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She knew what she was doing. She always did.
But her gaze remained on her Cyara, who was still determinedly preparing the meal.
“You are an elemental fae. I have met your parents.” She paused, swallowing down the pain that she wouldn’t allow to show in her eyes. “Your sisters. How can you be a harpy as well?”
Cyara tossed her long copper plait over her shoulder. “Harpies are not born, they are made.”
Isolde nodded over Lyrena’s dressing, tightening it back down. She knew.
“Who made you?” Veyka asked. Her voice was carefully even.
“Gawayn. When he slaughtered my sisters.”
“But you’ve always had wings,” Lyrena commented, gritting her teeth and not-so-subtly shifting away from Isolde’s ministrations. Golden knight, terrible patient.
“From my mother.” Cyara dumped the vegetables she’d sliced into a pot on the hearth and set the tray with bread, cheese, and butter aside on the bench. “The wings come no matter what. Only in the females. It’s why my mother only had daughters.”
Her hands twitched. I slid my gaze to Veyka, who was tracking each of her friend’s movements carefully.
“But for the harpy to emerge, one must suffer a great tragedy. A great wrong.”
Like the murder of her sisters by the male who’d sworn to protect their queen.
I could sense the questions in the air. Had a thousand of my own. But Veyka didn’t ask any of them. She unfolded to her feet—graceful, even with her larger size, even in these tight quarters, and went to sit beside Cyara. She took her hand, unafraid of the monster that lurked within.
So brave, my mate.
“I am sorry.”
It had been for her. Carly and Charis had died for her.
Veyka would never let go of that guilt, not entirely. I’d sent enough warriors into battle to know.
Cyara didn’t offer platitudes. She didn’t tell Veyka it wasn’t her fault. But she let her hold her hand.
“When the succubus went for Maisri, I felt the change. Like the harpy had been inside of me, waiting. I would not let another person I loved be taken from me.”
Love.
We all cared for the child, but Cyara and Maisri had forged something deeper. Love.
What would happen if Osheen decided to return to the terrestrial kingdom, taking his ward with him? I’d seen no affection between the sentinel and the handmaiden, but…
Since when did I even wonder about such things?
But they were my subjects.
My friends.
Mine to protect.
Just like the female that sat at her side, clutching her friend’s hand.
Such capacity to love lived inside of Veyka, if she’d only unleash it. If she’d learn to trust it—to trust herself.
Was I any better?
I loved Veyka.
