Page 72 of Season Warriors & Wolves

“With silver,” Snow said. “Like Nia told me.”

Oryn nodded. “Silver, gold, obsidian, dragon bone powder, diamond powder. However, these are deadly to the human body. It will kill them.”

Snow’s smile grew. “Will it?”

The table went quiet. Finally realising my wife’s line of thoughts.

Larg set down a whole tray filled with ale. “Why is there work talk in my front yard?”

“Would there be a chance we could move our table to the back yard?” Snow asked.

My godfather reminded us all of his belly laughter again and leaned in my ear. “There is some old liquor up in my bedroom, the second drawer on my dresser, between my knickers.”

I spat out my drink. “Where?”

“The only place that hellion of a brother you have will not look in. It’s good stuff, one hundred fifty years old. Saved it for you.”

“I’ll go fetch it,” I said, dropping a kiss to my wife’s head and standing. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

She nodded, too enamoured with her mushrooms to mind.

I stopped at the noises inside Larg’s house. Hesitating at the stairwell.

Thora was up on the kitchen counter, my brother between her legs, holding a wet cloth to her forehead. Something he said made her smile. Whatever she replied with made him laugh. Their talk grew so animated, loud and young.

Before he’d be aware of my presence, I left.

Larg caught up to me halfway returning to the table. “You didn’t find it?”

“Keep it here for me.”

He understood without me giving the reason why.

The dinner had ended successfully. No injured or bloodied or beheaded, though Snow had not given up hope till the very last minute that there would be some form of execution—had even sighed with disappointment when we’d left with bags of jam instead of guts.

Both her and Mal stood side by side in the middle of the night gardens filled with evening primrose. It was past dusk, and as the waxing crescent moon began glowing against the onyx curtain of night, the yellow flowers around us rose their heads toward the skies and slowly peeled open their petals. The flaxen blanket of evening primrose rippled alive for a mile around us and Driada’s grave.

This had always been her favourite spot to be in. Many cold nights I had found her here, adorning the life night gave the flowers—it had often given her life too. She’d been so alone.

The two did not move from where they stood for a long while. Not until a batch of curious fireflies began swarming the area, colouring the place with brightness and Mal with hives. A servant of death, but a slave to insects. I had done my due diligence years ago in my attempts to get him out in nature more often and get him used to it, but he’d usually refused.

He began itching his neck and Snow’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. The two bickered about quietly for a short moment before turning and walking the distance to the benches where I sat. The two took each of my sides, staring at the star draped night.

Snow laid her head on my shoulder and immediately Mal followed suit. I couldn’t help but grin to myself. When Snow linked her hand to mine and Mal did the same, I couldn’t hold it anymore, I laughed—harder than I should have.

“Mal,” I said. “I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but you’re supposed to be past this stage.”

“You’ve got a soft pair of hands, big brother.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Snow agreed. “You should touch his hair. Soft like a summer cloud.”

My brother did just that and nodded to himself. “It is nice indeed.”

I swatted my brother’s hand off from my head. “What are the two of you plotting now?”

“You lost her, too,” Mal said, leaning forward onto his knees and linking his shaking fingers together.

After a little while, I said, “I did.”