than what stands before them.
My cheeks heat.
“Nice to meet you, Raina,” Yaz says. “Nice to meet you all. I’m Yazmin, Zahira’s partner. You can call me Yaz.”
Her gaze travels back to mine, and though I return the smile she offers, I make no move to sign. I’m too exhausted to get into that discussion tonight, and there will be questions later regardless. I can already see them dancing in Yaz’s stormy eyes.
Having been summoned, a young woman, older than Hel but younger than me, hurries outside in a white nightrail and robe. She draws up short at the sight of our haggard mob of warriors, standing like statues in the middle of the vestibule.
A sea wind writhes through the columns, lifting her chestnut-colored hair, revealing blue and copper witch’s marks on the pale column of her neck, marks she quickly glamours as she assesses the unexpected situation. Fire and water magick. A combination that explains the ability to quickly prepare baths for a horde.
The woman’s attention is distracted by Joran who breaks away from our clan and strolls toward the rocky knoll that overlooks the dark sea beyond, as though he’s bored by the formal introduction. As Joran passes the young woman, she gathers the front of her robe in her fists and shrinks like a wilting flower, a wary gleam in her eyes.
Good instinct.
Joran holds up a hand. “No fear, darling. Bit young for my taste.”
