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My hopeful face drops with disappointment. “You’re not serious.”
“Unfortunately, I am. The palaces have running water and working pipe systems, but most rural houses don’t. With how remote we’ll be, it’s very unlikely the luxury will be available. But hey, you love camping. Just think of it as a permanent vacation. I realize it might sound uncivilized, but the magic here makes up for our basic ways of life.”
“Will I ever have a power?”
“It’s possible but unlikely. I haven’t witnessed enough human-to-fae cases to say for sure.”
“What happened to the other people from the bargains you collected?” I realize this is a subject Ellister has remorse about, but we need to cover it sometime.
Instead of looking guilty, he seems relieved when he replies, “They were infants and toddlers when the dark fae were caught, and obviously, they were innocent. The royals confiscated them. Took them from us and gave them to families who wouldn’t mind raising a soulless child.”
“They didn’t get their souls back from Vaeront after he was banished?”
“No. The only way their souls could be released is if he allowed it, and he would not.”
“What an asshole.”
“Indeed. I don’t know what became of those children, but I like to think of them being loved, getting pointy ears, and growing wings. Thriving and having offspring. Their descendants could be living in Valora to this day.”
“Hang on a second, will I grow wings? Could I fly?” That’d be pretty cool.
“Having wings and being able to fly are two completely different matters.” He sounds a bit sad, like he’s speaking from experience.
Curious, I try to look behind his shoulder. “Where are your wings?”
“Tucked away inside.”
“Will you show me?”
“Someday but not now.” His eyes flit away like he’s embarrassed. “My wings are in bad shape from being in the Lost Land. Going eons without food or water was detrimental to my health, and most of my feathers fell off long ago. They’ve been slow to grow back. That’s why my hair is short, too.”
Studying his inky locks, I disagree, “It’s so long it covers your ears, and it’s almost in your eyes. It’s positively shaggy.”
“By human standards, my hair is fine, but fae are very vain, even the men. Longer styles are a source of pride and a show of strength.”
I stop dancing and make sure he hears me when I say, “Ellister, there isn’t anything you could do to make me stop wanting you. I think by now that’s pretty apparent. Patchy wings and short hair are nothing compared to what we’ve been through. We’ve seen each other at our worst. You’ve literally seen me dead.”
“Hannah, don’t.” Ellister winces at the reminder, as if I’ve physically hurt him.
“I guess the bright side of starting a relationship this way is the fact that we’ve already been at our lowest together,” I go on optimistically. “We can only go up from here, right?”
He splays his hand on the side of my neck, lightly rubbing along my artery. “Oh, how I’ve missed your sunshine, my mate.”
My mate.
The term of endearment sends a funny thrill through my body.
Sure, he’s told me we’re soul mates, but he’s never used it as an endearment before, and it strikes a chord in me, deeper than if he’d called me his wife.
“What?” He tilts his head at my stunned silence.
“You… you called me your mate.”
“Because that’s who you are.”
WhoI am. NotwhatI am.
The word choice stands out. He states our relationship status as if it’s part of my identity.
