I’m not sure why it surprises me when Nurai reaches across the table to clasp Awri’s hand. It’s an intimate act, something meant to comfort her, something I should have done myself. Something I truly have no business doing, not to someone I’ve been lying to even as I call them friend.
“He will be fine,” Nurai says, offering her the assurance I could not. “There have been times, throughout the years, that I have overextended myself. Remember, our bodies were meant to live eternally. We are more resilient than you can imagine.”
I might believe her, if I had not ended one of the Vatruke so easily. At least Awri seems soothed by the statement, and for her sake, I hope it’s true.
“I admit,” Nurai continues, “I was shocked when Xeyvian wrote to me and told me about the situation. To my knowledge, your mate is the strongest healer of his kind born since the war.”
“Which war?” I wonder aloud. The female may not have given me much reason to like her, but I can’t help my curiosity when she says it.
“The first,” she answers.
I nearly gape and it occurs to me that the general, despite his appearance, could easily be older than Nurai, older than the first war. I’m not sure why I never asked, I’m sure he would tell me. If the male doesn’t hate me after tomorrow, I will ask him. Along with a great deal of other questions.
“I was born in Brax,” she says, “shortly before the sundering.”
I don’t ask, but the female must know, as I slide to the edge of my seat, that I am in awe of the tale of her life. Of the rich histories that live within her mind. Of a time when the fea thrived deep within the forests of the southern continent. She smiles slyly, and just when I think she might not say another word on the subject, she recounts a memory long past.
CHAPTER 36
BRAX
Three years after the Sundering
“Muri!” Nurai shouts, a wide smile breaking upon her face as she waves her arm in the air, the wild motion near flailing.
Her cheerful exuberance is enough to draw the attention of the female standing among the many brightly decorated stalls. The market bursts with all manner of fea creatures, haggling and bartering amidst the stands full of handcrafted earthenware, farmed goods, and wild foraging’s. Brownies and gnomes weave beneath the feet of satyrs, dryads, and every kind of woodland fea, shouting with raised fists when the occasional clumsy foot lands too close for the comfort of the tiny fea underfoot.
The forest of Brax sings as she breathes. Her deep lungs heave in slow and even bursts that temper the otherwise hot and humid summer day. The songs carried from deep within her lungs are those of the creatures residing within her. Many sing of new awakenings and hold the promise of hopeful beginnings, while others profess ancient tales of a time long ago.
“Nurai!” Muri beams, embracing the tall, slender female, the longtresses of her pitch-black hair shining in the light of the morning sun. “I did not expect to see you until another moon had passed.”
It’s impossible for Nurai to hide her disappointment when she admits, “I would have liked to stay longer, but my host seemed impatient for me to return to Brax.”
A puzzled look forms on Muri’s lovely face. “I thought the human king was the one who invited you to La’tari?”
“He was,” she replies, taking Muri’s arm and pulling her from the path of the heavy-laden fruit cart being pushed through the market. “But even the king is subject to the wishes of his people.”
“Such a strange species,” Muri scoffs. “As if each of them was born with the need to destroy something beautiful in the span of their fleeting life.”
Nurai nods, as though she had drawn the same conclusion, and says, “Their king did ask me to return, but I’m beginning to wonder if my attempts to bond with his people are in vain. I fear that the sundering may have only fueled their desire to see what remains of the fea purged from the land. Despite my hopes, I am not sure diplomacy will change that.”
Muri studies her friend carefully, piecing together all the unspoken words she holds behind her tongue.
“But you think you know something that might?” Muri asks.
“Or someone,” Nurai says, her hesitation creating a palpable tension as she hooks Muri’s arm and pulls her behind a large cart piled high with wild forest mushrooms.
The satyr working the cart eyes the females curiously until a gnome saunters up, producing a large bundle of red moss from a small satchel tied at his hip. The rare herb is never harvested except on the night of a full moon and only grows on the foothills of the eastern mountains. Thankfully, it’s enough to entice the satyr into a distracting barter.
Behind the cart, her voice dropping to a whisper that all but vanishes amidst the lively bustle, Nurai says, “I thought I might ask my brother to accompany me, if I choose to return to the human court again.”
Muri’s eyes widen, the shock of what her friend implies clearly written on her face. “You would ask him to use his gift to persuade thehumans?”
With a reluctant sigh, Nurai admits, “I am considering it.”
“You can’t,” Muri says, tearing her arm from where she is joined with the female. “And even if you did ask him, he would never go along with it.”
“Wouldn’t he?” Nurai asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “You know better than most, the things we will do to help the ones we love.”
