It's possible that Nakoma has started her summer off by falling a little bit in love, which, if true, would be terribly inconvenient and more than a little embarrassing. Who has time for something like that?

June is always a good month for Beledon's pier, particularly on the days when the market stalls come up. Fishermen lug crates to and fro from the boats docked in the harbor, each container filled with the sparkling silver-white of fish scales under the noon sun. Occasionally, a piece will fall from the pile, drawing the attention of a seagull circling overhead.

Other stalls hold stacks of fruit, cured meats on hooks, bundled herbs with aromas to combat the potent salt of the water. The booth next to Nakoma's has all manner of earthenware, finely crafted pottery to display as centerpieces alongside more practical items for everyday use. Any stall that sells metalwork momentarily dazzles the eyes of passerby with trinkets, jewelry, or hand-tools.

While Nakoma isn't always happy to be back in the capital, she does thrive when all the world is in motion like this: wood creaking underneath the walking of hundreds of feet, air humming with sounds from hundreds of mouths. The rise and fall of voices seems a chaotic mimicry of its steadier backdrop— the unceasing lap of waves, which catches hold of the tethered ships in its sway. It's blurring, and certainly confusing at times, but never boring.

All the world is rushing around her, but she can't mingle with it because she's stuck affixing labels to the bottles on her own stall. Returning to Beledon meant returning to the alchemy department of the city university, back to the stinging failure of not being an immediate success in a field she had desperately wanted to prove herself in. Back to nothing new and constantly being told that her impulses itch too impatiently, that her expectations of grandeur are only childlike delusions.

At the citadel Nakoma had felt largely forgotten, lost in the mix of fireproof dragon-women, erratic bird-men, and arrogant leaders that were awfully condescending for being the recipient of a literal bottle of sand.

But there had been the intrigue of the appearing and disappearing doors leading to the chimera's land (which she hadn't gotten the chance to visit, something she's still sore about), the morning lessons in knife-work and medicine, the exhilaration of having a frequent otherworldly visitor in Jasper. She had even felt a thrill during the specters' brief siege on the citadel, her heart beating animatedly fast with the urgency of preparing healing concoctions alongside the witch, Fallon and the physician, Dalmar.

Now, volunteering to run the alchemy department's stall at one of the June seaside market days is one of her few chances at excitement. She breathes in the scent of orange blossoms and lemon trees planted along the eastern coast, grateful for the way they counter the other ever-present odors of seaweed and brine. Her fingers tie a piece of twine to a vial, a paper label of Powdered Bone threaded through it.

Nakoma places the finished vial down among its peers, right alongside the distilled oils, candles, and gemstones. Her eyes dart just in time to a small hand reaching out from the other side of the stall, ready to pick up a bottle. Nakoma's hand flies out to land on it.

The hand's owner twitches in surprise, and the head of a wide-eyed girl looking no older than seven or eight pops up.

"I'd be careful with that one," Nakoma tells her. "It's meant to put a person to sleep. With someone as small as you are, who knows when you'd wake up?" The wide eyes enlarge further, and the girl ducks away.

Nakoma's mouth quirk into a half-smile. Too bad that the most joy she's deriving from the day so far is scaring away overbold children from her stall.

Somewhere deep in the din of the pier, a familiar voice carries over, warm-toned and clear. Hearing its laughter, Nakoma looks up quickly, craning her neck to locate her friend.

She spots Viveka a few stalls down with someone else in tow, both pausing to gawk at the radiant feather coats of a bird-seller's caged merchandise. They amble along, stopping next at a booth holding a range of straw items: hats, bags, and baskets.

Viveka looks regal and relaxed now that she's back in Beledon, the city ready to lie at her feet as if in reward for what she was born into: immense wealth and strong family ties. Her dress is intricately patterned with bright pink flowers and silver shines against the brown skin of her throat and wrists, making her companion's plain tunic and trousers all the more drab in comparison.

It's always been difficult for Nakoma to begrudge her this ease and luxury, if only because Viveka is well-aware of these privileges and never lets them make her condescending.

Still at the straw stall, Viveka picks up a wide-brimmed hat and, with the deceptively quick movements that are typical of her, places it on her companion's head. The latter doesn't move back fast enough to avoid it, giving Viveka time to tilt the hat so that it sits at a jaunty angle. It suits him terribly.

