"He means making rainbows with water and light," Falla murmurs beside me, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "Nothing mystical. Just physics."
The dry delivery makes my lips twitch despite my headache. "You don't believe in the sacred nature of rainbow creation?"
"I believe in light refraction through water particles." But there's warmth in his tone, subtle amusement that suggests he's enjoying my sarcasm. "The rest is Drogath inventing meaning."
Saela steps forward at Drogath's gesture, and the crowd quiets. She looks confident in a way I've only seen here among the clan—comfortable in her role as Kai's mate, engaged with the orcs. At first, I didn't know how to feel. Now…It makes me feel like I could have that too. Maybe.
"Alright," she begins, her voice carrying clearly. "Making rainbows isn't complicated. You need three things: water mist, sunlight or bright firelight, and the right angle. I'll show you how."
She demonstrates with practiced ease, using a water skin to create fine spray that catches the morning light. Within seconds, a small rainbow shimmers in the mist—delicate colors arcing through droplets.
The gathered crowd makes appreciative sounds. Even hungover, there's something magical about watching colors appear from nothing but water and light.
"The key is getting the spray fine enough and positioning yourself so the light source is behind you," Saela continues. "It takes practice, but once you get the angle right, the rainbow appears naturally."
Drogath spreads his arms wider. "This sacred knowledge, passed down from St. Padraig himself, represents the prosperity couples create when they combine their strengths! Today, each partnership will work together to manifest their rainbow blessing!"
"Still just physics," Falla mutters.
"Still pretty though," I counter.
His mouth quirks—not quite a smile but close. "Fair."
Partners begin spreading out across the clearing, claiming spaces to attempt their rainbow creation. Falla gestures toward the edge of the gathering area, away from the main crowd and noise.
"Better light angle over there," he explains. "And quieter."
Relief washes through me at the consideration. He knows I still struggle with too many orcs in close proximity, that the crowd can overwhelm my carefully maintained composure. Positioning us away from everyone else gives me space to breathe. And might help this killer hangover that I'm surprised Falla doesn't have some magic remedy for.
We walk to the clearing's edge where morning sun streams through the trees at a better angle. Falla produces a water skin from somewhere and hands it to me.
"You try first," he says. "I'll watch and adjust if needed."
"You're not going to demonstrate?"
"I'm better at observing technique than executing it." His expression stays neutral but I catch the hint of self-deprecation."Healer hands are trained for precision, not creating mist patterns."
I take the water skin and position myself the way Saela showed, trying to recall the exact angle. The first attempt produces water that's too heavy—droplets that fall rather than mist.
"Higher arc," Falla suggests from beside me. "And squeeze more gently."
I adjust, trying again. This time the spray comes finer but the angle's wrong—no colors appear.
"Turn slightly left. About three degrees."
"Three degrees?"
"Approximately." There's warmth in his voice now, subtle amusement. "I'm estimating."
I shift position and try again. The spray catches light differently this time and for just a second, I see it—a faint shimmer of color appearing in the mist before fading.
"Almost," Falla says. "Same angle but higher arc."
I make the adjustment, squeeze the water skin, and watch as a small but distinct rainbow appears in the spray. Colors arc through the mist in perfect progression—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet. Delicate and beautiful and completely real despite being made from nothing but water and light.
"I did it!" The words burst out before I can stop them, delight flooding through my chest at the success.
When I turn to Falla, he's watching me with an expression I've never seen on his face before. Soft. Almost tender. His blue-green eyes warm in ways that make my stomach do complicated things completely unrelated to my hangover.
