Page 213 of Vasmora

Dying vines and wilted, brown flowers clustered around thick, gray stone pillars. The unsightly white of their stems told me it wasn’t just the chill on the air that had killed them. As far as I could see, the grass had blanched, the trees nothing more than spectral vestiges.

Casualties of the plague.

Cold gnawed at my bones, and arms wrapped around myself, I shivered.

Eyeing a cloak draped on a chair beside a table where a pitcher sat, I asked, “You planned for this?”

“I took the liberty to grab something warm,” she said, guiding me toward it. “I know you mortals are thin-skinned.”

I placed my book on the table and wrapped myself in the thick fabric, as I stared down at the fluid inside the pitcher. “Is it wine?”

“Better.” She poured it into two awaiting mugs, the steam rolling over the tops of them.

“What is it?” I asked, lifting the mug to my nose for a sniff. The bittersweet scent reminded me of grandfather’s morumberry wine.

“Corsang tea. Heart’s blood. My mother used to sit out here and drink it in the afternoons.”

Brow raised, I smiled. “I’m impressed. I thought you’d have opted for something with alcohol.”

“Oh, this is far more potent than alcohol.”

“Of course it is.”

“Sit. Sit.” She waved me toward my seat, as she plopped down on her own.

Another sniff, and I took a cautious sip. The last time she’d fed me a drink, I’d woken up to a room full of feathers and excessively wet undergarments. The delicious flavor of tart cherries and sweet vanilla danced across my tongue and warmed my chest as I swallowed it back. “Oh, that is good. Too good.”

“Indeed. Sip slowly, or Captain Grump is going to get suspicious when we show up stumbling about for training.”

Chuckling, I took another small sip, staring back at her over the rim.

She brought her mug halfway to her face and paused. “What?” A quick swipe of her nose, and she frowned. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No. I just assumed, with the urgency that you brought me up here, you needed to speak with me about something.”

Shrugging, she shook her head. “No reason.” She tipped back the mug for a long swill and closed her eyes, letting out an appreciative moan as she swallowed it back. “My mother always said, when the world is in chaos, seize the moments of peace. That’s what this is.” She nodded toward the open landscape. “We’re seizing our peace.”

I twisted back toward the view, searching for the contentment she apparently saw in what I perceived as ruin. A slow, gnawing death on the horizon.

“You’re focusing too much on what should be, instead of what is.” She sat forward, clutching the mug in both hands. “Even decay can be beautiful, once you accept you can’t change it.”

Another look, and still, I saw nothing but the plague’s destruction.

Decay can be beautiful, her words echoed in my head.

And that was when I saw it. The way the white of the trees and grass contrasted the darkness of the sky. How the faint light glittered over the frost like a field of diamonds. I’d felt a suffocating sense of dread every time I’d looked at it before, but right then, in that moment, if I stripped myself of all that worry, I understood what she meant. How she saw the world. How she’d carved a small moment of peace for the both of us, in spite of it. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Quiet slipped between us as we sat sipping our drinks, finally broken when she cleared her throat. “Though, I would be remiss if I didn’t ask about you and my brother being mates.”

I lowered my head, smiling.

“Are you familiar with what that means?”

“Not entirely,” I said.

“Well, most importantly, it means that we’ll be sisters. But it also means the two of you will be bonded by magic.” At what must’ve been a look of confusion on my face, she kept on. “Together, you’ll have your own unique blood magic and glyph.”

I knew of the blood bond, but this was new. “What kind of glyph?”