“Lucky for you, I’m low maintenance,” I answer, setting my backpack down underneath the table.
The floor is clean, and the wood hasn’t darkened yet, showing no signs of wear and tear. This tavern was built recently for aspecific purpose. It’s clearly a place for travelers to pass through, but not to stay long-term.
Warm air slips in through the narrow cracks between the planks, carrying the scent of wet leaves and crushed grass.
Outside the checkered window, a handful of tents housing the Tidecallers are visible. Clothing lines hang on the opposite side of small campfires, and the sight takes me back to the Red Forest, to witches’ huts with crooked beams and dirt floors, where luxury was scarce, but comfort was paramount.
I set down a bowl of water and half a cup of food for Lady, who slips out of the carrier with a curiousmeow.
She makes a slow circuit of the room, sniffing the corners, before claiming the windowsill, her tail flicking in judgment as she watches the Tidecallers below.
My mouth is dry, my nerves playing harp strings through my gut. I remember vividly what happened this morning, and as much as it unsettles me, I’m already breathless, flushed, and aching at the thought of spending the night alone in a room with my ghost. But no matter how intoxicating his touch is, how easily he unravels me, I need a clear head. The visions brought on by the venom raised too many questions.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. “There’s something we need to discuss before?—”
“Before I kiss you senseless?” E rasps, and a nervous laugh slips out of me.
“Yes.”
Come on, focus.“Is it possible— Did you know my mother?”
I stare at the place his eyes should be. I’d give anything to see them.Anything. If I could see his eyes, I’m sure I could read the truth in them, whether he remembers it or not.
The silence stretches.
“You know I can’t recall any details of my life,” he finally answers.
Guilt pinches at my insides. I’m not saying he’s lying, but this matters, and it’s one more instance where his amnesia becomes annoying as fuck.
“I know. But instinctively?”
“What brought this on?” he asks quietly.
“A dream,” I mutter. “A series of vivid, messed-up dreams. And today, the venom…” I swallow hard. “I think I saw you…having sex with my mother.”
There. I said it. Ew.
“What?” he chokes out, properly horrified, which does bring me a sliver of relief.
“No. I would never—” He cuts himself off, like he’s just remembered that he doesn’t know what he would or wouldn’t have done. “You don’t think I’m your?—”
“No. No, no, no.” I shake my head with a sour grimace, my gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. But you can’t be my father. I have no Bloodsinger blood, remember? So it’s actually impossible for us to be closely related.”
Silver fucking linings.
“Hey.” He closes his hands around mine. “I want you to tell meeverything. The visions, the dreams, all of it. We’ll figure it out together, alright?”
He pulls me into a hug, his arms wrapping tight around me, solid and careful all at once. He doesn’t push it further. Just holds me.
“Alright,” I squeak.
Well. That revelation definitely killed ourthis-is-moving-too-fastproblem. He’s not in the mood to kiss me senseless anymore, and my heart gives a regretful squeeze.
“There’s this man who comes to me in the Dreaming almost every night.”
“What man?” His fingertips dig into my back, but he keeps his voice smooth as he asks, “Who is he?”
I take an awkward step back. “I think he’s you, actually.”
