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Mark pats my leg. “It’s not for me to tell. But Evelyn… Whether he still loves her or not, it doesn’t matter. She’s long dead. Though it does seem strange that, if he still loved her, he’d try to steal her son’s mate.”
Chapter 19
“Herson.TheKingof the Forest is Evelyn’s son.” I tell my eagle companion for maybe the tenth time. I still can’t comprehend it.
Of everything Uncle Mark told me, that fact shocked me more than all the rest. His choice, how long he’d known Hawke, fae ages…
“What could he have possibly done to deserve to be almost killed and have his mate endangered?”
The word mate still tastes odd on my tongue every time I say it. It’s so… I dunno. But Uncle Mark insists it’s more fitting than consort, since they’re an item now that they both lived. Partner or mate—fae preferred terms instead of spouse.
I turn my head to stare at the eagle across the bed where his talons pick at the furs, almost like a cat making biscuits with its paws. “Fae make no sense.”
It turns, blinking this way and that.
Neither do birds apparently.
I shove to my feet and scowl at the outfit Moria brought me to wear in tomorrow’s competition. Skintight, midnight black, and showing off everything. Seriously, if I ate a cracker, it’d show in that outfit, and goodness knows it shows enough of me in an unflattering way as it is.
“Doesn’t bode well for me, does it?” I ask over one shoulder. If Moria thinks I need something to move in, with a few small knives like hers stored away in strategic pockets and seams, then I’m in a heap of trouble.
Music winds its way through the gloaming. A violin maybe? Some kind of stringed instrument, I think. The sorrowful notes tug at my very soul, rending it with each rise and fall.
Gran, how are you? Are you doing okay without me?
Spending the day with Uncle Mark brought the sharp ache of home sickness and worry back to the surface. It’s been days, and I have no idea if Gran is all right. I’m sure she’s not. I mean, I disappeared after a robbery, she probably thinks I’m dead. But I hope she’s been strong and weathered the storm. I pray that someone is looking after her for me.
It’s one more reason that no matter what waits for me in the next game, I have to give it my all. I need to get back to her as soon as I can.
I dress for bed, and the music falters. My chest tightens ever so slightly at the loss.
“What a shame,” I murmur.
The eagle waits for me, watchful as always, as I return to the bed in my nightgown. The fae do make excellent clothes. Comfortable. Functional. Cute.
Well… I glare at my outfit for tomorrow. Sometimes cute.
“I wonder why they stopped?” No sooner do I say it than the tune starts up again, just as mournful as before and the perfect echo of my mood.
It lures me out to the balcony, where a few more eagles occupy the railing. They’re not as brave as my friend, not yet willing to come inside, but they’ve at least decided it’s safe to come down from the roof and don’t fly away as I draw near.
I lean into the fading light, searching for the source of the sound, but there are few balconies on this side of the castle, and none of the ones below are occupied. Unerringly, I find the bird around my neck and rub the little pendant between my fingers. In fact, the sound is much quieter. My brows pinch as I turn back to the room.
The eagle hops on the bed and turns his beak to the door.
“Inside?” I ask, returning to his side.
He seems to nod.
I ruffle the feathers on his head. “Silly bird.”
Songs have their own form of magic, the ability to transport someone far away or let them relive a memory from long ago. One note can say more than an entire speech and leave the listener reeling in delicious agony. This is that kind of song. It’s more than sound, more than words. It speaks straight to the soul of pain, sorrow, loss, yearning, and maybe hope.
Ignoring it would be impossible, and I don’t want to. They may as well have written this song for me given how I feel in the moment.
The main room is dark. Even the fairy lights have been put out. Only the glow of the moon slanting through the glass ceiling and peeking in through the balcony curtains provides dappled, blue-tinged light.
Music gathers me in its embrace, bold as if I’m in the front row of a concert. It tugs me to its source—the balcony.
