Prudence, a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders, took a few steps down closer to Deryn.
“Does it ever stop amazing you?”
Deryn shook her head. “Power? No.”
Prudence pouted.
“And here I thought you’d be the most normal of them all.”
“Normal? Excuse me?” Deryn took the steps two at a time and was quickly level with her soon-to-be sister-in-law.
Prudence leaned on the wrought iron railing, her magic instantly freeing it of ice and snow.
“Rhiannon’s struggles with her power are…well documented. Seren tends to be so steeped in it that she almost entirely ignores that she has it. Ceridwen is the one who embraces it the most out of all of you, from what I’ve observed. And she makes it almost a science. Her skill runs deep; there’s pride there. But also, a greater sense of responsibility. She never takes it for granted. Hence, the circle is, above all, hers. And then there’s you.” Pru waved her fingers at Deryn, and a silver thread floated close to Deryn’s golden glow, wrapping itself artfully around her palm.
Deryn felt the warmth and the slight prickle of something that felt distinctly like a hug, even though Prudence had not moved.
“And what about me?”
Prudence gave Deryn a long, appraising stare.
“I don’t know. What about you, Deryn?”
Prudence reached out a hand and slowly took her silver thread back. Deryn felt the retreat of the warmth from her bones. She let Prudence move just far enough before she murmured an incantation, and the golden glow around her hands turned into a mist enveloping them both, the heat of it welcoming and cozy.
Prudence laughed, her cheeks blooming with a lovely blush, her shawl falling off her shoulders.
“Show-off.”
Rhiannon stepped on the balcony, and a gust of wind almost dissipated the golden mist. But Deryn winked, and the glow stayed, now settling around her sister as well.
“I am not a scholar like Ceridwen, Pru. Nor do I treat it like an afterthought, like Seren.”
“Then what is it to you, Der?” Prudence’s fingers played with the golden hues around her.
“Magic, Pru. Just magic.”
Deryn snapped her fingers, and the mist was gone, the street cold and dark once again. She jumped down the steps and turned the corner, determined to leave the lovebirds alone. Something made her stop. She was certain Rhiannon and Prudence would leave the balcony—it was rather cold, after all. But their voices drifted toward her. She knew better than to listen, and yet she stayed, eyes closed, hands in her pockets.
“…My point is that since she arrived, instead of welcoming your golden child, everyone is just mad at her. And I’m trying to figure out why. Why is Victoria mad at her? Why is Seren taking potshots at her more often than not? Why is Ceridwen, who is like everyone’s fairy godmother, just letting it all unfold? She was all up in your business, Rhy. And suddenly?”
Deryn caught sounds of movement and imagined Rhiannon holding Prudence closer, their embrace warming both of them. Something in her chest knotted, a sense of envy she had never felt before. Envy of that closeness, envy of the image in her head of the two of them standing on the balcony, arms intertwined, heads together. United. A pair that was more one than passersby would realize. Deryn had had time during her stay on the island to observe them, during and after Rhiannon’s recovery, and they were…amazing. She couldn’t find a better word for it. They were a unit. Without realizing it, they functioned as one, completing each other while retaining their individuality.
Deryn half thought that their magic was a product of their love, as they were so completely in tune. And she realized as she stood there, listening to their hushed tones, that what she felt was regret, as well as that earlier envy. Deryn Crowhart, who could have anyone, who could be anything, wanted that…that unity. And she wanted it with someone who did not want it at all.
The memory of the night of the fire intruded, and the sensation of having found the dark amber eyes speared her. Deryn shook her head, tried to stay in the present, tried to cling to the sounds of Rhiannon’s and Pru’s voices.
“…I’m not mad at her, my love.”
There was the hum of a gentle kiss, then Prudence spoke again.
“You barely speak to her, Rhy.”
Deryn rolled her eyes and was certain Rhiannon did exactly the same. Then there was the muffled smack, and her guess was confirmed.
“Fine, fine, woman, I’ll speak to her. All this violence over my wayward sister!”
“She’s not wayward. She’s lonely, and you lot keep demanding things from her?—”
