Page 39 of Sky’s Edge

All of them.

They were happy here.

This surprised me.

What surprised me more was that I understood Tanyn’s telling of the story of the beautiful, sequestered fae who died of inattention.

Because another Sky’s Edge king did the same thing, if not for the same purpose.

However, the subtext to Tanyn’s story, I sensed, was the reason they’d been exiled out here was because Riland might no longer have wanted Tanyn’s mother.

But he didn’t want anyone else to have her either.

I felt a deep burn in the back of my throat commencing, and I suspected my eyes were beginning to turn red, a demon trait when we were riled.

These both went away when I heard a throat clearing.

I whirled as if I was caught, guilty of doing something I shouldn’t.

Zyra was standing there.

Her expression was soft and aimed at the digi-frame.

“She’s missed,” she whispered, the tone of her voice making even me feel melancholy.

She pulled herself together and lifted her gaze to mine.

“Tanyn had a comm come through he had to take. He’s on that in the study. I’ve programmed the Cook-Companion to start your dinner. Now, we don’t have automated closets here. Do you want me or a bot to unpack you?”

“I can unpack.”

Something shifted on her face. Something that was lovely to see because it made me feel warm and content.

Then she said, “Luv, I live on a remote island. For fun, I dock the bots and clean this place myself.” Her gaze shifted to my outfit before returning to my eyes. “And I suspect, in those bags, you have beautiful clothes. Please, let me unpack you.”

I laughed quietly and nodded. “Okay. If that’s what you want to do.”

She nodded in return, stole a quick glance at the digi-frame before coming back to me and saying, with weight, “We’re really happy you’re here.”

I hadn’t exactly been invited.

Still, I thought it important to say, “Thanks for having me.”

She dipped her head and ducked out.

I looked back down at the digi-frame.

I’d taken my finger from it, so now there was a pic of Tanyn, maybe in his late teens, very early twenties, holding up a tablet still in its box, a taped tear of Dead Winter wrapping still stuck to it, and he was smiling lovingly at whoever took his picture.

More than likely, his mom.

I had not once seen his smile, and now I’d seen it four times in these snaps.

Five, because now there was a pic of him doing it while wrestling on the floor in front of the fire in that very room with two dogs that looked like Hurley.

I went to my bag, pulled out my Palm, and engaged the group text comm with my besties.

I think I’m in trouble.