He shuddered at the touch, and a hollow laugh escaped him. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand why you’re living here. You should be in our nest. You should be with me.”
Her eyes stung, and she pressed her lips together. “It’s complicated.” The understatement of the century. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow. I’ll come to your eyrie. I still have a key.”
He nodded slowly, like movement hurt. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” she promised.
He left without another word, but she felt his presence fade like a physical ache. She stood in the puddle he’d left in the corridor until her neighbors retreated into their rooms and her hands stopped shaking, until she could trust herself to go back inside without screaming.
Loïc had slept through it all, wings tucked around himself like a blanket. His horns were budding, pushing through the skin on his forehead. He was getting so big. She sat on the edge his bed, admiring his peaceful face, and made her decision.
The next evening, before she picked up Loïc from flying lessons, she braved the rain and walked the slick streets to the cobbler’s shop where Hannalinde lived in the shabby rooms above. She’d lost everything when Lord Wilkin was executed for his crimes and now scraped out a living doing mending for more common people. No more silks and satins for the daughter of Lamont. Now she patched elbows and knees and wore little calluses on her fingertips.
She and Idabel had become good friends since her fall from grace in the palace quarter, drawn together by the disgust that most people felt toward both of them for their involvement inthe whole treasonous scandal. Few others could understand the weight of the world’s revile as they did. It had been a very public trial, and the streets of Solvantis had a long memory.
“Could Loïc stay with you tonight?” Idabel kept her voice light. “I have Tower business that might run late.”
“Of course.” Hannalinde’s expression was shrewd. “I heard the Sixth Watch is back. Was your mate among them?”
“One of two who returned.” The fact sobered them both. Idabel bit her lip. “He doesn’t know…what everyone else knows. I need to tell him before I introduce him to Loïc. See how he reacts.”
“To see if he’s safe to parent your son. I’d do the same.” Hannalinde squeezed her rain-damp shoulder. “Take your time. Loïc will be fine here with me. We can play cat’s cradle. I have my old gameboard here somewhere, too!”
Later, after leaving Loïc at Hanna’s, the two of them chattering excitedly about a scaccusmatch, Idabel climbed the interior ladders to the fifth tier. Her key still worked, but the door opened before she could turn it.
“I wasn’t sure you would actually come.” Ghantal looked relieved.
“Of course I came. He’s my mate.”
“Was.” The correction was gentle, but it felt like a slap.
She hung her head. She had to accept what she’d done, as painful as it was. “I know. I’ll tell him the truth.”
“Be cautious with your timing.” Ghantal darted a look back to check whether Brandt was within earshot. “He’s improving, but his mind is fragile. Learning about your blood being used against him, about the broken bond…it could shatter what progress he’s made. This meeting is far too early, in my opinion, but nobody can stop my son when he sets his mind to something. Once he remembered you, I couldn’t prevent him from going after you.”
“What do I tell him, then?” Everything she wanted to say to him was forbidden. Idabel wanted to cry already.
“Enough to ease his heart. Not enough to break it.” Ghantal glanced toward the inner chambers again. “He’s been pacing since dusk, waiting for you. I’ll leave you to speak alone.”
Idabel found him in front of the high, peaked windows, a dim silhouette against the cloudy night. He turned at her footsteps, and the joy that transformed his face nearly undid her.
“You’re here.” He crossed to her in three strides, then stopped just out of reach. “You’re real.”
“I’m real.”
“Can I—” He gestured helplessly. “I want to hold you, but I’m not...I don’t trust myself. The war made me—”
“I trust you.” She closed the distance for him, pressing against his chest. His arms came around her like city walls, solid and protective. He buried his face in her hair, breathing deep, and she felt him tremble.
“Idabel.” Her name was a whisper against her neck. “My Idabel.”
Then he was kissing her, desperate and so, so careful, like she might dissolve in his hands. The spark between them reignited instantly. Not the mate bond, that was long gone, but pure chemistry. History. Wanting that had survived six years of separation.
When they broke apart, his hands framed her face. “Tell me truth. Did you take another mate while I was gone?”
“Never.” The word came out fierce. “I would never love anyone as I love you. Why would you think that?”
His whole body sagged with relief, but then he frowned down at her, still puzzled over something. “You live in the rookery in a family roost. I could smell another male on your doorstep.”
