“King Silas is presenting his son Dante to the Bastosi queens,” Nadya explains. “It’s for his legitimization tour.”
“Ah, yes. I heard rumors of a bastard son. And of Prince Torbin’s untimely death.” Tia crosses to the kitchenette in the corner, plucking a polished, copper kettle from a hook. “I suppose I ought to make tea—gods know you’ve probably been fed nothing but watered-down wine at that palace.”
I smile faintly at the comment but stay quiet as I glance at Nadya, trying to assess how she’s doing emotionally.
Nadya’s smile is small, possibly forced, but she gives me a nod.
I switch my attention back to Tia. She moves about the small kitchen, her fingers deftly selecting herbs from hanging bundles. I feel it again—that subtle weight. That sense that there’s something in the air. Watching us, maybe. Waiting for something to react to.
Tia moves with brisk efficiency, clattering down a tin of dried hibiscus and another filled with clove buds. The kettle sings not long after, and Tia pours the steaming water into mismatched ceramic mugs. Her hands are steady, her movements practiced—but there’s a tension inher shoulders, like a coil wound too tightly.
She places the cups on the small table before us. “It’s best drunk while hot.”
Tia remains beside the table, staring at us. Nadya and I glance at each other, blinking in confusion.
“Drink!” Tia presses her lips together and runs a hand over her neck as if she’d hurt her throat. “It’s just that its flavor is best before it grows cold.”
My brow furrows. The cups are clearly still steaming, so Tia’s worry is unwarranted. Still, I don’t want to upset Nadya’s great-aunt, so I pick up my cup.
Nadya follows my lead, and we both carefully press our lips to the cup rims to take a sip. The liquid burns my mouth, so I’m only able to manage a few drops, but my healing magic eases away the pain.
The scent of the tea is floral with a hint of something cloyingly sweet—honeysuckle, maybe, or dried fruit steeped in herbs. Tia is still waiting, so after blowing on the tea for a bit, I take another careful sip. There’s a strange aftertaste I can’t quite place, syrupy and faintly metallic, but not unpleasant.
I hum my approval, and Tia smiles, finally taking a seat in a worn, tweed chair.
I drink again.
“You’re like her, you know,” Tia says suddenly, her eyes on me.
I blink. “Who?”
“Your mother.” Her voice softens, but just a shade. “The same dark eyes. Same warm coloring. Same quiet strength. Except her stillness was worn like a veil, whereas yours is more like armor.”
The words confuse me, and I can’t help but wonder if there’s a hidden meaning behind them.
Nadya clears her throat, her fingers curling lightly around her mug. “Aunt Tia, I have some questions.”
“I thought you might.” Tia’s eyes go from Nadya to me and back again. “I knew there was more that brought you here than sentimental reasons.”
Nadya takes another sip of tea, letting out a long breath again before continuing. “I’ve been reading about Bastos and its… connection to those who practice magic. And I was wondering if you know anything about that.”
“Ah, yes. The infamous Bastosi sorceresses.” Tia nods. “You must be reading about the dark past. Not dark because of the existence of sorceresses, but because of the bad reputation forced upon them.”
“‘Forced’?” I ask, leaning forward a bit.
Tia tilts her head, her gaze lowering to my cup. Instinctively, I take another drink.
“The fae and sirens claim that sorcerers and sorceresses were not born with magic, that it was stolen from the gods.” Tia taps her fingers upon the arms of her chair. “But those claims were false, borne of jealousy, because a single sorceress’s magic can be expanded and affect more than a single fae or a single siren. It’s why they can develop seer skills, if learned enough.”
“But that seems… dangerous.” I’m a bit surprised that I let that slip out. If this were a stranger, I wouldn’t be so restrained, but I was trying to be respectful because Tia is Nadya’s family.
“Yes, it can be,” Tia answers. “I won’t deny that there are sorcerers and sorceresses who abuse the gift.”
Nadya blinks at her great-aunt over the rim of her cup as she sips more tea and then suddenly she blurts out, “Are you a witch, Aunt Tia?” Nadya’s eyes widen as soon as she says it, and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—”
The corner of Tia’s mouth turns upward. “It’s quite all right, my child. Your curiosity is obviously unsettling you.” She studies us a minute before continuing. “But your instincts are right. I have it in my blood.”
“I’m sorry I said ‘witch,’” Nadya says.
