He looked up.
Kali looked down at her son, who had attached himself to her with the grip of someone seeking political asylum, and then at the small determined girl standing a few feet away with her tails fluffed and her expression entirely composed.
"She says I have to marry her," Lyre reported, from behind Kali's legs, his voice muffled but urgent.
"I said he will want to," Solei corrected, with precision. "Eventually."
Kali looked at her for a long moment with the expression of someone who recognized this energy from somewhere and was in the process of identifying where. Stubborn. Certain. Unshakable in conviction. It was familiar. It was also deeply inconvenient.
Wish appeared at the garden entrance.
She took in the scene. Her daughter. Kali's son. The general configuration of pursuit and retreat.
"Solei," she said, her tone carrying the specific weight of a mother who had not expected to be having this particular conversation today. "What are you doing."
