Page 78 of Elemental Becoming

Lyra lets out a quiet sigh beside me—so unlike her that it draws my attention more than the portrait itself. She stands there, studying it in silence.

I wonder if she’s thinking of her parents. They’re still alive. Still whole.

I’m grateful for that. Grateful for them and how they always made room for me.

Rowena breaks the moment with a sharp clap of her hands.

“We can stand here staring at the past all night,” she says, “or we can go get drunk.”

Lyra brightens instantly. “Let’s go get drunk.”

SISTERS

ELEVEN

We received a torn, partially burned dispatch from one of the border patrols. Only fragments survived: ‘They are here . . . lost the whole battle . . . stronger . . . not what we thought . . . ’ Just enough to root dread, yet not enough to know where to point our swords. Gods, what I would give for the rest of that page.

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

Sera and Rowena’s quarters are nothing like Thane’s.

Where his chambers are stark—dark stone, minimal furnishings, built for function—this space is lavish enough to make me pause at the threshold.

Deep red and gold tapestries line the walls, embroidered with dragons in flight and warriors locked in battle. Chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling, crystal teardrops catching the glow of dozens of candles and casting warm light across polished marble floors.

The furniture is rich mahogany, carved with exquisite detail, every piece designed more for grandeur than mere function. A sprawling seating area dominates the center of the room, adorned with plush velvet cushions and silk-draped lounges.

Near the arched windows, sheer curtains billow from the night breeze, framing a view of the castle grounds below.

Even without stepping inside, I can tell the bedchambers beyond are just as extravagant—the kind of space built for royalty, not warlords.

Dinner between the four of us was lively.

At the heart of their quarters, we sit at an ornate oak dining table, the remnants of the meal pushed aside, the second bottle of wine already half gone. The air is warm with candlelight and the ease of full bellies, the lingering scent of roasted meats and the seasonal vegetables mingling with the sweetness of the wine in our glasses.

Lyra crosses her legs in her chair, swirling her drink. “Alright, new rule—no more war talk tonight. We’ve had enough of strategy meetings and patrol schedules.”

Rowena snorts. “That’ll last five minutes.”

“Fine,” Lyra admits. “Then let’s do this. One question each, something personal. No dodging, no deflecting.”

Sera studies Lyra over the rim of her glass. “This feels like a trap.”

Lyra points at them both. “Oh, it absolutely is.”

Rowena sighs, already refilling her cup. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Who’s first?”

Lyra points at me, but then waves a hand dismissively. “Wait—no. I already know all your secrets.”

I raise a brow. “All of them?”

“Enough,” Lyra replies smugly, then turns to Rowena. “You first. What’s something we don’t know about you?”

Rowena smiles, tapping her fingers against the table. “The first time I was with a man was in the training hall.”

Lyra nearly chokes on her wine. “I’m sorry—what?”