Somewhere on the pier a group of minstrels play, flutes and fiddles and the steady beating of a tabor. The lively music is loud in her ears as Nakoma eyes the pair, pausing in her initial instinct to call out to them. She watches as Viveka's companion lets out a little laugh and takes the hat off, handing it back to her. His smile lingers afterward.

Seeing it, Nakoma softens. A light comes to life in her eyes without her awareness or intent.

Love at first sight is an overly optimistic myth, she believes. This wouldn't even be the very first sight for her, because she has seen this man countless times before, here and there in the background without her taking much note. But there can be many qualifications for a "first sight", from the first meeting to the first time a person sees the other become passionate about something. In the case of Nakoma, this is the first time she's ever seen him laugh, and under the high June sun it changes her.

Before her countenance can regularize itself, Viveka catches sight of her. "Nakoma," she calls, hand raised in friendly greeting.

They leave the stall and rush over to her. Nakoma hurriedly moves around the edge of her booth so that she can receive Viveka's embrace. Up close, she has a better view of the thin jeweled pins keeping her friend's black hair in place, and of the two small birthmarks under her left eye that lift every time she smiles.

"What are you doing here?" she asks them. She keeps her eyes only on Viveka, still feeling unusually unsettled.

"Araceli came to visit me last week," Viveka says, eyes scanning the whole of Nakoma's stall in a flash. Her easy grins hide a sharp attentiveness, Nakoma knows. "She's determined to find a way to bring Jasper back. I've been looking through my family's library, but no luck so far on anything about interworld travel, so I thought I'd come down to the market today to see if any of the booksellers have something interesting. And to see you, of course," she says, diving in for another quick hug.

Nakoma finally lets herself look at Viveka's companion. The unyielding rays of the sun bring out the red tones in his hair and brighten the steady seriousness of his gray eyes. He has a self-conscious way of holding himself, and the effect is a strange combination of austerity and ungainliness.

Oh no, he's on the stiff side of awkward, too? She finds it a little endearing. This is terrible.

"And what brings you to the pier?" she makes herself ask him.

Viveka answers in his stead. "He could stay inside all day and not notice. I made him come with me to get some fresh air on his midday break."

The man in question gives another tense half-smile, trying for friendly. Nakoma might be melting, just a little bit.

She musters herself enough to say, "Whatever the reason, it's good to see you, Rian."

-

There is something to be said, Kalila thinks, about knowing somebody who is willing to drag you out into the sunshine with them. But she's too busy watching the light spiral down Araceli's curls to say it herself.

This is the fifth afternoon of Araceli tugging Kalila to her home after her work at the archives. The summer sun touches the western edge of the world late in the day, which they use to their full advantage. A clock tower chimes seven o'clock, but they still have a good hour of daylight left to dive into the books scattered around the room.

The two of them sit with Fallon in the attic of Zahara, Dalmar, and Araceli's home. The walls are lovingly decorated with singing birds and flowers on vines, which Araceli tells them had been painted by Zahara's own hand. The room is permeated with the scent of old pages and the strawberries that sit in a bowl for their refreshment.

Araceli lies on her stomach, chin propped in hand as she scans the lines of the text in front of her. Fallon balances a book against his knees as he carefully turns the timeworn pages, light from the window making his blonde hair shimmer. For Kalila's part, she sits cross-legged but reads without conviction, though it's usually a pastime she loves. She has a feeling this is all hopeless.

Araceli has put them all on a hunt for any sort of clue to bring Jasper back. "Some of us work at the university, some at the archives, and others have family libraries. There must be information, somewhere, that we can use," she had said when first sharing her plan.

She's recruited them all: Tai and Viveka to search their homes' personal collections, Kalila and Giada to explore the archives, Hilo to inspect the university library, and so on and so forth. She's pushed everyone to search. She remembers well the simple kindness on Jasper's face when he had brought her a birthday present, how his warning had been the first to make them aware of the specters. Letting him be forgotten was no form of repayment.

It's been days filled with hours of investigation, but no luck yet.

