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I groan. “And such an idiot.”
He has reasons for what he’s done, but still, going to such lengths for revenge, possibly starting a war, almost getting someone killed? Not cool. We all make mistakes, but dang, that’s…
I shake my head. “Do you think he’s sorry? Do you think he can change?”
The eagle blinks at me. Its head nods, almost infinitesimally.
My chest clenches, and I force out a smile. “Guess it doesn’t matter now, huh? I’ve blown it.” I shake my head. “And I’m leaving soon anyway. Hopefully.”
It shouldn’t matter what Sigurd thinks of me, but somehow it does. He’s not a man Gran would approve of. I’m not sure I can say I approve of him, given all I know, but he haunts my waking thoughts more than any man ever has. The only benefit of nearly getting myself killed in the competition was not thinking about him all the time.
A squawk pulls me back to the moment. Feathers brush against my cheek where I lay on top of the borrowed bed. A breath catches in my throat as the eagle nuzzles against my shoulder.
“Yes, I’ll miss you too.” I really will. More than I dare admit. It’s probably why I haven’t given him a name. It’s too permanent, and I can’t afford any more entanglements. Enough fae have imprinted themselves on my heart. Carving myself open more by naming my eagle like he’s some kind of pet I can keep is a terrible idea.
A hard knock comes at the door. The eagle takes flight, soaring out my open window as I say, “Come in.”
I expect Mark, but Hawke fills the open doorframe.
“Talking to someone?” He lifts one dark brow.
“Just myself.” I sit up, ruffling the pages spread across the bed. I was supposed to be studying. To say I haven’t been able to focus on it would be an understatement.
Hawke scans the room, doubt written all over the sharp angles of his face. His lips thin as he finishes his search.
I just blink in return. No point in dropping Hawke’s opinion of me even further by confessing that I talk to animals.
“Anyhow,” he says, “I finished translating the rest of these pages for you.”
“Thank you so much.” I lay on all the sweet, southern appreciation I can. I’d have been screwed if he or someone else hadn’t offered to help. The pages they’d given out were all written in Faery Common, or so he said. It just looked like grand, looping swirls and squiggles to me.
He brings the pages over, and I expect him to drop them and leave, just like he did the last batch. Instead, he sits on the edge of the bed. The very edge. A centimeter more, and he’d probably slip straight off onto the floor.
I sit a little straighter.
“I wanted to ask about your grandmother,” he begins without preamble. “Mark has told me some. You care for her?”
“Yes. I have for years.” Worries creep into the edges of my mind, reaching out like grasping, spindly hands to strangle me. “Without me there… I’m sure Mark’s daughter Tabitha helps but—”
He gives my knee a squeeze. “If your grandmother is anything like you and Mark, she will be okay. She’ll be strong. Brave. Just as you are.”
The compliment catches me more off guard than if he’d claimed the sky were red.
Fae can’t lie.
“It’s an honorable thing, caring for your elders,” he continues. “We revere it quite highly here as well. However, you could get help if you wanted it.”
I huff. “Who is supposed to help me?”
I’d told Uncle Mark all about his kids and how they help when they can, but they have their own lives, other obligations. Matt is not even in the country most of the time, for goodness sake. And Aunt Virginia? She’s never helped anyone but herself.
“You couldpaysomeone,” he says. “Mark said there are places where the elderly can live where they are cared for.”
I cross my arms. “That requires money, which we don’t have.”
Between Gran’s savings and what I make at the bar, we get by, but affording a fancy senior living center? We wouldn’t be able to do that for long.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. We don’t have your human money, but we have jewelry, gems, metals, things that may be of value. Mark hoped the gifts he’d left for you all over the years would help. They should have—”
