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He faced her, his brows pulling together. “What do you mean, why?”
“Does it change your relationship, knowing you’re not of the same blood?”
“Well…”
“When you think about it,” Isa ventured, “the bond you two formed is all the more remarkable for not being sparked by a twin relation. You grew up to be so close, not because you shared the same womb, or a blood link, or some sort of psychic twin connection. No, it is because the two of you forged it, all on your own. Because you truly care and trust and love each other as family. And that doesn’t change now, does it? If your bond did not form because of a blood relation, then the realization that you are adopted cannot weaken it. Lily will always be your sister.”
“Damn, you’re good at this.”
“At what?”
A smile that threatened to turn her knees to rubber. “Calling me out on my bullshit.”
She shrugged and averted her eyes, her neck and face flushing. “I call things as I see them, and I don’t mince words.”
“I like that in a woman.” The warm appreciation of his gaze on her made her skin prickle. “Usually Lily’s the one to talk sense into me, but I gotta say, I much prefer having you set me straight.”
She chanced a glance at him—which was a mistake. The playful wink he sent her zinged right into her bloodstream, causing all sorts of unwelcome tingles.
Along with the surge of desire came a pang of yearning so intense she nearly missed a step—yearning not just for the kind of affection Basil offered, but for the bonds he shared with others. He had loved ones in his life, family and friends, a network of support he could fall back on. Something she never had. His anecdotes and tales painted a picture of people willing to fight for him, to die for him, even if it had to be spelled out for him amid his current doubts.
No one would ever have sacrificed anything for Isa.
…the fastest way to a life spent alone…
Basil’s blunt statement echoed in her mind, touched on all the sore spots in her soul, speaking truth to the stubborn illusion she held on to, too afraid to let go.
What must it be like to be part of a larger whole, to be surrounded by people who loved her? She’d never know, would she? Because a network like that, it wasn’t built on favors.
Throat raw and aching, she swallowed, jerked her head toward an alley a few paces ahead. “This way.”
Rinnar of Stone lived in a mess of a house in a side street off the main road, or rather, the house appeared neglected from the outside, but surprised with splendor within. The fae they sought let them in after they stood waiting for ten minutes, and only after Isa pushed a note through a slit in the door.
“What did you write on it?” Basil asked her in a whisper while Rinnar hurried down the hall ahead of them, past mosaics inlaid in the walls, over expensive-looking rugs, and underneath several chandeliers of glittering crystals.
“That Hathôm received a valuable dagger of palladium for referring us to him,” Isa replied in a tone low enough that Rinnar wouldn’t hear her, “and that he won’t be happy if we may have to return and ask for it back since we didn’t even get to meet his source.”
Basil chuckled. “Glad your trick worked.”
“It usually does with paranoid chumps.”
The fae led them into a parlor with gilded mirrors, the finest upholstery on the chairs, and a grandfather clock tick-tocking away in a corner.
“Your house is beautiful,” Isa said in English, in an attempt to build some goodwill with the jumpy fae.
“Right.” Rinnar turned around to face them, his hands fidgeting in front of his plump belly. “What ya want?”
So much for polite chit-chat.
“Information.”
Rinnar scoffed, moving around the room, straightening things that didn’t need straightening. “Don’t everybody?”
Isa inclined her head. “Hathôm told us you know of a witch changeling who was brought into Faerie many years ago. We wish to know where you saw her, and anything else you know of her whereabouts.”
The twitchy fae paused for a second in rearranging a vase on the mantel above the marble fireplace, and eyed Isa. “Was long ago. Not sure I remember.”
Basil shifted his weight next to her, and she gave him a subtle sign with her hand to stand down. “Why don’t you recount what you do remember, and maybe the rest of it will come back to you?”
