“What, Lia?”
She shrugged. “I was at the seashore. The tide was in, and the surf was washing over my bare feet. The beach was soft yellow sand, and there were tiny pink seashells, and purple and white ones too. It was warm, but the water was cool. I bent to pick up a seashell, and when I looked up, there was a pod of dolphins swimming by . . .”
The wind traced the soft smile on the woman’s face. Her muscles had relaxed, and her gaze had softened as if she were staring over the water, watching the waves roll in.
When the woman looked back at her brother, his face was pale, and he was shaking his head.
“What?” she asked.
“He caught me in a nightmare, but yours was worse. I know what’s coming, but you’re blind to it. Ask yourself this—if the Ward could kill his sister and not regret it, what makes you think he won’t kill you? He knew that creature. He chose her over me, and over you. No matter what you think, you aren’t the Ward’s priority. If you get in his way, he will kill you. It isn’t a question. He will. And trust me, he won’t regret it.”
The woman dropped her chin to her chest and let out a long sigh. The wind tapped the crystal drop hanging beneath her shirt. It was warm against her cool skin.
“I recognized her. She was at the harbor when Jacob called the tsunami. I think she’s one of the leggerock’s creatures. But does that mean Jacob and the leggerock . . .? Or . . .?”
The musician made a gruff sound, neither acknowledgment nor disagreement. The woman nodded, seeming to understand.
The wind sniffed at the spilled coffee, and then the woman finally asked, “Are we going to the wedding?”
“It’s probably a trap.”
“Of course it’s a trap. Dear Dad’ll be there. The Clarks?—”
“Jacob Ward.”
“But Luvic . . .” Her cheeks paled, and the wind fluttered down her arm and rested on her trembling hand.
She smelled weaker than usual. Her citrus and pearl dust scent was faded, like a flower that had been picked and only its perfume remained behind. There were bruises on her arms and hollows in her cheeks.
The musician sighed and then closed his eyes and rubbed the lines forming between his eyebrows. “No. If he wanted our help, he would’ve asked for it.”
“Raggie.”
“He can take care of himself.”
“Ragnor Lucindius Vittorious Bard.”
The musician’s mouth went as flat as the sea on a windless day. The wind traced the lines on his forehead and the hard throb of his pulse in his temple. He did have a headache.
“What?” He held his sister’s stare.
“You know what.”
“Maybe he wants to marry Last.”
“Ragnor!”
“Little brothers are a pain in my neck. First they kill you, then they expect you to come to their wedding. He’ll probably want music too. And a wedding gift. He’s greedy like that.”
The citrus and pearl dust scented woman smiled. Her face blossomed. To the wind, it felt like a sea anemone blossoming under a ribbon of sun.
“You love us,” she said, taking her brother in her arms and resting her head on his chest.
“Unfortunately. The two of you seem bent on mayhem. Isn’t it funny? I once thought I’d be a musician for life. Like Handel or Bach.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I did.”
