Page 265 of May: Bloom & Bane

“That’s not a reason.”

“Every curse has its own laws.” I press my palm against the base of my neck, instinctively waiting for my vocal cords to constrict. “Three thousand years I could not speak to you. I could not appear to you. I could not write your name, or send you a word, or stand anywhere you might see my face. But I could send animals. And so I did. And I made sure all of your favorites stayed so you were never truly alone.”

He hangs his head.

“I have watched you sleep from the edge of this forest more nights than I can count. I could not cross it. I could not call you, and I could not tell you the one thing I have wanted to tell you since the hour you were breathed into existence.”

He doesn’t look up at me. I cannot say I blame him.

“Eirlys...” I murmur.

He goes rigid.

“You know the Rhavari cannot reproduce,” I murmur. “Not one, in the whole history of the world, Andrik. It is an impossibility for your species.”

Lumi lets out a small squeak.

“Who do you think bartered that deal?” I look at the infant on his chest. At the dark curls and tiny fist knotted in her father’s fur. “You have spent every day of her life believing she was a miracle that happened to you.”

Andrik’s arms tighten around her.

“She was not a miracle.” I take a step toward him. “She was a petition. One I would not give up on until the fates agreed.”

His knees give out, and he drops hard onto the snow. I go down into the snow in front of him, placing my hands on either side of his face.

“I was always there,” I whisper. “I was only ever silenced.”

His forehead comes down against mine.

“When I came to you before, after Micah died. Your curse had ended, but Sage’s had not yet begun. I was still not able to speak freely, or to even show you my true form.”

“Say it,” he chokes. “Say the thing you couldn’t say before. Say it.”

“I love you, my son.”

Sobs erupt around the clearing.

“Both of them,” Damon says thickly. “Both of your boys are finally whole.”

CHAPTER 82

there is always another jar

—SEVAHN.

In a realm far from here⁠—

The crystal goes dark, though I’ve continued staring at it for two hours.

I built that curse for over three thousand years.

And it ended in clovers.

The boys are scattered across the manor. The triplets are sneaking into each other’s rooms, stealing the kitten from each other and pretending they have not seen it. Ilvaen is fast asleep under his bed in the west wing. Ryn and Vaelu are wrestling in their den. Evhael is cocooned beside the kitchen hearth, wrapped in every blanket the household owns, sleeping off the cold the astral path left in his bones—someone left a fresh pot of tea steeping at his elbow, and no one will admit to it. Kaelvan is walking the halls with his taper, relighting every lamp the drafts have stolen. Elari and Eiran are making puppets in the den. And Ørvahn… is standing in my doorway.

I felt him arrive, and I felt him stop and stand in the corridor outside this room for twenty-six minutes without knocking.

My son. My enormous, gentle son, who once carried a wounded elk two miles because he did not like the way it was breathing—standing in the hallway in his own home, working up the courage to walk through the door… because he thinks I am going to be angry.