Page 83 of Elemental Becoming

“She tells a soldier she can fit into any space he names,” I continue, pacing the words leisurely, like I’m building towards something important. “Because, of course, she would.”

Rowena snorts.

“He points to a barrel outside a tavern,” I say, holding up a finger. “Just sitting there. Completely innocent.”

I pause, letting it hang.

“And Ly—” I tilt my head toward her, “—decides she has to prove him wrong.”

Rowena wipes tears from her eyes. “And let me guess—”

“She fit,” I say. “But the barrel tipped, rolled into an alley, and got wedged between a wall and a stack of crates.”

Sera leans forward, still laughing, clutching her stomach. “How did you get out?”

Lyra scowls. “I would have gotten out on my own, but Mar just had to go find help.”

I lift my hands in mock defense. “Of course I did! She was wedged tighter than a cork in a bottle. She was stuck for hours—I had to drag three people over to tip her free.”

Rowena shakes her head, still laughing. “Lyra, you are an actual menace.”

Lyra sighs, resting her chin in her hand before flashing a wicked, unapologetic grin. “What can I say? I am an entertainer.”

Sera raises her glass. “To the market fire, the flour explosion, and the legendary barrel incident.”

She takes a sip, then looks at me, a knowing curve to her lips.

I groan, already feeling the weight of their attention turn my way.

“I guess it’s my turn.”

Before I can think of what to share, I snap my head toward Lyra. “Don’t you dare.”

Lyra, already grinning like a devil, clutches her chest in mock offense. “I wasn’t going to say anything!”

I narrow my eyes.

“But Idohave at least three things I can say if what you share is boring.”

Rowena claps her hands together once. “Oh, this just got interesting.”

Sera chuckles, swirling her wine. “Choose wisely, Amara. The alternative is letting Lyra tell your story for you.”

I sigh, taking a long drink before setting my glass down. “Fine. I’ll share something. But if Lyra even breathes too loudly during it, I’m hexing her.”

Lyra mimes zipping her lips, locking them, and throwing away the key.

Rowena shakes her head, amused. “Alright, Amara. Make it a good one.”

I exhale, trying to ignore the way the room itself makes me feel like I should be telling something grander than my usual village stories.

The entire chamber is fit for royalty—not just in size, but in the sheer weight of its luxury. The firelight glints off marble floors, deep red and gold tapestries lining the walls. A thick, intricately woven rug cushions the table where we sit, its patterns swirling in bold, elegant shapes—nothing like the simple weavings I grew up with back home.

It’s strange to sit here, drinking from glasses carved with filigree, in a room filled with chandeliers, when so much of my life was spent in a place where a wooden cup was a treasured gift.

A wooden cup.

I straighten slightly, rolling my glass between my hands.