The Uprising: Age Of The Dirimati

6 | If I could Fly

Shilan

There was a mole. I could feel it in the air, like a thick, suffocating presence. A subtle shiver ran through me, a ripple of unease prickling at the back of my neck. Even as I smiled at each person walking beside me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that one of them wasn’t who they claimed to be. The weight of the suspicion gnawed at me, but I couldn’t voice it. Not yet. Not until I had more certainty.

I had my suspects. Zanya was at the top of the list, no doubt. But Jaryl was already wary of her, so I didn’t want to make matters worse. The way he looked at her—like she might mean something more than just a comrade in arms—left me feeling unsettled. Something in the way he seemed to care for her, despite everything, made me doubt my suspicions. But my gut never lied, and my gut was telling me to keep an eye on her.

Farrind strolled up beside me, his steps lazy, almost carefree. Farrind was free in every sense of the word. His father, a high-ranking court official in Clav, had always seen him as something special—elite, untouchable. And his abilities? He’d manifested them early, and his father, protective as ever, had sent him to the Harrow, thinking it would keep him safe from Dirimat’s reach. Farrind, however, had never been the type to follow anyone’s rules.

“Stop,” he said, his voice breaking through my thoughts.

“Stop what?” I asked, half-laughing.

“The thinking,” he answered with a side-eye, dramatically placing his palm on his forehead as though he were in pain. “It’s hurting my head.”

I snorted softly. “Maybe some tea would help ease the pain.”

Farrind gave a dramatic snort in return. “Quite sure that won’t be until Elantra.”

I nodded, the humor in his tone lifting my spirits a little. “So how can I help you then?”

He gave me that cheeky smile—the one that always meant trouble. “What about a warm kiss?”

I rolled my eyes so dramatically I thought I might strain something. “Can I say no?”

“No,” he replied immediately, without missing a beat.

I sighed, resigned, but mostly entertained. “I’m not kissing you, Farrind.”

He merely shrugged his shoulders, stepping in closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming as he wrapped his arms around my waist. The heat of his body seeped into mine, and before I could react, he whispered in my ear, his voice low and teasing, “But I can.”

And before I could protest, his lips crashed into mine. It was like a wave, sudden and all-consuming. His kiss was intense—hot and searing—leaving no room for thought. Every second we spent locked in that kiss made me feel like I couldn’t breathe, yet I didn’t want it to stop. His tongue brushed against mine, slick and urgent, and I found my hands tangled in his hair, the familiar softness of it grounding me. The world faded away, leaving just him and me, caught in the heat of the moment.

It was impossible not to lose myself in him. The taste of lemon and honey lingered on my lips, a constant reminder of him. When we finally pulled away, breathless and disoriented, the cold air seemed to hit me harder than before.

“Well, that’s warm enough,” I said, my voice a little more breathless than I intended.

“Yeah, very warm,” he agreed, a playful glint in his eyes as he exhaled slowly. “And my head’s no longer hurting.”

I smiled, slipping my hand into his, leaning into him just a little, hoping to preserve that moment of warmth, of connection.

“Elantra,” he said suddenly, the word rolling off his tongue as though he were savoring it. “Isn’t that where your mother is from?”

I stiffened slightly at the mention of Elantra, my thoughts shifting back to a time long gone. While Farrind had spent his life hiding in plain sight, and Jaryl in the shadows, I had lived a life of relative freedom—until the massacre that wiped out the rest of our tribe.

Oralice and I were the last. We were all that remained of a once-thriving, powerful tribe, now reduced to nothing but memories. The cloaking spell that once helped us blend with the rest of the world was fading. It felt like we were running out of time before our pointed ears would become too obvious. Being an elf outside of Elantra meant living with a target on your back.

“Yeah,” I said softly, my voice tight. “It is.”

Farrind’s gaze softened, and I could tell he understood the weight of my words. He had his own demons, his own burdens, but none of them were the same as mine.

“My head’s hurting again,” he whined, breaking the silence with his usual dramatic flair.

I gave him a pointed look, trying not to smile. “I’m not sorry. Again.”

“Warm kiss. Again,” he countered with a grin.

“Piss off,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“That was not very lady-like,” he teased, his voice exaggerated in mock offense.

“I don’t care. I gave up on manners long ago,” I said, shrugging.

“Well then,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “let’s run them crazy without manners.”

“I don’t understand,” I replied, genuinely confused by his logic.

He gave me that cheeky grin of his, the one that never failed to make my heart skip a beat. Then, without another word, he placed a small kiss by the side of my head—his lips warm and lingering against my skin.

But before I could react, he suddenly whipped his head to the side. We both caught a glimpse of someone—a young girl, probably too young to be part of our group—staring at us. She froze, her face turning bright red, and in an instant, she turned away, fumbling to hide her embarrassment.

Farrind burst out laughing, his deep, carefree chuckles echoing around us, filling the space between us. It was a reminder of how good it felt to be alive, to be free, even in the midst of everything falling apart.

But as the girl scurried along I couldn't help but wonder: How long would we have this freedom? How long before everything that had brought us together unraveled?

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