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I can’t stand it—there is no way that I can let him blame himself for this. I walk towards the huddle and crouch down so I can look him in the eye where he is huddled over his knees crying gut-wrenching sobs.
“That, Tor, is a load of horseshit.” The weight of my tone snaps through his tears. He turns to face me and, for the briefest of seconds, I recognise howwildly unfairit is that even though he had been ugly crying only moments ago, the red tinge to his eye somehow doesn’t detract from the overall perfection of his face. Neither does the heated glare he’s firing my way. I rush to explain.
“I love your brother witheverythingI have in me. But this oneisn’ton you. Theo hasmany, manyamazing qualities, but he also has a massive chip on his shoulder about not being seen as a competent adult. Is it justified? Sure. You two growing up with your parents and not turning out to be psychopaths like them is a feat in itself. Not to mention growing up being a child genius amongst adults. But your brother can’t communicate for shit.”
Tor snorts a laugh and nods. I’m more than a little glad that he hasn’t taken my honesty the wrong way. “Not that I’m any better. But he’s working on it. This isn’t all on you. It’s not all on him. And in his warped little way, he would beinsanely pissedif you tried to take all the responsibility and blame for this.”
“Oh my gods, I can hear him now.” Seldon breaks in from the other side of the room, “Tor can’t even let me be responsible for my own kidnapping. Gods, when is he just going to let mebreathe!”He adds in a terrible impersonation. But it has the desired effect, and we all chuckle, releasing some of the tension.
“Ugh, you’re right.” Tor throws himself back on the couch, running his hand through his hair. It should be a sweaty, tangled mess, but the curls just fall perfectly back into place.
Edith and Mauvy arrange themselves on the back of the couch and continue to rub his shoulders. I’m only seventy-percent convinced it’s for comfort and not just to feel him up. The area is more than a little crowded, so I move back to my spot leaning against the counter.
“We let him down last time, when we left him alone. After, you know?” Seff is staring into his tea like it holds the secrets to the universe. His leg continues to bounce; he is like a ball of energy about to combust. “We can’t do that again.” Seldon reaches out across the tiny table to pat his hand.
“Of course we won’t. But Seff, last time… you guys were hurting, too. You all went through something then.” Seff goes to interrupt but I see the knuckles on Seldon’s hand turn white where he is holding Seff’s hand. “Yes, Theo went through more. But trauma’s not a competition. You were all pretty fucked up when you got back. Will we make sure it’s different this time? Yeah. But things are different now. You can’t beat yourself up about all that.”
From the look on Seff’s face, he listened to approximately zero of that, despite his nods.
“So, uh, I thought he lost his fae magic.” Caelan lets Seff off the hook. “You know anything about the exploding sun thing he had going on today?”
He’s looking at me, but I spread my hands in front of me and shrug, heaving a giant sigh. “Honestly, there were a fewthings that made me suspicious. But that communication thing, you know? The mages know what’s up. I overheard Tarook and Alesander talking on the way back. But I missed the important bit.”
Mauvy jumps off the back of the couch. “Which reminds me, I have a Tavern to run. I’ll get rooms done for you lot. Don’t linger too long, you need rest.” She stops to pull me down for a hug.
“I owe you.” I whisper in her ear. She pecks a quick kiss near my ear and slaps my cheek affectionately.
“Absolutely not. You know I have the Tavern handled. You take all the time you need here.”
After she leaves, it doesn’t take long for everyone else to clear out for the night. Granted, Caelan has to basically drag Tor from my couch, but he manages. After a quick shower—the sweat and dirt from the rescue had caked firmly onto my skin—I grab a cloth and towel and head to the bed to clean Theo off as well as I can.
It is a delicate process, stripping him off while unconscious, but I manage. His body is riddled with red burns under his arms and bruises blooming across his chest and face. My hands shake with anger as I trace the thick purple bands across his chest. There is no way they didn’t hurt.
Gently, I kiss my way across them, wiping at the traces of dirt. His knees are black and bloody where he slammed into the rocky creek bed, and he hisses in his slumber as I clean him and brush more kisses against the marks there.
Eventually, he is clean as I can get him without disturbing him further, and so I slide into the bed next to him, not bothering with clothes for either of us, needing to feel as much of his skin against mine as possible. I pull him close, so he is tucked into my side, wrapping myself around him. Safe.
Safe. The word breaks the dam inside me, the emotions of the day slamming into me like a board to the face, and I letthem fall. Every single one of them falling with my tears, I cry holding Theo, weaving promises into the night that I will love and protect and care for him for the rest of our lives.
Theo
A shuddering snore wakesme, and I panic, flailing wildly at the heavy arm wrapped around me. I am not a hundred-percent surewhyI’m panicking, but I do, tearing at the unfamiliar sheets. But in my panic, a familiar smell hits me, spicy and warm, like safety and home.
My racing heart slowly settles, and I blink away the sleepy confusion. The heavy arm tightens around me, and the solid wall of man snuggles closer to my side, a grumpy huff of breath tickling the side of my neck.
Roan.I am in Roan’s bed.
It’s so strange that in all our time together, I’ve never seen where he lives. I mean, we’ve talked about it. He just prefers the tavern. I hope he prefers my house—our house—the most.
In the dim light filtering through the curtains, I can’t see much from where I’m pinned next to him, just the cheap bedside cabinets and wardrobe. The generic, fake beechwood timber looks out of place against the white-washed walls and exposed beams. He doesn’t even like light-coloured wood. Even the plainnavy quilt feels out of place. There is nothing of Roan here, like a stranger's room.
At least in the cocoon of his bed, of him, it feels so calm. So different to the cocoon I last wrapped myself in—sure it wassafe, but I was a mess. This morning feels different. Clearer.
Shit. I was kidnapped yesterday.
Again.
Was it yesterday? What day is it? How long was I out? Shouldn’t I be freaking out about the kidnapping and not the time?
