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He glared at her for bringing up something so trivial, but her red-rimmed eyes stopped the retort on his lips. He sat up, barking at the pain, and Ellie put an arm around his shoulders for support before arranging his pillows.
“You almost died.” His heart cracked the moment her voice did.
Talon let out a long sigh. “I know.”
“Did you find Arianna? Did you catch her scent?”
His brow furrowed. “No.” Then his heart leapt. “Did you?”
She shook her head, but her eyes were misting over. “So, you went after that Demon alone for what? Glory?”
“You know as well as I that he’s a plague to this war. If he dies—”
The slap echoed through his already pounding head and the sting of it made Talon keenly aware of the scraps running across his cheek. He blinked several times, then looked at Ellie with his mouth gaping.
“You could have died,” she repeated. “And for what? To take out an enemy? For one minor victory in a war that could last decades?”
“Ellie—”
“Who would search for her if not you? Do you know what father says? He says we should have a funeral to honor her memory, to lay her to rest instead of searching for a body. Our own father doesn’t even believe she’s alive.” Ellie took several shallow breaths and tears rolled down her face. “If I lose you, what do I have left of her?”
Guilt sank in his gut like a stone. She was right. Ellie was always right, that was why her father, their country’s leader, had declared her next in line despite Arianna being the eldest. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. She wasn’t afraid to step up and tell hard truths or make tough decisions. As long as her sister wasn’t involved.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”
She wiped her face. “What’s new?”
He gave her a grimaced smile and tried to shift the subject. “So, the festival, have you picked out a dress?”
“Of course, and I have you a nice, new tunic.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did actually. You didn’t order one before you left.”
He sighed, trying to count the days in his raddled mind. “When is it again?”
She beamed. “Tomorrow.”
TALON DRESSED with the help of a servant woman. Servant, never a slave. Avalon, their High Lord, had outlawed slavery almost a century ago at the request of his mate. She’d carried a love for humans like no other Fae in history and had somehow managed to pass that love onto her daughters.
The woman, ripe with old age, had married another human in Móirín and raised three children. He knew them all, but while most Fae stopped aging around their twenty-fifth year, the humans continued.
His stomach clenched whenever he thought about their loss and the impact it would have on their community. Fae lived forever; humans barely made it past their eightieth birthdays. Even expecting it didn’t stop the mourning that would ensue, the weeks-long memory rite where friends and family would wear black and place flowers on their graves every morning.
Talon hissed when the woman wrapped his belt.
“Sorry.” She loosened the fabric and patted his shoulder. Myrna had been their caretaker since he, Ellie, and Arianna were children, but she was nearing her seventieth birthday. She was like their second mother, always there, always caring. She never treating them different.
“Not to be a nag, but wouldn’t it be better for you to rest?”
He laughed to himself. “Ellie would have my head.”
Myrna smiled and adjusted the collar of his tunic. Ellie had commissioned the royal designer himself for the intricately made piece. Talon wasn’t sure anyone else had the ability. After six hundred years of practice, Talon supposed it made the tailor a master at his craft.
The fabric was soft and light, flowing like water over his skin. Silver gems lined the stitching that ran over his shoulders and down the front in circling patterns that were meant to represent their element. His also included Móirín’s seal, which marked him as a high-ranking officer in the army.
“I doubt it. That girl adores you.”
