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“No.”
I didn’t elaborate. I didn’t think I could without losing my temper, and Katriel had meant well. But I couldn’t be amate. I didn’t want to be.
I wanted to be a husband, but the only Shade I wanted as my wife had up and left me days ago, and I hadn’t heard a thing from her since.She’s probably happy. Perhaps she’s moved on. Found some other obsessed sap to moon over her all day and eat her cunt like it’s his favorite meal.
Katriel winced as another spray of blood coated the kitchen.
“I’ll take the vacation.”
The remote hilly outcrop where my father had decided to make his home was a far cry from court, that was for fucking certain. The wind blew constantly, making the wooden structure creak ominously every second of every day. After the incessant chatter of the pub he’d run for thirty years, Dad found the sound of constant gales soothing—he was weird like that—while I spent most of my time contemplating the life choices that had led me to this uncomfortably loud moment.
I should have visited my mother.
She was flighty and unpredictable, and her kitchen was usually in a state of chaos I found completely untenable, but at least she didn’t reside in a wind tunnel. Last I heard, she was in some flower-filled field in the middle of nowhere.
“Why are you here, son?” my father grunted, chopping up bitter root vegetables to make the base of his sauce. I’d learned everything about cooking from him, and while I was pretty confident I was now a far better cook, there was no way he was letting me touch a single thing in his kitchen.
“A vacation, I told you.”
He snorted. “Well, you look miserable. Perhaps you should have picked a more luxurious destination.”
“I wanted to see you.” I hesitated, not having broached the topic of relationships with my father… ever. “I have a question about you and Mother.”
He looked at me curiously, nodding in assent.
Having brought it up, I was almost immediately lost for words. How was I meant to ask him why they weren’t together? Mother had moved on, though her relationships were always short-lived. Father hadn’t.
“You want to know about our relationship?” he confirmed gruffly, reading the expression on my face. “There’s not much to tell. There’s no villain in the story. Your mother has always been an adventurous soul. Raising youwasher adventure for many years. Once you were independent, she wanted to rediscover independence of her own. She was clear about that from the beginning, and I was fine with it.”
“Did you… love her?”
Even my shadows curled in on me in embarrassment. My father and I had discussed many things over the years, often around a fire late at night after a few too many goblets of wine. Nothing had ever been off-limits, but we’d never talked aboutlove.
He stared at me for a long moment, though he didn’t seem uncomfortable. Contemplative, if anything. “Well, sure.”
I coughed on the sip of wine I’d just taken. “Sure?”
“I cared for her well-being. I enjoyed her company. She was nice to be around. Pretty, too.” He grunted, gesturing vaguely as if to saywhat else is there? What more could you want?
But I wanted a lot more than that. I’dhada lot more than that. I didn’t justcarefor Levana’s well-being, Ilivedfor it. To say Ienjoyedher company seemed ludicrously insufficient. And even when she wasn’t nice to be around, she was the only company I ever wanted.
Andpretty? I could never describe Levana aspretty. It seemed like such an insubstantial descriptor. Flowers were pretty. Delicate and soft and unobjectionable.
Levana wasn’t pretty. She was magnificent.
“I don’t think I’ve experienced love the way you have,” Father said quietly, watching me closely.
A pained noise escaped me before I could swallow it back, dredged up from the depths of my chest. Or perhaps my soul.
“It doesn’t matter now. She left.”
“Ah. Is that why you’re here?”
“And I wanted to see you.”
Father snorted. “You can stop in and see me whenever you like. You wanted tostaybecause you needed a break. And I’m glad you came to me, even if I know you aren’t fond of this place. You’re always welcome.”
I nodded, briefly too overcome with gratitude to speak. If only Levana had a father like mine.
