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And another thing occurred to him…Hazel must have known, too, that he’d have issues with iron and, to a lesser degree, with steel. So the dagger made of palladium—a metal related to platinum, but much lighter and thus making it a perfect weapon to carry strapped to his body at all times—had been, in fact, not just an expensive gift, but a thoughtful one as well.
“The information,” Isa interrupted Basil’s conflicted pondering.
Hathôm snapped out of his admiration of the valuable blade. “Yes. Of course. I heard about a witch changeling, many years ago, from a trusted source. He said he saw her, a girl with raven hair and the aura of a witch, hidden away by a fae couple. He chanced upon them, and barely made it away without the girl’s keepers blasting him with magic. They seemed so belligerent he didn’t want to pursue the matter further, and he only confided in me after…” A grin jingled the piercings on his mouth. “…an evening of indulging in the best of my royal wine.”
“Did he say where he saw her?”
Hathôm shook his head. “But I will give you his name and address, for the value of this blade.”
“Agreed,” Basil said.
“He is called Rinnar of Stone, and he lives in Lam’il.”
Isa inclined her head to Hathôm. “Your intel is worth the dagger.”
Basil took note how she didn’t thank the fae and yet managed to convey her appreciation for a bargain kept. Ah, the subtleties of fae protocol…
Hathôm bowed his head to her. “We part in goodwill, Isa of Stone.”
“We part in goodwill, Hathôm of Metal.”
When the door closed behind them and they’d walked out of earshot of the cottage, Basil turned to her, raised one eyebrow. “Isa of Stone?”
“That is my full name.”
“A fae’s last name is their element?”
“Correct.”
“Then I would be—”
“Basil of Earth,” Isa said with a smile. “Yes.”
“I like it.” His excitement fizzled out quickly, however, as his thoughts turned darker. “I wonder what my real mother would have named me. Or maybe she did, but it was never passed on.”
Isa studied him, her expression inscrutable. “Do you feel Hazel wasn’t real? As a mother?”
Well, hell. She’d picked up on the nuance in his tone, the underlying bitterness. He sighed. “She took care of me, yes. But how much of that was true affection on her part? What if she acted mostly out of obligation? What if, deep down, she resented me for being the wrong child? How many times did she wish the fae who swapped me for her daughter would return and take me back, so she could have her real child again? My father—adoptive father—was an ass to me most of the time, and now I can’t even be sure my mom—” He broke off.
Isa was silent for a few seconds. “You love her, though. Hazel. You wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t care about her.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
“Which must mean she treated you well. You’ve believed her to be loving all this time, no?”
“Sure, but—”
“Then you are luckier than you realize. I would have killed to have someone love me like that when I was a child, someone with a heart so big that they’re still able to show me love even after losing their baby.”
His breath caught painfully in his chest. He stopped, looked fully at her. “Who raised you?”
She kept walking, face turned away from him. “I did.”
It fucking broke his heart.
He swallowed, caught up with her again. “You were alone? For how long?”
She shrugged. “My parents died when I was five. I barely remember them. I’ve gotten by on my own ever since.”
