No matter what my lord and my cadre-fellow are doing that I can’t fully contribute to, they’ll always need to eat.
Talia drifts with me toward the hall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. At least she’s not still hugging herself as if that’s the only thing keeping her from shaking to bits. Still, the shadow of worry that lingers on her pale, pretty face makes my body itch to let loose fangs and fur and go racing across the realm until I can maul Aerik and his cadre beyond recovery.
It was horrifying enough seeing the state she was in when we came across her in that cage. Imagining her having to endure that treatment for nearly a decade, from when she was little more than a child…
I catch my growl before it creeps from my throat. My temper is rising on her behalf, but letting it out in front of her will only make her more anxious. We can’t deal with Aerik yet. The best thing I can do for her is offer a way to keep her mind off those worries.
I give her hair a playful rumple, reveling in the softness of it, in the way she brightens at my touch. “We could all use some breakfast—or I suppose lunch at this point. Can I get the help of my favorite kitchen assistant?”
She beams up at me. “Of course. I’m starving. What are we making?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Let me take a look in the pantry and see what that inspires.”
Before I do that, I spread some butter on a thick slice of bread to address the worst of her hunger—it’s no good creating an elaborate meal if she’s too famished to enjoy it while she’s shoveling it into her mouth. And the last thing I want is to give her any further reminders of her time in captivity. I gulp down a hunk for myself as I peruse our current stash of ingredients.
The lake quails in the cold room won’t take too long to bake. I gather several of those, the makings for fresh rolls, and duskapples to poach for dessert.
When I emerge with my haul, Talia’s eyes widen where she’s perched on her usual stool. “How many people are you expecting to feed?”
I laugh, the sound startling me but instantly lifting my mood. “We worked hard last night. Now we have the appetites to match.”
I toss together the ingredients as quickly as I can and get Talia started kneading the dough for the rolls while I stuff, season, and truss the quails. For several minutes, we work in companionable silence. When I sneak glances at her, she’s intent on the movement of her hands in the dimpling mass of dough, a small but definite smile curving her lips.
She likes having something useful to do with herself just as I do. And I was able to give her that when she must have needed it more than ever.
The pride that tickles through me comes with a memory of last night, of the fog clearing from my head when the taste of her blood reached my wolfish maw, of gazing up at her resolute form and understanding what she’d done. Sylas was with her then, but she must have approached him in his slathering beastly state alone. This wisp of a girl, filled out some now that she’s getting proper meals but still slim and delicate—yet not remotely fragile.
Somehow the torments Aerik subjected her to forged a soul that’s so resilient without hammering the kindness out of her.
She looks up and catches me watching her, and the corners of her mouth lift a little more even as a flush colors her cheeks. A hint of longing seeps into the sap-sweet scent her skin gives off. Suddenly I want to set so much more than my gaze on her.
The serious cast that crosses her face a moment later snuffs out my flare of desire. Her hands pause over the dough. “Most of the summer fae, like you,” she says. “The ‘Seelie.’ They think about humans more like Aerik does than like Sylas, don’t they?”
I grapple with my answer, buying myself a little time as I arrange the quails in their roasting dishes. I won’t deceive her, but I’d rather not terrify her any more than she already is either. After I’ve washed the grease and herbs from my fingers, I take the dough from her and begin forming it into balls.
“I think it’d be most accurate to say they’re somewhere in between,” I said finally. “And it’s not simply about attitudes toward humans. Pretty much all fae see mortality as a weakness. They look down on those of us with a lot of human heritage too.” I motion toward my ears, their rounded shells resembling my human mother’s so much more than my true-blooded father’s. “I can’t say even the three of us are immune to that kind of thinking completely.”
“Kellan definitely wasn’t.” Talia gives a little shudder.
“Exactly. And he also, like Aerik… Many fae use that sense of superiority as an excuse to become cruel. They enjoy crushing whoever they can with their powers; they deal with boredom by squabbling over lands and possessions. They’ll just as happily ruin a fellow true-blooded fae as a human. It’s just easier to exert their will over beings with no magical protections.”
“You aren’t like that at all. Or Sylas and Whitt, from what I’ve seen. It was only Kellan.”
“That was the largest point of conflict between him and Sylas.” I set the last of the shaped rolls on a baking tray and turn to face her. “Sylas’s main ambition is to provide for the pack as well as he possibly can—to see everyone have everything they could want, including peace. Any glory beyond that would cost our pack-kin pain and possibly even their lives. He’ll fight to protect the pack and the Seelie in general, but not out of selfishness. And there are other lords who prefer peace over conquest too.”
Talia runs her hands down her thighs to her knees, her shoulders hunching slightly. A ruddy, raised scar caused by tearing fangs pokes from the neckline of her shirt above her collarbone: a stark reminder of just how cruel the lords who aren’t like Sylas can be. “So, if it comes out that I’m here and what my blood can do, pretty much every fae will think they have more rights than I do, but some of them won’t want to outright torture me?”
Those words sum the situation up far more accurately than I like. I can’t leave her bearing the burden of that understanding alone.
I move to her, touching her arm, bowing my head over hers. My voice drops low. “It doesn’t matter what anyone outside these walls thinks. You’re with us now. Sylas meant what he said—we’re not letting Aerik—or anyone else—hurt you. If they try, I won’t hesitate to make them regret it.”
My voice turns fierce with that last promise, my own fangs tingling in my gums, but Talia doesn’t flinch at my vehemence. If anything, it appears to restore some of her own confidence. Her shoulders straighten again, her mouth firming but her eyes staying soft as she gazes up at me.
“I know he meant it. I know you mean it. That’s why I wanted to do everything I could for you last night.”
She reaches up to rest her fingers against my jaw, and all my awareness narrows down to the heat stirred by that tentative caress and the memory of what else she did for me last night—of the moment when she turned from Sylas after he kissed her and immediately drew me to her, marking her own sort of claim. Showing that she wanted me just as much as she did him, that she wasn’t going to leave me on the sidelines.
I don’t know how I got so lucky to have earned that devotion from her when she could have offered it all to my lord, but I don’t have it in me to refuse it. I can’t even refuse the hunger that surges through me now with her body so close to mine, her scent in my nose, and those tender words in my ears.