I’ve seen ices before, crushed ice flavored with juice and eaten with a spoon.
I wasn’t permitted to try them.
But icecreamimplies something else. Have people of this era poured cream into their ices now, too?
“We save the ice cream for special occasions,” Nomi says in a neutral voice, and I look back to see her giving Zan a searching look.
“I know,” Zan says. And then: “Please.”
Now it’sherturn to blink, and then her eyes narrow. She gives me a look—wondering why I deserve a special exception, which I am wondering too; or perhaps that is projection, and she is wondering why Zan would bring a stranger to discuss magical happenings to her door—and finally says slowly, “All right. Come in.”
She holds open the door and Zan gestures me to precede him in.
I shake my head rapidly. I don’t know what the customs are for entering a person’s home are in this era. I barely know that they existed in mine, on account of I was never invited to individual homes. And wherever I went, it was with an escort determining my behavior.
Zan frowns for a second and then his eyes widen in a flash of understanding.
“Is there a problem?” Nomi asks sharply.
I freeze. In trying not to, in not acting, I’ve already messed up. I can’t evenenter a homeright—
Gently, Zan presses a hand against my back and propels me inside.
I’m so startled that I let him, my budding panic diverted by the warmth of him at my back, at the tingle of sensation that courses through me.
And then we are over the threshold, and the door shuts behind us.
Then more footsteps bound toward us. Nomi whips toward the sound and starts to say something, but Zan throws his other arm out, covering her mouth.
This time I think it’sherwho’s startled by the touch—does she feel what I do, or is it that Zan has touched her at all?—and it’s just long enough for another person to burst into the room.
“Is that Zan? Does he know what—”
This time it’s a much younger man—maybe my apparent age, early twenties. He has bright green eyes; light brown, messy hair; a golden complexion; with a very slight build in comparison to Nomi, like a young cherry blossom tree next to a mature oak.
In fact, they don’t look like they could be related at all. And those eyes...
I suck in a breath. The dragon magic masked it at first, but—
“Oh, sorry,” the young man says, looking flustered at me. “I didn’t realize there was—”
“You’re a sage,” I blurt.
Nomi shoves away from Zan even as the sage’s golden skin tone goes white as the blood drains away in fear, and he turns to bolt.
“Teren, wait,” Zan says sharply. “Everyone is safe here.” He looks at me. “You can tell?”
“Of course I can tell. It’s faint, but—”
“Wait,you’rea sage?” the young man—Teren—blurts back.
I didn’t want anyone to know.
At least, I hadn’t decided I wanted anyone to knowyet.
Anger flames up in me at Zan, who very deliberately arranged this situation—preventing Nomi from intervening, not warning me—knowingI wasn’t ready yet, knowing that I was trusting him.
Very deliberately, I remove his hand from my back.
