Page 200 of May: Bloom & Bane

“He says the Dark Bird may stay forever.”

“I have been offered many thrones,” Damon says solemnly, hand over his harness. “This is the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Therael grabs Damon by the ear. “You cannot keep him.”

“I can visit him.”

“It is time to visit Tellian, brother,” Therael drawls.

“Let go of the lobe, Rael. Unless you want these fine people to witness just how much I love it.” He winks.

Therael lets go immediately, wiping his hand on the side of his robe with disgust.

“You are a blight on our lineage,” Therael mutters.

“I am a delight,” Damon corrects, adjusting his golden earrings.

Damon stands from the stool, opening his arms to me, and I’m so charmed I step right in.

He smells like a campfire and chocolate. Almost like a s’more. His feathered coat settles around me. This is so cozy⁠—

Until anguish rips through me like I’ve never felt it. Beneath all the charm is torture worn so long it’s become wrapped around his bones.

My fingers tighten in the feathers of his coat.

He sets his chin on top of my head, so gently. “Now you know why I like your house so much, Little Empath.”

He steps back, his smile already perfectly reassembled, and bursts into a hundred ravens before I can say a single word.

CHAPTER 58

but lumi does

—SAGE

It’s been two and a half months since we had danishes with the gods—two whole moonpetal blooms. Long enough that the curve of Eden is unmistakable now, and every creature within a hundred miles seems to sense it. They keep arriving. We met Remavau a couple weeks ago, and he set us up with an endless supply of cloud-silk for Eden and the baby. Famine is standing at our treeline, and he’s holding a basket. By the time I’ve reached the porch, he’s already stopped at the edge of the yard, his antlers rough as dead wood. He lifts the basket, holding it out from his body, the way you would hold out an apology.

No, Ashán says, his shadow seeking Eden across the house. Absolutely not. He drank from her⁠—

And then he threatened to kill his brothers if they ever harmed a hair on her head, I remind him.

“I came to check on Eden,” Rasen calls, not attempting to come any closer. “I will not stay.”

Nook pulls the front door open.

Oh no, Ashán mutters. Nook likes him. Nook is never wrong. I hate this.

I think the Suntrap wants the Antler Bird to come in, Droot chirps, hopping up the leaves on my legs and onto my shoulder.

The door and I reach an understanding, which is that the door wins.

“You’d better come in,” I sigh, “before Nook removes a wall.”

Rasen crosses the yard, taking each step as if he’s waiting for us to change our minds. The heavy violet blooms of the moonpetals tilt on their stems, reaching toward his parched frame as if offering their own moisture to soothe his centuries of thirst.

He steps onto the porch, ducking his large antlers under the doorframe.

“Sage? Was that the door? Who—” Eden rounds the corner with a wooden spoon in her hand, a sage green sundress skimming her body like it was grown instead of sewn. The knit clings softly over her chest, gathers beneath it, hugging the small curve of her belly. Her copper hair is piled up and already falling, loose curls escaping down the freckled line of her neck. There’s flour on her wrist and a smear of jam at the hem. She is a disaster of domesticity and the single most devastating thing I have ever seen.