Page 159 of Spring Guardians & Songbirds

“My, how wise you must be by now.”

He smirked—his face lit with amusement. Not his usual reaction to my insults. “Wise,” was all he said. I was convinced this man is evil himself. I pitied the child she held, the future that babe would have if she even lived long enough to have one.

“If there are no more surprise children for me to figure out, I ask for permission to leave. As you know, Demir’s team leaves early at dawn,” I said, coming to stand.

Father nodded. “Have a good rest.”

Before I left, I bent down to Melanthe’s stomach and said, “Be safe, little sister. You need all the luck there is because your ma is a wicked witch and a little bit of a nasty bitch.”

Melanthe tried her best to hide that snarl but failed and ended up looking like a constipated chick.

First thing I did when I reached my room was head to the mirror. Peeling my gloves off, I rested a hand on the reflective surface. “Glaoigh kail.” Show my husband.

Visha had warned me the magic could take a while, but this was taking too long. Each second that went past, my heart drummed loudly against my rib bone. Why did I have to tell him? I could just keep it to myself, it was nothing, really. “Come on. Come on.”

The mirror surface finally twisted and there he was. Half-naked, the gnarly scars in sight and ruffled hair almost as if he had been asleep. If it was evening here, it would be before sunset in Adriata. Kilian, asleep? At this time of day?

He rubbed a tired hand over his eyes and approached closer. “My love?”

Hackles of panic rose. “Why were you sleeping?”

“Couldn’t sleep the night before,” he said, shaking his head. “What is the matter? Is there something wrong? Do I come to you?”

“No, nothing like that.” Did he just lie to me?

His face hardened. “You are worrying me.”

I was worrying myself, too. Actually, he was worrying me more. “He…father and Melanthe, they…they are having a child. The witch is pregnant…with my father’s child. Why were you not feeling well?” I asked, stepping closer to the mirror.

He shook his head. “Nothing to fret over.” His fingers moved lower on the surface as if he was touching me. “Did it upset you—finding out about Melanthe and now this?”

“I don’t know what it did, but I’m not upset. This isn’t upset.”

“You’re worried.”

“Why would I worry?”

“Because you know what it feels to be Silas’s Ybris.”

“But I do not care.”

A little absurd smile pulled on the corner of his mouth. “You care more than you think. Think about it, love. Are you thinking of the future or the past?”

“Both.”

“Then you are worried.”

“Maybe I am. But not for the babe. Worried that she is somehow incorporated in my father’s plan. This doesn’t feel like my father. He’s had the chance to have more heirs and thankfully never did, but he has had the chance.”

“You’re overthinking again.”

“No. There is just a lot of thinking going at once. Not overthinking.” I should be writing this down and making up a dictionary of my own. Why was I trying to justify it?

“I can’t stay this far from you any longer. Come back.”

“Not yet. Tomorrow I head to the Islines with my father’s General.”

His jaw ticked. “Demir.”