Ashen leaned against the stone balustrade of the upper terrace, the night wind tugging at his open tunic.
In his right hand, he held a long, slender stick of herb twisted and bound with thin silver wire, the kind imported from the southern isles where the volcanic soil made the leaves burn slowly and hot.
He drew deeply, lips sealing around the end, then exhaled a thin stream of blue-white flame that licked outward like a dragon's tongue before dissipating into sparks against the darkness.
The firelight danced across his face, illuminating the hard set of his jaw and the shadows beneath his eyes.
He knew he had left Lumina wounded, aching, tears drying on her cheeks while he walked away like a coward.
The memory clawed at him. She would be furious when he returned. But the alternative terrified him more.
"Fatherhood."
