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My art was something tangible, though. Something I missed desperately, and something that I thought the fae could understand. And Rys did. Why else would he have given me everything I needed to paint again?
So, no. He’s not asking me about painting.
Which means he’s asking me about this painting.
He’s been there. I’m talented enough that, even though I’m far from finished, it’s pretty obvious what’s coming to life on my canvas. Even if the exact spot isn’t familiar, he’s been to the human world before. He knows exactly what I’m painting.
I look back at the scene. And I think about my answer.
Do I miss home? Of course I do. I miss the hustle and bustle of the city, the way it’s rarely quiet, the people, the lights, the comfort of knowing that a mischievous faerie isn’t going to pick me up and slam me into a plum tree. I miss my apartment. My space. I miss my cell—Lord, do I miss my cell phone—and how I can call my parents in Florida with a touch of a button.
I miss my mom. With all of the stories she told me as a little girl, she’d probably help me navigate my way through Faerie. Looking back, it’s almost as if she was preparing me for this. The stories, the movies, the legends… I knew more about Faerie than I would’ve guessed, and I’ve only been learning more and more in the last two months that I’ve been here.
And maybe she was. Or maybe, as Saxon told me, it was just fate.
“I can’t go back.”
It’s not an answer. Not really a question, either.
But Rys understands.
“No.” There’s a touch of regret to his soft, lilting voice. “Siúcra demanded its sacrifice. The contract seems to be ironclad. I haven’t found any way around it.”
I glance over my shoulder. “You’ve been looking?”
“You sound surprised.”
Probably because I am. Ever since I discovered that Rys’s sacrifice was me, I wanted nothing more than to change that. I was only able to sacrifice my way back to the human world, back to the Iron, because I was at least sure that I’d have Rys at my side. He seemed to accept his sacrifice so easily, I began to wonder if maybe I read more into our time together at Siúcra than he did.
And then he brought Jim here—on purpose—and that was a pretty big clue that me and Rys were over.
So while it surprises me that he tried, it doesn’t really mean anything now, does it? Not while—
“Where’s Jim?”
It’s the same thing I asked Saxon. I can’t stop myself. Now that I’ve gotten over my shock at Rys coming to see me in my room, I have to wonder why Jim still hasn’t. This has got to be an even bigger jolt to him than it is to me.
He frowns for a moment before he shrugs. “Still asleep in the room I gave him, I’m sure.”
Really? It’s been hours. “He must’ve been tired. Jim usually doesn’t nap this long.”
“Napping? He’s not napping. I dusted him so that he’d give you your space.”
“You what?”
“I had to. You didn’t take his arrival as well as I hoped and he wanted to run right after you. I couldn’t allow that.” If his skin wasn’t so flawless, he’d have furrows in his brow. Instead, cocking his head slightly, he asks, “Didn’t Saxon tell you?”
“No,” I say weakly. “He forgot to mention that part.”
Tricky, tricky fae.
Dusted him… I know what that means. When me and Rys were traveling back to the Seelie Court after he rescued me from the Faerie Market, he decided that I should go to sleep. I decided he could shove it. I had gone weeks separated from him, believing that his giving me up meant I’d never see him again, and then he showed up in time to save me. I was grateful, but I was still bitter and hurt, and I wanted to talk to him.
Rys avoided the conversation that night by blowing a palmful of glittering, gold dust right at my face. The second it hit me, I was down for the count. It was like chloroform on steroids, the dust was that powerful.
Or that magical.
If Rys hit Jim with that stuff, he’ll be out for a while. I don’t know if I’m glad for his foresight, or still pissed that he keeps doing shit like this without asking me for my opinion.
