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Zylah bobbed her head to the music and raised her hands up to cheer with the rest of them, but Saoirse was still reeling. Sure, she’d never abused the slaves in her care, but she’d still kept them like property. A choice this female might find unforgivable.
“Were you in Rion’s camp?”
Zylah’s head whipped toward Saoirse and Saoirse’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes.” Zylah studied her face. “Most just refer to him as The Demon, yet you say his name.”
Saoirse didn’t know how to respond, but before she could open her mouth Zylah wrinkled her nose. “Were you lovers?”
Saoirse snorted. “By the Gods, no.”
A smile returned to Zylah’s face. “It’s not really my business anyway.”
Tell her, something in Saoirse begged. Yet another part didn’t want to. A selfish part wanted to keep this female at her side, talk to her just a while more. Maybe if they got to know one another first—no, that would only make things worse, she was sure of it.
Saoirse cleared her throat, but when Zylah gave her an expectant look, all truth slipped away. “Females are more my preference. I’ve bedded a few males, but most aren’t to my liking.”
“Males are disgusting.” Both females laughed.
Saoirse called for another round of drinks and ordered something sweeter for Zylah. “Tell me something about your life before, well, before the scars.”
Zylah’s gaze roamed toward those dancing. Saoirse watched the shadows enter her eyes, a darkness she hadn’t anticipated. “Those memories were a lifetime ago.”
“How long?”
“Fifteen years that feel like a hundred.”
Saoirse glanced down at her drink and lowered her voice. “Most of your life then.”
Zylah didn’t respond at first. “I knew happiness once. But it was stripped away. Those are years I’ll never get back, but I have to focus on what’s ahead.”
Right, because even if she were a hundred years old, she might only have a hundred more years to go. Or she could live a thousand. Or two thousand. But even with that length of time, it still didn’t compare to a Fae who could remain on the earth for eternity.
“What about you?” Zylah asked. “What’s your story?”
Tell her the truth.
Saoirse swallowed hard. “Did you inherit the Fae ability to detect lies?”
Zylah smirked. “Why, is your past so bad that you need to lie about it?”
“Yes.”
Zylah’s smile faltered. “Let me guess, there’s someone waiting on you back in Brónach.”
“I wish.” That would have made things simpler. Zylah inclined her head for Saoirse to continue. Here goes. So much for her planned weekend. “I have two brothers,” Saoirse began. “One you already know and it’s the reason I use his given name.” Zylah stopped sipping her drink. “The other is in Nàdiar likely pacing his floor and muttering about how the discovery of The Divine is going to be as much of a headache as the war.”
“Your brother is the High Lord?” Saoirse hated the way Zylah’s voice had lost all of its earlier bravado. Saoirse only nodded.
Zylah placed her mug on the table and splayed her fingers across the old wood. “You’re the Saoirse said to rule at his side? His diplomat?”
“The very same.” Zylah’s jaw clenched. “But that doesn’t mean we have to stop—”
The words lodged in her throat when Zylah’s sharp gaze shot up. Anger flared in the female. Not anger. Rage. Then fear and rage again.
“You had a choice,” she said through gritted teeth. Saoirse’s lips parted. “You had a choice and did nothing.”
Saoirse glanced at her drink, shame filling the pit of her stomach in a way it never had before. “Would it ease your mind if I told you I’m coming to understand just how wrong that was?” Watching the humans and half-breeds in Móirín had jarred her at first. She’d never seen them roaming free on their own and the absolute normalcy of it had her questioning everything.
“I was a slave for fifteen years because people in power, people like you, did nothing to help us.” Zylah stood.
