Their globe of swirling conjured fire had landed between them, protected by Justin’s left hand. After a few minutes Kris moved to warm his own at it, to marvel at it and at the boy in his arms, and Justin reached up and threaded their fingers together, holding flame.
They stayed put after that, not talking much: a few murmured words about comfort and replies, a hummed snippet of song or two as night bundled them up and hid them away, private and protected and ringed around by reflections of magic and moon.
He noticed eventually that most of the family’d gone to bed; light glimmered from the study and from some upstairs windows, but less so downstairs. The party across the lake had continued going strong, boisterous and merry. Midwinter lights twinkled; Justin’s family had opted for scamp
