Esther, for some reason, felt her survival instincts activate. Her non-existent ones, because she didn’t fight or flee.
No—she hastily stood and greeted him. It was easier when moments were private. Public acknowledgment—daylight, witnesses, familiarity—was much harder. Esther did not yet know how to hold something precious without trying to fold it away.
“Good morning,” she said quickly, biting her tongue. She brushed her fingers through her knotted hair. She didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse not to have a mirror, because her hair felt like a tangled disaster created by a caffeinated squirrel.
“Essie,” Nythir said, his voice firm, as if he were about to ruin several lives before breakfast, “we need to inform the group.”
“About what?” she asked, fingers stuck in a particularly stubborn knot.
He didn’t answer. He took her free hand—her other still trapped in her hair—and gently guided her toward the group. Esther appeared to have been the last to wake.
Lyssara wandered over, chewing dried fruit, her hair also a mess, and her sword strapped on like she was ready to fight someone purely for fun.
Esther felt better about her own appearance.
Vorrik followed with his usual sunshine energy and a piece of bread in his mouth. His earlier attempt at breakfast had turned to dust while he cooked it. It was impressive how bad he was. His cooking skills were possible worse than Esther’s magic control—and that was saying something.
Teren was sitting on a log, pretending to be invisible. He avoided eye contact with everyone, which made Esther feel a little guilty. She decided to check on his rock-shaped injury later, when Nythir wasn’t paying attention.
Which could take a while, because he seemed alarmingly good at paying attention to her.
Nythir cleared his throat and loudly declared, “Essie and I are married now.”
The universe paused.
A spoon clattered.
Someone choked on their tea.
Esther stared at him while everyone stared at her.
“What?” She had intended to whisper, but shouted instead.
Lyssara squinted. “Married as in… legally? Emotionally? Socially? Accidentally?”
“Yes,” Nythir said confidently.
“No,” Esther squeaked. The absurdity grounded her. If the world was going to tilt, at least it was tilting with witnesses.
“Explain,” Lyssara said, pulling up a chair that absolutely had not existed one second ago.
Nythir nodded solemnly. “Essie and I kissed.”
Lyssara and Vorrik stared blankly.
Esther stared at them, staring blankly at her. And everyone stared at them, staring at each other. It was like one of those weird nightmares that weren’t necessarily scary, but made a socially anxious person’s skin crawl.
And Esther was the portrait-perfect example of a socially anxious person.
At that moment, if she hadn’t been wearing her mother’s bracelet, she would have combusted into a pile of human goop just to escape. Death by fire was better than whatever she was experiencing currently.
“And,” Nythir continued, “I vowed years ago I would only ever kiss one person. Therefore—”
“No,” Esther repeated, louder this time. “Wait. No.”
“—we are married.”
Lyssara made the sound of a cat choking on a lemon.
