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“Like you, too,” she countered. Her grin flashed again, and then she was gone.

I sat down on the bed, then curled myself around the sleeping fluffin. If Medra was right, he’d be gone tomorrow. I’d miss him, but for the first time since I’d come back, the thought of a new day didn’t feel like a death sentence. It felt like a beginning.

Because Medra had been wrong about one thing: I wasn’t doing this for nothing. No, there wouldn’t be a reward. But perhaps there might be redemption.

Chapter 40

MEDRA

Blake’s room wasn’t quite the same these days. He’d always been neat and tidy; he and Florence were the same in that way. Now signs of my presence were everywhere—a folded sweater tossed over the back of a chair, my boots near the door where I’d kicked them off in a hurry. A few hair ties on the mantel. As for the bathroom … well, let’s just say the counter wasn’t looking as uncluttered as usual. The room itself was a mix of both our scents. I could only ever smell Blake’s. Something fresh like mint leaves mixed with the sweet tang of green apple. He thought I was crazy when I told him that. But then, he thought I smelled like autumn. Whatever the case, we weren’t pretending. Not anymore. This space was ours, and we were shaping it into our home. Though we wouldn’t be in it much longer.

Sometimes, in between the chaos, I tried to imagine a different kind of space we might share some day. But the problem was there was just too much going on to think that far ahead. To think of a real future at all. One where we’d both still be alive.

I sat curled in the armchair with my knees pulled up to my chest. In one hand, I held a letter. In the other, a picture. The picture was a family portrait. A beautiful fae woman stood in the center, her long silver hair falling in a wave over her shoulders. Her eyes were golden and opalescent. She looked hardly older than I was—I knew that was partly her fae blood. But she was also the youngest of Orcades’s sisters. Half-human, half-fae. She was my aunt, Morgan Pendragon. Beside Morgan stood a tall fae man with rich bronze skin and intense green eyes. His hair was dark and the ends curled. Small gleaming black horns stood out from his forehead. This was my uncle, Draven. They weren’t the only ones in the picture, their arms were full. Morgan held a little boy, maybe two or so. He had silver hair like hers and green eyes like Draven’s. His cheeks were still round with that toddler softness. My uncle held a little girl who looked the same age; the children must have been twins. The little girl had tiny horns peeking out from her forehead, half-covered by a tumble of bright curly violet hair. She was grinning mischievously and looked so lifelike, so real, that I half expected her to reach out and grab my finger. Then there was Kaye, Morgan’s younger brother. My uncle stood on Morgan’s other side, looking a little out of place. He smiled shyly, a lock of brown hair flopping down and almost covering his hazel eyes.

My throat tightened so hard it hurt. They were alive. All of them.

The last time I’d seen Morgan and Draven, I’d been lying on an altar in a grove of oak trees. I’d left the world that day, not knowing if they had lived or died.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. I looked over at Hawl; the Ursidaur sat stiffly on Blake’s sofa. The couch was large, but right now it looked like it had been made for someone half Hawl’s size. The bear’s massive body took up most of the cushions. A huge dwarven ax leaned against the sofa beside them, evidently a present from their new friends in Thrazdummar. The bear watched me; it was hard to know what they were thinking.

“These are their children?” I asked.

The bear nodded slowly. “Twins. A boy and a girl. Caspian and Viviane.”

“So that’s why they couldn’t come themselves.” I hadn’t meant to say it. I hadn’t meant the words to sound so accusing. But there it was: Morgan and Draven weren’t here. They hadn’t come. They had sent Hawl instead.

“They wished to come. Read the letter, little cub.” Hawl’s deep voice was rumbling yet gentle.

I nodded, and sliding the portrait under the sheaf of papers, I started to read.

Dearest Medra,

It is the strangest thing to be writing this. To know that there is a chance you may hold these pages in your hands someday not too far off. What will your face be like as you read? What will you be thinking? My darling girl, we have missed you. We love you.

I started to sob. The words were so simple. But I had needed to hear them so, so very badly.

We want to be there with you right now. Will you believe me when I promise you that? I swear it. You will have the portrait we sent. Did you know that Crescent was such an impressive artist? He sends his love and asks your forgiveness—you may know for what better than I, but he insists I include mention of it. Truly, though, we all ask for your forgiveness, Medra. We had no idea you survived. We have been mourning you for what feels like such a very long time. Your absence has been unbearably painful.

Tears rolled down my face. On the couch, Hawl was holding themself impressively still.

When we learned you were alive, we were overjoyed. But then that joy quickly muddled into something else—fear and shame as we learned you had been cast into a new world, one full of dangers. You were all alone. You had saved us, but now we could not save you. We have felt so helpless. For months, we have searched for a way to reach you. And yet you of all people will know how great the divide that separates us.

I nodded my head even though I knew Morgan couldn’t see me. She was here. Right now. In this room. Talking to me. That was how it felt.

Draven was desperate. Reckless. I want you to know that. He will add his own additions to this letter, but I’ve made him let me write first. He is a whirlwind of emotions when it comes to you, Medra. You were in many ways, and all the ones that count, our very first child. Orcades gave birth to you. My brother was your sire. But Draven very much thinks of himself as your true father. His love for you knows no bounds.

My heart clenched. I had always thought of him that way, too.

And as for me, Medra, I am your aunt, but I feel for you like a mother, an aunt, and a sister all mixed together. Whatever we are to one another, the love I have for you goes beyond worlds. Beyond lifetimes.

I turned the page.

You will see the children in the picture. Viviane and Caspian are their names. They came along at a time when we couldn’t have needed them more. They are your cousins. But when you look at them, you probably see a reason we are not there with you. I want you to know that is not the case, Medra. It was not the children who kept us away. Or at least, not them alone.

I glanced at Hawl. “She says it wasn’t the children who made them stay in Pendrath.”

The bear nodded. “Keep reading, little cub.”