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Small antlers sprang from his skull, more tiny bones and herbs and thin young branches twisted into shapes dangling from them and clattering together with every step. A huge, spindly hand rose as he reached me, and I was too stunned to move when he cupped my chin almost lovingly.
“Faulis’ son.” His long snout split into a smile, revealing sharp, crowded teeth. “It almost feels like he is back here with me.”
“You…” I licked my dry lips. “How did you…”
“I have waited a long time to speak with you, Lonan.” A tiny, hoarse sound rumbled from his throat. “Decades used to pass by without me even noticing, but since he has been gone, each minute has felt endless.”
My breath caught as I stared up into those sunken eyes. In a rush, I remembered what Idony had told me—that my father’s heart had belonged to someone other than my mother.
“Will you tell me about him?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Sloga smiled again. “I will tell you everything. But first, I will make us some tea.”
Frustration welled. I almost snapped that I didn’t want any fucking tea, but I bit the words back.
“He needs it,” Idony commented as she set down her basket and grabbed an old kettle, handing it to Sloga. “He looks like he’s been dragged backwards through the entire forest. When was the last time you ate?”
“I can’t remember,” I muttered, watching as Sloga picked through a cluster of wooden bowls filled with dried herbs and leaves. He added handfuls to the kettle before hanging it over the fire.
“Sit.” He gestured to several ancient, tattered cushions on the floor by the fire. Idony had already plopped down onto one, looking completely comfortable in the Higher Spirit’s home.
I reluctantly lowered myself onto another, my head spinning a little from the glaringly bright flames in front of me. The lack of substantial food and water over the last couple of days was making this moment feel even more surreal than it otherwise would have.
“Here.” Idony threw me an apricot. I barely managed to catch it, and I cradled it in my hand as I watched the pair of them uneasily.
Sloga returned from a cluttered sideboard carrying three wooden cups, then eased himself back down by the fire, crossing his long legs.
“How did you come to find each other?” he asked with interest, accepting the blackberries Idony handed him.
She snorted. “I found him skulking at the edge of unseelie, by that old cottage where the mortal lived. Good job, eh? He probably would’ve barrelled straight into the palace if I hadn’t.”
I clenched my teeth. “How did you two come to find each other?”
Sloga chuckled. “I came across a defiant young Idony foraging for fruits around my sidhe one day. When I told her she was stealing from my little patch of land, she had the gumption to tell me she would trade for them if I wanted them back.”
He grinned at the red-haired fae, reaching over to pinch her chin. “I liked her spark. So I traded for my own fruit. You were lucky Faulis was out hunting that day,” he added sternly, the sound of my father’s name making my pulse leap. “He would have been far less willing to hear you out.”
“I did come back with wine to make things fair.” Idony sniffed, leaning over to pick up some half-finished embroidery resting on another cushion. Seamlessly, she began sewing, picking back up where she had evidently left off the last time she was here.
I eyed them both. “This seems like an odd… friendship.”
“Odd?” Sloga blinked at me. “What is odd about it?”
I flushed. “You’re a Higher Spirit. I thought you were… above the rest of us. Removed.”
“Some of us are, if we choose to be. But we are still creatures, Lonan. We still have wants and needs. We still yearn for things. For companionship. For love.” His beastly face grew sombre as he looked at me, and quietly added, “I loved your father. I still love him. I will always love him.”
“I don’t…” I scrubbed a hand over my cheek, my voice unsteady. “I don’t understand.”
“Your mother told you nothing about him, did she?”
“Not even his name,” Idony informed him.
Sloga bared his teeth, a snarl rumbling from his throat. “She tried to purge him from history. Cruel, petty thing that she is. She couldn’t have him the way she wanted him, so she took him from the rest of us.”
“What did she do?” I demanded. I had waited long enough to find out.
Sloga sighed, reaching for the steaming kettle. The scalding heat didn’t seem to bother him as he grabbed its handle to pour out tea. “A great many things. None of them good.”
