My heartbeat thunders in my head. I pick up the velvet bag, pulling off the satin ties with shaking hands. Then I tip the sack over.
A smooth white figure tumbles out into my palm. A delicate milky-glass owl.
My throat tightens.
I touch the cool surface tentatively with the tip of my finger, almost expecting it to move, it looks so real. So like the owl in my dreams.
“Fionn,” I whisper, an ache filling my chest, missing him.
Missing a bird I’ve never known in real life.
It’s three inches tall, each speckled feather painted with intricate detail, a shadowed spot on the breast where the arrow struck. The head is tipped to the side, as if in curiosity. The large black eyes glitter knowingly.
It’s stunning. And I want to ask Kieran why, why would he give this to me? How does he know about my Fionn? No, not my Fionn. Lily’s Fionn.
But it’s no use. I felt the bird’s soft feathers; its talons gripped my gloved arm. I loved Fionn. Somewhere inside me, I loved him.
The memory rises of the king touching the bird’s still form, drawing it back from death. I watched his warrior form collapse into the snow, my heart stopping in terror. I sat beside his bed. I prayed for him, for help from the goddess. I gave myself to him. I gave everything.
And it was horrifyingly beautiful.
Something caresses my cheek, lifting me from sleep. It slides down my neck and makes a circle on my bare chest, a rush of remembered heat flowing through my bones.
I open my eyes slowly, almost afraid of what I’ll see when I face him again.
He’s lying beside me, playing with a white feather, turning it in his fingers, holding it up to the rising sunlight spilling through the casement. When he realizes I’m awake, he turns his head and a slow smile tips his mouth.
I blink at him, my pulse skipping as I look into those silver eyes, remembering what was woven between us in this bed.
He stays silent, rolling close, kissing my lips delicately. His hair brushes at my cheek, his fingers caressing my jaw.
I remain still, unsure, searching his features as he moves away.
So many questions are gathered in my head, too many doubts, fears.
I barely know what to feel.
“My sun,” he whispers, kissing the tip of my nose, “my fire. Don’t be afraid.”
“You’re well?” I ask, thinking of my desperation to bring him back only a few hours ago and how I took from him. How I haven’t taken for so long, and never from someone so full of rich power.
“I am well.” His thumb slides over my collarbone. “But I hunger for more.” His eyes meet mine. “Do you?”
The memory of his icy energy filling me, coating my insides as we made love, as I fed, sends a shiver through me. Of course I wish for more. My skin aches with longing at the thought. But I shake my head, needing control right now. Needing to understand what’s happened.
My whole world shifted in a moment. I need my feet under me again to make sense of it all.
“I would have a bath,” I say, sitting up. “And perhaps some quail eggs.” I move to the edge of the bed, but his fingers trap my wrist, stopping me.
“Why do you run, my love?” he asks. “Am I still so repulsive to you?”
“I wish to be alone,” I say, trying to keep the tremble from my voice.
He releases my wrist, and a traitorous part of me aches with the loss.
But I shove it aside and gather my clothes, clutching them to my chest as I slip from the room.
THIRTY-SIX
SAGE
I open my eyes to an unfamiliar world. Then the sound of the waterfall drifts into the room, and I realize this is reality. I rise slowly, uneasy, an odd feeling of disassociation hovering over me. The sensation of the king’s grip on my wrist still lingers, the conflict inside, wanting something I despise. But it was just a dream.
I touch the bedspread, making sure the soft yellow cotton is real.
Sunlight fills the room. I wonder what time it is.
I slide from bed, my muscles protesting as I walk into the front room. The clock on the microwave says it’s ten. Faelan should’ve come to get me by now. But I’m not complaining. I make myself some breakfast, oatmeal and a banana, and then wander into the living room and sit on the couch. I eat the warm oats and stare down at the glass owl next to the black envelope on the coffee table.
I know Kieran isn’t the king, and I know I’m not Lily, but all of this is seriously messing with my head. I have this tangle of emotions coiling in me, and I have no idea what to do with it. Since I’m not going to run, I’ll have to walk right into it and hope I survive.
A knock sounds on the door.
“Come in,” I say, setting the oatmeal down. I snatch up the owl and hide it in the pocket of my pajama pants.
Why did I just do that?
Before I can take it back out, Faelan comes in. He studies me as he steps into the living room. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine.”
He hesitates, but then asks, “Dreams?”
I shrug. I don’t want to talk about it with him, not right now.
He takes the hint and moves to the couch, looking down at the coffee table. He picks up the smaller scroll, turning it in his hand. “I asked Aelia to help us with this spell after lunch. We can do some training until then.”
I keep quiet, unsure how to feel, and take my oatmeal bowl into the kitchen.
“Also,” he says, his voice hesitant, “there’s a gathering tonight for the House of Morrígan that you were invited to.”
I set the bowl in the sink with a clang. “Are you kidding? No way.”
“You know that I don’t want you to be around Kieran, but it would be good for you to mingle with others, test your will. Marius would want you to go.”
“Which I couldn’t care less about.”
He nods, not arguing. “So, are you up for practice?”
All I want to do is sit around in my pajamas and disappear into a book, pretending there’s nothing going on with me. As if I didn’t feel like I barely know where I belong, or who I am right now.
“Sure,” I say. “Just give me a second.”
“Wear a bathing suit.”
I go into my room and shut the door. As soon as it clicks behind me, I pull the owl from my pocket. My thumb slides over the smooth surface and my head aches.
I move to the bed and slip it under my pillow. Then I go to get dressed.
Practice, as he calls it, turns out to be more like swim training. First he makes me do a million laps. Then he has me tread water as he yells from the edge of the pool, reciting the names of the Houses and their leaders, like I don’t already know.
I realize that my knowledge has increased, and I wonder if it’s because of the dreams. I don’t say that, though. I let him talk and repeat things back to him, until he finally lets me stand in the shallow end.
“Why don’t you have to sweat?” I ask, trying to catch my breath.
“I’m the boss.” He smirks. “I tell, you do.”
“Is that right?” I walk to the edge of the pool, my hands on my hips. I notice him glance at my body, but then his eyes quickly shift to my nose. “Seems very totalitarian.”