Page 67 of Where We Belong

“Didn’t they just try to kill us, about five times? That wasn’t rude?” Eira whispers to me, and we both stifle a laugh as we’re led down a flower riddled courtyard that my uncle would love. I find myself silently praying to somebody, anybody, that this ‘room’ is big enough to contain all the personalities in this group.

I needn’t have worried. It isn’t a bunch of bunk beds, as my imagination so kindly supplied in a horrid moment of panic. It’s more like an apartment. Something like a living room at its centre, ringed with vast stone pillars. Beyond it, a wide balcony stretches outward, ivy trailing and dancing in the warm air. Branching off from the living area are five separate bedrooms, each door carved with our names.

My room isn’t cosy at all. More like a museum that happens to contain a bed. Maps cover the walls and clay figurines sit in alcoves. A curvy marble bust rests behind a glass case. At least the bed looks inviting, piled with cushions and woven throws. It’s literally calling my name, and answer, I must.

I wake up a little while later, slightly disoriented, my mouth a little sour, eyes still heavy. After brushing my teeth, I strip quickly, thankful someone has run a bath for me. The citrusy water is perfect. With a sigh, my toes flick floating petals around until the tension finally drains from my shoulders. My heart is still heavy with the memory of that male on my sword. If an illusion is winding me up this much, I can’t imagine the real thing. Kaed, Nyk, all of them. They do this without blinking. Take lives. Self-defence makes sense, but down here, in Sheyole, it’s like killing is a feasible option if someone pisses you off. I ponder for a little while how that will translate in The Above. I’ll have to somehow get my uncle to train the fae to put down the weapons. You can’t walk around the seaside with a sword strapped to your back or blast a waiter with fire if he gets your order wrong.

I wrap myself in a fluffy, thick towel, about to answer the knock at the door, but before I can, it swings open and a small army of servants sweeps in. Bright layers of fabric are wrapped around me. Pins prod. Scissors snip. Sandals are slipped onto my feet and feathers woven into my hair. When they’re finished, they scatter like a flock of parrots. A second later, Eira’s shriek echoes down the corridor and I burst out laughing. Yep. They definitely stole her towel too.

“Sleeping beauty, about time.” Cook chirps as I walk into the shared living space, provoking a guilty chuckle from me.

Kaed strides in behind me, dressed in the first bit of colour I’ve ever seen him in. Deep burgundy cotton trousers and a matching loose top. It suits him. My eyes drop to his sandals before I can stop them.

“I’ve never seen your toes before,” I blurt. “They’re so...nice” I deliberately ignore the crisscrossed scars patterning the tops of his very symmetrical, very perfect feet.

“Thank you.” He rubs the back of his neck and lets out a soft, breathy laugh, suddenly unable to meet my eyes.

“Are you blushing, Captain?” Cook teases. Kaed shoots him a look sharp enough to cut stone.

“I hope it won’t be too long before dinner, I’m starving.” Eira emerges from her room. Dressed in the same flowing style as me, but hers is deep blue with silver stitching, feathers of the same colour woven through her thick, dark hair that’s been pulled into a low bun, some strands left loose framing her face. I leave them to it and slip out onto the balcony. The breeze lifts the feathers in my hair.

“I’m still annoyed at what you did to Eira,” I say quietly, folding my arms, “but thank you. For protecting me in that blast. Or were you just trying to win the trial?”

“No,” Aiden says, looking out at the deep oranges and blues of the horizon beneath the seas as the Core dims. “Instinct.”

I smile. “Aww, I love you too, brother.”

He turns then, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb the way he does when he’s thinking. “I meant I do not wish your death anymore,” he replies carefully. “Perhaps you misheard me.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mishear you. It was a joke.”

He watches me like he’s recalculating something. “Do you feel like something is off?” He asks. I raise my eyebrows, I think this is the first time he’s asked me anything with such sincerity, like he values my opinion.

“Always,” I admit, leaning against the stone railing.

“I can tell your Captain does,” Aiden murmurs. “I cannot define it. But…” He trails off, fingers moving absently to his face, rubbing at the gash along his jaw. I frown. It should have healed by now. A hiss escapes me when I lift my hand to the back of my neck, where the blast hit me. The wound is still open.

Chapter 62

Ashley

knowing ahead lies no easy track,

dark clouds gather into view.

Eira and I exchange a subtle glance before biting back identical grins. We are absolutely starving but trying very hard to look dignified. Oh God, please let the food be good. It smells incredible, although nothing will ever beat Cook’s meals.

“Do you critique other chefs’ food, or can you just enjoy something like a normal fae?” I ask Rhory, who sits opposite, inspecting the tablecloth.

“I just enjoy it—”

Aiden and Eira snort at the exact same time.

“He is the worst,” Eira says immediately. “I learned a long time ago never to cook for Rhory.” His mouth falls open in exaggerated offence. “One time,” she continues like she’s been aching to tell this story to someone, “he ate a sandwich I made and I’ll never forget the complaints. The type of bread. The brand of butter. Mind you, I was sharing my lunch out of goodwill because he forgot his.”

Cook screws up his face. “Who eats a sandwich with cheese and—”

“Anyway,” Eira cuts in, “he might not say anything rude at the table, his manners are at least that good, but he can’t control his face.”