Page 70 of Those That Defy the Realm

I don’t join in.

“How long?” I ask, the words tasting like dirt on my tongue.

“I can give you until the end of the period we granted you.”

“That’s only two more weeks.” Something like panic constricts my chest. I thump down on Claire’s bed and pull the pillow she sleeps on to my chest, her scent bringing me a small comfort.

“I really am sorry. I thought we were going to be able to turn it around when the central government suggested we pull the extra clause out of the Act.”

“You knew this might happen?” I think about the meetings I’ve been excluded from. The fact they’d hidden this adds more unease in my stomach.

“We didn’t think they were going to push it. Mitch has been working every hour the gods grant to figure out a way we could work around it. But they’re being too direct with their amends to the deal.”

“So that’s it?”

“Not at all. Even if the Act goes through without the extension to those with visas, we will keep pursuing it. We want Froan to be able to offer sanctuary to vampires if other authorities get wind and double down on the current laws. We want to get to a point that shifters and vampires can live legally again, as you well know. But until we can offer them a refuge, we can’t move that forward. And we need the option of refuge in place as some are not going to give up on their current thinking, there’s always going to be those that believe the fae government bullshit.”

I do huff a laugh this time. Morris is about as pure fae as you can get. She may even be a descendant of the original bloodlines. Hearing her talk negatively about her own kind is somewhat reassuring. As is her reiteration of her department's mission.

“Fine. I’ll go home. But keep me involved, please,” I plead. “I know my mother works wonders remotely. Grant me the same privileges. I want to be back here as soon as I can.” “Deal. Thank you for understanding, Ash. I’ll let you get back to your evening. This isn’t me shutting you out at all, but if you want some days off before you head back to the Northern Isles, that’s fine with me. We’ll get you the minutes from any meetings you miss.”

We say our goodbyes.

Instead of heading back downstairs, I move onto Claire’s bed, sitting with my legs crossed and the pillow still clutched in my arms.

That’s how Claire finds me a while later. She can immediately tell that something is wrong. I can’t find the words at first, so I chuck the pillow and replace it with her. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t protest, just allows me to wrap her body around mine and shut the world around us out. I’ve had to let Henry go already, and now I’ve got to let her go as well. Life isn’t fair.

“What happened?” Claire eventually asks when my heartrate has slowed.

“I’m getting deported.” Her body becomes a statue in my lap.

“Why?” she asks as she slowly unfreezes and leans back to look at my face.

Recounting the conversation with Morris, the ache in my chest gets even worse as I break the news to her. She doesn’t react, doesn’t cry or ask me to find a way to stay. Her eyes cloud with sadness, but she remains stoic as I freefall into my devastation at our upcoming separation.

Once I finish, I take a shaky breath and wait for a reaction.

“Okay,” she says, beginning to stroke my hair soothingly.

“Okay?” I panic. She thought everything would end with us when Henry left. Both of us had to convince her to give this relationship a try. Is she just accepting that this is end? Is she not as invested as I am, as Henry is, in us?

As if she can read my mind, her hand comes to my face, her palm cupping my jaw and scratching against my end of day stubble.

“We’ll be okay,” she says, taking me aback. “We’re making this work with Henry being on the continent. We’ll make it work with you in the Northern Isles as well.”

“So you’re not giving up on us?”

Her stoicism breaks, shock covering her features. “Giving up? Ash, I know that I may have had reservations initially but that was weeks ago. Can’t you tell that I’m all in on this—us—now?”

“But the Northern Isles are so much further away. And there’s no deadline. Morris will keep working on it but it’s not like Henry’s guaranteed end date.”

“I know,” she replies. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re mine, remember?”

Her lips twist into a grin, knowing that throwing those words at me will calm the sea swell of fear in my chest. Since those messages, I’ve taken to saying I’m hers whenever I wish to express my feelings for her.

“I’m yours,” I tell her.

“So, we’ll get through this. We’ll work out travel plans. I’ve never thought about seeing the Northern Isles but I hear they’re magical at Solstice.”