Page 153 of Elemental Becoming

“She’s a good one, brother.”

I turn to find Rowena and Sera standing a few feet away, both looking far too pleased with themselves. I can’t help the grin that breaks across my face.

“Aww,” Rowena coos dramatically. “He’s in love.”

My grin only widens.

Gods.

I run a hand through my hair and glance away, suddenly feeling far too exposed.

“Row, leave him be. He has enough to manage,” Sera says, gently chiding her wife, before turning back to me. “How are you doing tonight, Thane?”

“I’m managing. It’s the same damned maneuvering from the nobles—one clan threatening to leave, another questioning the alliance altogether. It’s been like this for years.” I exhale sharply, rubbing a hand across my jaw. “They still don’t seem to grasp how bad things are becoming.”

Rowena’s expression tightens.

“Division is exactly what the Shadeheart wants,” I continue. “We’ve been a united realm for over five hundred years. Whysplinter the realm apart while the Shadeheart grows stronger?”

I know they’re scared. But gods, I’m exhausted by it. Tonight would be so much worse if it weren’t for Amara.

Without even meaning to, my gaze drifts toward the direction she disappeared.

I can’t see her anymore, but I can still feel her through the bond. She’s happy.

And . . . concerned.

My brow furrows slightly.

About Lyra? What in the gods is happening over there?

“And what about Amara? How’s our Spiritborn holding up?” Sera asks.

I turn back toward them, that stupid smile returning before I can stop it.

Rowena punches me on the arm, grinning. Good gods, the woman hits hard.

“What the fuck, Row?!”

“I just love seeing you like this.”

I roll my eyes while rubbing my arm.

“She’s doing well. Better than I expected, to be honest.” I glance toward the ballroom again instinctively. “She was nervous about all of this when I first told her.”

Sera rubs a hand against my back. “That’s really good, Thane. I never doubted her.”

Rowena suddenly squeals, causing both Sera and me to jump.

“This is all going so much better than I could have hoped!” she announces, clapping her hands together excitedly.

Before Rowena can continue tormenting me about being in love, a familiar voice cuts through the conversation.

“Warlord.”

I glance over to find Master Orlon Revic approaching, his dark formal robes immaculate despite the revelry of the evening. Bronze threading catches the chandelier light along the sleevesand collar, the symbol of the council embroidered neatly over his chest. The man somehow always manages to look like he’s carrying six separate political disasters at once without allowing a single crack to show. Of all the council members, Orlon is usually the one I can count on to keep a clear head, and for that, I’m grateful.

The moment I see him, something in me shifts automatically.