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My parents.
My gods-damned parents.
‘Orin’s eye,’ he muttered, and as composed as that curse came out, his expression suggested vivid visions of Valter whimpering under his worktable while an alf sword cleanly and efficiently sliced the workshop to shreds. ‘Alright. I suppose it would have been helpful if I’d adequately grasped from the start how different our frames of reference are here.’
A shivery laugh escaped me. ‘I’m still trying to grasp whatever your frame of reference is. Even if I’m one of you … if you don’t want Creon around and I’m determined to keep him with me …’
‘Did Lyn ever tell you why she left Phurys?’ he said slowly.
My heart thudded. ‘What in hell does that have to do with anything?’
He let out a joyless chuckle. ‘That’s a no?’
‘She didn’t, no, but—’
‘Ah. Well, here’s the short version.’ He sucked in a slow breath as he turned and sauntered a few steps deeper into the hall, leaving a trickle of blood drops behind on the dark stone floor. ‘There had been a number of … incidents before everything exploded between her and the elders. But the one thing that eventually made the bastards inform her that it would be better if she left the island and took up living somewhere as far away as possible was that they were unhappy she was getting a little too involved with some primitive northern barbarian.’
‘You mean …’ I blinked at the blond back of his head. ‘You?’
‘Yes.’ The suppressed fury in his voice was tangible. ‘Of course, she insists that it was not my fault and that she made her choice knowing what the consequences would be – but I’ve seen her wrestle with those same damn consequences all the same, and three centuries of guilt are a long time to build resolve never to cause anyone that sort of anguish. So’ – he threw me a glance as he whipped back around, lips a thin line – ‘I’m not kickinganyoneout over their dubious taste in partners, Em. Not even if it’s Creon we’re talking about. Do I need to be any clearer on that?’
My thoughts seemed to come in stutters now.
That haunted gleam in Lyn’s eye whenever the phoenixes were mentioned, her paling face at the suggestion they might want a word with her in person … Signs Tared must have known and recognised for hundreds of years. I’d seen that quiet anger inside him and misunderstood it all this time – had thought it was a threat, waiting to aim itself at me at my slightest misstep, while in truth it had always been my ally, ready to destroy anyone who threatened to pull me away from the safety of my home.
My limbs were no longer buzzing.
‘And if itisCreon we’re talking about …’ My voice cracked. ‘You’re not angry about the damn fact that I love him? Just … just about the lies?’
‘Well, I don’tlikeit,’ Tared said, his sour smile a more outspoken confirmation of the fact. ‘Quite hate it, really. But if you’re sure this is what you want, I can either make peace with it or never see you again. So I’ll make myself handle it somehow.’
‘Oh,’ I managed.
‘That seemed so obvious to me,’ he added helplessly. ‘I didn’t realise you’d think …’
‘That you’d tell me to go pack my bags instead?’
‘No.’ He let out a slow breath, meeting my gaze with a slightly frayed version of his usual stoic equanimity. ‘I suppose that renders the anger a little misplaced, in hindsight.’
And then the tears were leaking from my eyes anyway, rolling over my cheeks in hot drops of shame and relief. I didn’twantto cry, damn it. I was a grown woman, not a snotty, snivelling child in need of cuddles and reassurances …
Then again … what if I was?
One of us.
The tears flowed harder.
‘Em …’ He stepped closer, holding out a slightly bloodied hand. ‘I’m so very sorry. Come here, little brat.’
I all but flew into his arms.
His hug was tight and protective.One of us.I buried my face into his shoulder and cried as if my tears could be an antidote to that poison still festering inside me – the memories of an empty bedroom on Cathra, of a letter trembling in my hand. The fear of every damn thing I’d thought I’d been about to lose, and every desperate decision I’d made in my attempts to save myself.
‘It’ll be fine, Em,’ he muttered, patting me clumsily on the shoulder. ‘On my alf honour. It’ll all be fine.’
Which sounded impossible, laughably so, and yet … Something miles deep in my chest uncoiled for the first time in ages, maybe for the first time in my life. A very first inkling of understanding. A very first notion of what life might be with that certainty of family in it, with that ever-present safety net waiting beneath my every step.
A loud, violent safety net with a tendency to recklessness and excessive drinking … but so very safe all the same.
