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“I am,” Hawke replies.
“Let him take you, Wren,” Sigurd urges. “I trust that Hawke will keep you safe.” He glances toward his cousin, who nods in return.
“As do I,” Mark says. “There’s no one I would trust more with my niece. And…” The words die unspoken as he looks away.
He wants to ask about his kids. I can almost feel it.
“I’ll ask after Matt and Tabitha. Maybe see them too?” I glance at Hawke. I have no idea if he plans to just drop me there or linger.
“You can stay here a while if you’d like,” Sigurd says, maybe sensing my question. “As long as you need. I can post guards near the door so that, if you approach, they can let me know immediately.”
“And if I can’t find the door?” I hadn’t thought about that at all, but suddenly I can’t unthink it. What if I never find my way back to him?
He leans in close to me, his lips barely hovering above the curve of my ear. “Touch our mark, Wren,” he whispers. “It’ll have a pull to me, just like our bond did. It may be faint in this world, but I trust you’ll feel it.”
That’s what I felt when I was captive of the Unseelie. That slight tug in a direction I couldn’t explain.
“Yes.” I slide my fingers under the hem of my shirt, right over the mark on my skin. As he said, I can feel it, a pull right toward him. “Yes, I will always find you.”
Mark clears his throat. When I look back at the others, the guards are carefully looking away, though no doubt with their fae hearing they probably heard much, if not all of our discussion.
“Would you like me to tell them anything for you?” I ask Mark.
He glances away again, his shoulders hunching. “I don’t—”
“It’s okay. I won’t say anything,” I say quickly. “Maybe another time.”
Mark looks back at me. “Maybe so.”
There will be plenty of time for him to decide to reveal himself—hopefully.
“Shall we go?” Hawke asks.
Right. Because the more time they spend here, the worse it is for them. I swallow my nerves and take his outstretched hand. Whatever I find at home, I can’t change it now.
But I hope, I pray, it’s something good.
The shift is slow and jerky, much like when I traveled with the Unseelie, though the distance is not far. That alone twists my stomach inside out, but it’s not what nearly brings me to my knees when the world stops moving.
Gran’s house—my home—sits in its little clearing like it always has, our little vegetable garden in the back and the forest circling around. The tin roof, the rocking chairs on the front porch, and even the one missing shutter I keep meaning to replace are all the same as when I left.
The only difference I can spot is the strange car sitting in the driveway next to Gran’s old truck and my Mazda—I guess someone retrieved her.
“I’ll wait here for a few minutes,” Hawke says, snapping me out of my reverie. “Let me know if you want to stay or return.”
“I will.” I just need to see what awaits me inside.
As hard as it was to be trapped away from home, coming back is somehow just as hard. I don’t know what I’m going to find when I walk through that door. In my head, I pictured Gran as being fine—shaken and upset, I’m sure—but okay. But that’s what I had to believe to keep going. If I had let myself think the worst, I would’ve been a mess. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to win the competition and release myself from Sigurd’s bond.
That pretty illusion only lasts until I knock on the door though. Once I do that, I have to face whatever comes after, including trying to explain where I was in a way that doesn’t make Gran want to lock me up in an asylum. Not that I think she ever would, but I have no idea how she’ll react to what I have to say.
One step after another, I force myself to cross the yard. The stairs leading up to the front porch are harder, each one requiring a deep steadying breath.
I’m saved from knocking and the endless wait for someone to open the door when it swings open on its squeaky hinges.
“Wren?”
“Matt?”
