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I gulped, remembering vividly that day and the tormented feeling of despair and hopelessness.
“Then, suddenly, Erlik walked directly into the yard, stopped in front of me, and said, ‘Your whore mother is dead. Your father commands that you never speak her name again.’ He tossed herbloodied handkerchief at my feet, the one with the purple flower of Windolek embroidered on it, and then he walked away.”
“Oh, Goll.” She blinked back tears for me. “That’s ungodly and horrifying.” She pressed my hand to her mouth and kissed the top of it, a single tear slipping down her cheek when she closed her eyes.
My heart seized at the sweetness of her, at her pity for me, the boy who’d lost his mother. I never could mourn her. I could never even mention her name, or I’d have suffered the wrath of my father’s fists.
“I come here sometimes to remember her.”
Then I pulled the handkerchief from the flat pocket of my armor, where I often slid an extra blade. I’d been carrying something altogether different on this trip with this moment in mind.
“I thought perhaps”—I cleared my throat—“that you might like to have this.” There were no blue stains on it now, no sign of my mother’s brutal death. “It was precious to her. And has become so to me over time.” I held her gaze, glassy with emotion. “As have you.”
She took the handkerchief from me and admired the embroidered flower, tracing a finger over the delicate stitching my mother had done with her own hand. “I will cherish it, Goll,” she said, her voice a rasp. “Always.” Then she pressed it to her chest and wrapped one arm around my waist in a gentle embrace.
I exhaled a heavy sigh as if I’d been holding my breath for years and pressed a kiss to the crown of her soft hair. I’d often imagined giving her this small token of my mother’s since the Rite of Servium. I hadn’t expected this moment to mean so much to me, to transform my mother’s memory into something beautiful rather than mournful. For the first time since I was a boy, I thought of my dear mother and no pain accompanied it.
“We should bring life back to this castle,” she whispered. “The terrain is very lovely.”
“It is. Do you see that high hill there?” I pointed toward the northeast.
“Yes.”
“Not too far beyond it is Solzkin’s Heart, and just beyond that are the foothills of the Solgavia Mountains, which you can see easily enough.”
She faced me, her expression earnest. “Why did you say it was mine? The castle?”
Clearing my throat, I confessed, “I’ve always known I’d give this place to my mizrah. For I know it’s a beautiful place to have a child and to raise one. Näkt Mir can be quite dreary to some…as I imagine it is to you.”
“Goll, do you already know that I’m with child?”
Holding her violet gaze, realizing her eyes were the same shade as the wildflowers that will bloom here in the summer, I said, “Yes. You knew, too?”
She shook her head. “I suspected, but I wasn’t sure. It hasn’t been very long since my last bleeding.” Then her face paled, and she licked her lips. “Are you saying you want me to leave Näkt Mir now and go away to have our child?”
“No,” I answered sharply. “I donotwant that. But I want you to be content while you are breeding.”
“I’m content when I’m with you, Gollaya.” The soft expression she wore with genuine love in her eyes nearly felled me on the parapet.
I cupped her face with both hands and pressed my forehead to hers. “I do not deserve you. But I will pay tribute to all the gods, even Lumera, for bringing you into my life.”
She laughed, clutching the edges of my cloak. “I would love to see you pay tribute to Lumera.”
“Una.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead then another. “Una.” I lifted her face and brushed a soft kiss against her sweet mouth. “Though my heart has been blackened by all the blood I’ve spilled and all the dark thoughts I’ve kept and nourished over the many years, when you look at me like this, I believe there may be some good left in me yet.”
She placed her hands over mine where they cupped her cheeks, the handkerchief still in one. “Your heart is not black from the battles you have fought or the murder of your father who didn’t deserve the throne. If that were true then so would be mine from the bitterness I’ve kept of being tortured in your father’s dungeon.”
I shook my head. “You are filled with nothing but what is good and light, Una.”
“That is a lie.” She laughed, but then her expression sobered. “Our hearts are what we make of them. Like recognizes like. And mine knows yours.” She pressed her palm to my chest over the organ beating hard for her. “As yours knows mine.”
“Yes, my love.” I brushed my lips against hers, but then pressed more firmly when my hunger for her taste urged me on.
The kiss was sweet but urgent, a soft melding with a tender intimacy weaving between us. I’d never known the like of it, this tantalizing connection with another fae. When I broke the kiss, I pressed my mouth to her temple then whispered, “You are so dear to me.” A panicking fear gripped my heart at the thought of ever losing her.
After a brief time when we simply held one another, she said, “I accept your gift of this castle, but I will only come here when you come with me.”
I smiled. “My mother would’ve loved you.” I didn’t know where that thought came from. Perhaps from my mother’s spirit still lingering here in her favorite place in the world.
