Page 97 of A Courage of the Chosen

“Why don’t we have girl dinner every week?” Rach says. “We can have pajama pizza parties and tell silly stories. How does that sound?”

Reyne raises her hand. “I’m in! We should get matching PJs, too.”

“I like the way your brain works, Rey.” Rach gives her finger-guns.

“What do you think, Erin?” I peer at her from the corner of my eye to find her half-hiding a smile behind her teddy.

“I’d like that,” Erin replies.

Reyne slaps a hand on the coffee table. “Then it’s settled. I’ll get my aunt to make us the best pajamas this world has ever seen.”

She turns to Erin and asks, “What’s your favorite color?”

“I like purple,” Erin replies, that smile lingering on her face.

“Purple it is,” Reyne winks as Rach adds, “Excellent choice, girlie.”

My advisor told Livvy to take a few hours to herself, and by the time she returns to see Erin to bed, we’ve all pinky-promised that girl dinner will become a regular thing.

Erin gives me a hug with a hushed, “G’night, Elsie,” before heading off to clean her teeth. I peek through to the bedroom and spot the giant bear Callahan got her in the middle of her pillows.

◆◆◆

Since Callahan still wasn’t back when I returned from Erin’s room, I took the opportunity to soak in the bath and consider the events of the day.

I knew Hector was right in what he said about Cal. That his plan came from a place of wanting to protect me. But I also knew he cared about the Seelie of this world just as much.

Hector and I chatted a little more, and I left the conversation knowing that we would be okay, and I hadn’t irreparably broken something between us. He embraced me in a way that made me think what it would’ve been like to have a parent like him.

I didn’t lack in fatherly love. I had that in spades from Grandpa. But as a little girl growing up, not knowing who her dad was, I couldn’t help myself from wondering. A question that’ll never be answered. And one I wouldn’t want answered, either. My father was Dorche. No good would’ve come of him being around.

I miss Mom and Granny so much it hurts. When everything else is quiet, and my mind isn’t occupied with the severity of war, or what the fuck this bond between Tavish and I means, the loss creeps in like a wraith.

Closing my eyes, I hold my breath and slip beneath the surface of the water. It filters into my ears and amplifies the sound of my own heart.

Behind my lids, images from my childhood dance in the dark. Camping trips and long weekends together. Movie nights, and Tuesday dinners together round Granny and Grandpa’s dining table. All the small moments that made us a family and the things I’ll never get back.

This is part of the reason why I feel so much for Erin. She shouldn’t have to shoulder so much pain at the tender age of eight, yet she’s doing it. I’m determined to give her the space to heal and make new, peaceful memories, if I can.

There’s nowhere for my tears to go, but they gather anyway.

Grief doesn’t disappear. I’ve been nursing it for long enough to know that. It ebbs and flows like the tide. One moment a gentle lapping that reminds me of the ones I’ve lost, and other times it’s a surge that pulls me under with the promise of never letting go.

All I can do is hold on, knowing that I’ll come out the other side. Bruised and battered, but still standing. Because that’s what they’d want me to do.

As I surface again, sucking in a lungful of air, I hang onto those memories. The way Granny’s eyes would crinkle when she smiled, and the way Mom would snort when she was really laughing. I get lost in all the joy and the pain, before they tuck back into the fractures of my heart.

The butterfly forms easily when I shape my light into the creatures that were Mom’s favorites. I chuckle as I recall all the tacky things she’d buy because they had butterflies on them. It didn’t matter to her how useless the item was, or how garish, she just found happiness in them.

Let me free.

The call of the cold is milder, not like it was in the council meeting, where it demanded freedom of me.

I hesitate.

When I first discovered my light, I feared I couldn’t withstand the strength of it. Callahan taught me control, and taught me how to wield my power. Because it was me, and not this separate thing that lived inside my chest.

Is it the same now? Do I fear whatever this voice is calling to because I don’t understand it?