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Until Da arrives.
Callan texts Darwin to let him know so we’re not horribly surprised when Da bangs on the Ember Palace’s door. Da gets his own nasty surprise when Lords answers the door and bars Da, my uncle Brendan, and my brother from the Ember Palace.
Too bad Lords doesn’t have the authority to bar them from Thistlemist.
Unfortunately, since Callan invited them before I broke my bloodline, and for political reasons Callan doesn’t want to rescind the invite, I’ve just got to endure Da for the next ten days.
It’s going to be more of a trial than my Early History of Magic midterm.
The next people to bang on the door are more welcome. The twins arrive with armfuls of greenery. We hang mistletoe and weave evergreen wreaths while drinking cider and eating mince pies. Even Lords smiles.
Once we have the Ember Palace decorated for Yule, we take a hike into Faery to the Boglands. Struan, who followed Orlaith like the moon follows the sun, seems to know every inch of Faery and he directs us to the areas where we’re most likely to find a female bog fae.
After too many hours trekking through muck, Hog gets a whiff of a scent that has him rolling over and over in a pile of muddy leaves. He scampers around for a while, but Gabe’s evidently right about the reticence of female bog fae. None appear.
Eventually, we head back to the court, letting Hog stop every few hundred meters to piss all over the undergrowth. I thought it couldn’t get any grosser than watching him rumble his junk, but I was wrong.
I shake off the horror of Hog’s tadger by having tea with the Liusaidh. She grudgingly forgives me for ignoring her summons for two days after I give her the Yule gift I made for her. Telling her to wait until Twelfth Night is an exercise in futility. The Liusaidh does what she wants, when she wants. Which only makes me like her more.
To be fair, I’ve already opened one of my Yule presents. Fuck if I was foregoing the protection of Doctor Prince’s ring for another nine days.
The Liusaidh unwraps my gift and drapes it around her wrist immediately. The moonstones’ luster is only a little brighter than her pearly skin.
She strokes the bracelet with the fingertips of her other hand. “I sense clarity, peace, kindness. This is a lovely gift, Teddy.”
“You’re welcome.” I show her the string of tiny moonstones I wear on my left wrist among several other bracelets. “Very first strand I enchanted. All they do is throw light, which I don’t really need anymore, but I like having it on me. Reminds me of how far I’ve come.”
After we finish our tea and cakes, she leads me into another round room in her tower. It’s a forest of tulle and lace. She picks a black gown embroidered with tiny, purple roses along the off-the-shoulder neckline and all over the full skirt for me. She claims it was one of her many granddaughters’, to avoid incurring any debt, but if so, her granddaughter and I are exactly the same size.
Armored in her gown, surrounded by my boys, I head to dinner, ready to face Da for the first time since he tried to kill me.
He glowers at me from his table. He’s wearing a suit. His hair is carefully cut and styled. Same as when I last saw him. But he doesn’t seem as big now. There are dark puffs under his eyes. A twitch to the fingers that cup his whiskey glass. I healed myself after I broke our bloodline, and then my boys kept right on healing me. I don’t feel any sympathy for the old bastard—I doubt I ever will—but I do spare a thought to wonder who healed Da.
My ex-brother, Les, on the other hand, seems fully recovered. Except for his fashion sense. He’s wearing baggy, black and red satin trackies. Nothing against trackies. I believe they’re appropriate for almost every occasion. But not this one. And never in satin.
I haven’t seen my Uncle Brendan in a few years. I think the last time was my gran’s wake. The men in my family have a strong resemblance—to my grandfather, I’m told, although I don’t remember him well—Brendan looks like a slightly younger version of Da. Big, blunt, silvering brown hair and eyes like chips of muddy ice. He’s wearing a bespoke suit that doesn’t hide the toll the years and alcohol and probably a fair few drugs have taken on him.
He still looks strong and brutal and cruel enough to do some damage.
I don’t take my eyes off their table throughout the entire, dragging, dull meal. I note everyone who stops by their table, including a white-haired fae in crimson robes that are pointed over his shoulders and curled up extravagantly to frame his face. Freaking villain-wear.
Darwin, who is sitting next to me and leveling his own glares in several directions, including his stepmum’s and Loyal’s, identifies the red-robed man as Tyr’s uncle, Falconer.
That’s an unholy coalition if there ever was one.
Like the last family dinner, the best part about this one is the dancing. Dark’s the first. I set aside the low grind of anxiety my ex-father’s presence evokes to concentrate on waltzing with Darwin’s grandfather. During our two-day retreat from the world, Darwin danced with both me and Gabe. Vertical dancing. Vertical naked dancing. It was ace and I learned a few new steps.
“You’ve been practicing, young Teddy,” Dark says, after a twirl where I don’t trip over my own Docs.
“Your grandson’s a good teacher.”
Dark smiles, a sly smile that tells me he sowed a few royal oats of his own.
“He tells me you’re a good teacher, too.” His smile fades and his brow clouds. “No doubt, you think badly of the lessons his father taught him. The same sorts of lessons I had to teach my boys. It’s easy to be indulgent now that I’m a grandfather. Callan doesn’t have that luxury. Showing weakness at court is a death sentence. I hope you can understand.”
“I do. It’s a little hard to forgive, and I won’t forget. I won’t ever stop protecting Darwin, just like he won’t ever stop protecting me. But I understand.”
“Your performance at the duel was impressive. No one will think you weak after that.”