While Kalila is a little cynical about their chances, she does enjoy time spent with Araceli and Fallon, who along with her had been the youngest at the citadel. There's something so animating about being an adolescent surrounded by other hopeful youth.

Araceli, for example, is steady in her optimism.

"Here's something!" she exclaims. "It says if you brew this elixir during a blue moon, it should-"

"A blue moon?"

"Yes." Araceli nods her head to Kalila as she says it, as if the verbal confirmation isn't enough. "How often do those happen?"

"Every few years," Kalila says. She's no astronomer, but has read a fair few texts on the movements and peculiarities of the heavens.

Araceli taps a finger against the pages, eagerness blossoming. "When's the next one?"

"I remember Edeline and Hilo talking about one coming up. Tonight, right?" Fallon says, enlivened at the idea.

"Oh, perfect!" Araceli's elation looks ready to light up the room, but Kalila cuts in before this can get further out of hand:

"No, that blue moon happened yesterday."

"Oh." Araceli deflates in one quick rush. "Guess I'll keep looking then."

It is in this way— false starts and dashed hopes and futile searching— that they pass the long hours until evening.

-

Summer isn't all seaside markets and lounging with peers in the sunshine. There's the thickness of hot nights, too, and the nightmares they can bring.

Skander wakes with his heart scampering fast. The remnants of his specter-haunted dreams leave him disoriented and afraid, and at first he can't remember where he is. The dreams had been more fragments of memory than any original horror his mind could conjure:

He remembers the gleam of needle-like teeth sinking into the other scouts' limbs on the day that Jasper saved his life. He remembers arrows leaving his hands to sink into eyes, necks, flesh. He remembers line upon line of every kind of monster waiting to knock down the citadel and lick its bones dry, before Aedus Kade cut their puppet-strings through wounding the chimera.

Skander tries to ignore it all during the day, to sink it under the weight of warm weather, his brother's safety, and the delight of being so in love. But it's night, and the stars are out to pierce the places where darkness pools. He's always been more honest under the light of the moon.

Skander had unknowingly sat up during his jolt to wakefulness. He attempts to hold himself still now, steadying his inhales and exhales to clear the panic from his vision. He tries to stay as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake—

"What's wrong with you?"

Skander winces as he looks to the other side of the bed. Tai blinks up at him from where his head lies on the pillow. Of course he's awake just from Skander's few motions. Such a light sleeper.

"Nothing. I'm all right," Skander says. He tries to sound reassuring, but Tai only narrows his eyes at him.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a much less impressive actor at night?"

Skander lets out an amused breath but won't meet his eyes, instead looking from shadow to shadow, picking out the now-familiar shapes of the furniture of Tai's room. His heart is still racing as if in a mad dash to escape his chest. Maybe he should unlatch one of the windows to see if a gentle midnight breeze will ease his mind.

Tai watches his evasion, eyes intent even at this late hour. Finally, he sits up and pulls once at his arm.

Skander only hesitates for a moment before going to him, his head resting on Tai's shoulder. His face presses against the thin white fabric of Tai's sleep-shirt, the soft material a welcome contrast to the oppressiveness of the air's lingering heat. The comforting weight of Tai's arms shift to hold him close. Slowly, Skander feels his heartbeat steady again.

When they pull apart, Tai looks carefully into Skander's face and notes the lessened tension in his expression. Satisfied, he eases them back under the covers.

"I didn't have half as much trouble sleeping before I met you," he complains as they sink into the blankets. When his eyes slide closed again, Tai adds, low and warm from where he's tucked his face into the crook of Skander's neck, "Bane of my life."

Skander smiles into the silent dark. Light but sincere, he replies, "Love of mine."

Tai says nothing else, but Skander can feel his grin.

-

Sometimes, when the night's heat makes sleep impossible and the long thread of the rest of his life seems frayed and dull, Jasper lies awake and thinks of the very first time he went to Beledon. Never, in all the hundreds of times he used it in the years since, has the bell taken him back to that mysterious place of pristine beauty.

Jasper wants to see that golden field again. He aches to hear those bright bells in the back of his mind one more time, to smile at their sound. Instead, his head feels lost in a growing heat-haze.

Summer can be so painfully slow.