Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Dyfri
Ipush through the secret entrance into Laurie’s domain. The contrast between the dark passage and the light-filled art studio always takes a moment to adjust to.
The dire wolf wags her tail but doesn’t leave her place by Laurie’s side. Laurie whirls to face me, but instead of holding a paintbrush, he’s simply standing there waiting. His astonishingly blue eyes are bright with something that looks suspiciously like hope.
“Dyfri!” he exclaims, and there’s something different about his tone. Something more... expectant.
I narrow my eyes, studying his face. Where’s the canvas? Where are the paints? Where’s the comfortable domestic scene of artistic creation that usually greets me?
“You’re not painting.”
“No.” Laurie’s shy smile spreads across his face, and he rocks slightly on his feet with barely contained excitement. “You came! I was hoping you’d come with me to visit my brother and his found family.”
Of course. I should have known this invitation wasn’t for a social call.
I was expecting a nice tea while watching Laurie paint.
Perhaps interspersed with modelling for him.
The sort of civilised afternoon that Laurie used to provide before everything went wrong.
I scowl, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You mean, Selwyn is busy and you need someone to open a portal for you.”
Laurie’s face falls so suddenly and completely that it’s like watching sunlight drain from the room. His shoulders slump, and he looks away, suddenly fascinated by the paint-stained floor.
“I enjoy your company,” he says quietly, and the hurt in his voice hits me like a physical blow. “But I understand if you hate me now.”
Hate him? The suggestion is so absurd that I actually take a step back.
Sweet, guileless Laurie who worries about everyone’s wellbeing, who creates art that captures the soul of his subjects, who somehow manages to see good in everyone including his deeply messed up brother-in-law. How could anyone hate him?
The silence stretches between us, uncomfortable and painful. I can see the exact moment when Laurie accepts what he thinks is my rejection, the way his shoulders curve inward as if protecting himself from further hurt.
He truly does think I blame him for his mother’s actions. And the thought of that irks me.
I resist the urge to rub my scarred arm, and I ruthlessly shove down the memories that are threatening to bubble over.
“Of course I don’t hate you,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than intended. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
His head snaps up, hope flickering back to life in those impossibly blue eyes.
I sigh, feeling my resolve crumble under the weight of his earnest expression.
I don’t have time for this. I didn’t really have time for tea, and this is going to take even longer.
There are portal calculations to review, coordination meetings to attend, the endless logistics of driving the fey home and sealing Earth away from my people forever.
But looking at Laurie’s face, I know I’m going to say yes anyway.
“Where exactly are we going?” I ask.
The smile that lights up his face could power half of London. “To see my brother, Monty. He has this amazing place, this community... you’ll love it, I promise.”
I highly doubt that, but I gesture toward the empty space beside his easel. “Step back. And form a clear picture of it in your mind.”
With practiced ease, I tear a hole in reality. Using knowledge stolen from the tylwyth. The portal shimmers into existence, showing glimpses of a large, elegant house surrounded by sprawling gardens.
“After you,” I say dryly.
Laurie practically bounces through the portal, his enthusiasm infectious despite my best efforts to remain aloof. Loki bounds through after him, tail wagging wildly. I follow more sedately, stepping from the Buckingham Palace art studio into what feels like an entirely different world.
We emerge onto a sprawling vegetable garden. Rows of winter vegetables stretch before us, carefully tended despite the season. The smell hits me immediately. It’s rich, damp earth and the lingering scent of wood smoke from the house’s chimneys.
The dire wolf barks excitedly. She’s clearly keen to see someone.
A shadow flickers, and suddenly a figure appears right in front of us. My hand moves instinctively to where my blade is hidden, but Laurie’s delighted squeak stops me.
“Hi Gray!”
The figure resolves into a young man with eyes that glow a dangerous molten red.
The air around him hums with otherworldly energy.
Demon, my mind supplies automatically. But instead of attacking, he’s being enthusiastically greeted by Laurie as if he’s an old friend.
And the dire wolf is wagging her tail so hard I’m worried it’s going to come off.
“Laurie,” Gray says, his fierce expression softening into something that might be fondness.
His gaze shifts to me, and I feel the weight of ancient power assessing me. For a moment we stare at each other, predator recognising predator.
“This is Dyfri,” Laurie says cheerfully. “Selwyn’s brother. May we come in?”
Gray tilts his head, studying me with those unsettling red eyes. Then, slowly, he nods. The air shimmers around us as the protective barrier parts.
At that moment, the front door of the house bangs open and a man comes hurrying out, another figure close behind him.
The first man has Laurie’s pale colouring but a more solid build.
He crosses the garden in long strides and crushes Laurie into a hug so fierce it drives the air from my lungs just watching it.
The affection is so genuine, so unguarded, that I feel something uncomfortable shift in my chest. When did I last see siblings who actually cared for each other?
The second man, small and slender and very pretty for a human, steps forward and gathers Laurie into his own embrace.
Before I can process this interaction fully, the young man has taken Laurie’s hand and is towing him eagerly toward the house, chattering about people I have never heard of. I follow more slowly, taking in my surroundings.
The building itself is elegant, clearly human old money, a manor house or stately home.
But there’s something alive about it now that speaks of occupation by people who actually live here rather than simply existing in it.
Windows glow with warm light, and I can hear the distant sound of voices.
A melody of multiple conversations overlapping in the comfortable chaos of a large household.
We step inside, and warmth folds over me like a blanket. The house is alive in a way I’ve never experienced before. Voices hum in distant rooms, and somewhere I can hear children laughing. The walls that probably once echoed with formal silence now vibrate with the messy reality of family life.
The young man tugs Laurie through halls lined with mismatched artwork.
Clearly the efforts of various residents rather than purchased pieces.
We pass several parlours that have been transformed into cosy communal rooms, crowded with comfortable chairs and colourful blankets that speak of actual use rather than decoration.
We reach the kitchen, where several people are engaged in what appears to be meal preparation. A young male kelpie with golden hair looks up and breaks into a dazzling smile, abandoning his vegetables to skip toward us.
“Laurie!” he exclaims, wrapping Laurie in yet another enthusiastic hug. The easy affection continues to surprise me.
I watch this interaction with growing fascination. The physical affection, the genuine joy at seeing each other, the complete lack of political calculation or hidden agenda. Have I ever seen such a thing? I’m not sure I have.
The next few minutes involve a flurry of introductions and explanations that I only half follow.
Something about Selwyn declaring the house a sanctuary, about protection during the fey invasion, about love and foresight and bargains made before meetings.
I file it all away to discuss with my brother later.
What strikes me most forcefully is the atmosphere.
These people have clearly been through trauma.
I can see it in the way some of them hold themselves, in the careful spaces they maintain, in the quick glances that assess escape routes.
But they’ve built something warm and stable together. Something that feels like safety.
“You are staying for lunch!” The golden-haired kelpie declares.
I glance at Laurie, who’s looking at me hopefully. The smart thing would be to decline, to return to Downing Street and the urgent business of saving this world. But something about this place, these people, makes me curious.
“That sounds... interesting,” I hear myself saying.
The lunch that follows is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
The dining room is elegant and clearly designed for large gatherings, with a table that stretches from one end to the other.
But instead of the formal seating arrangements I’m accustomed to, everyone crowds together at one end, elbows bumping as they pass dishes and talk over each other.
There are perhaps twenty people present, a mix of ages and species that somehow works together seamlessly. Several children are integrated into the group rather than segregated at a separate table, and I watch with fascination as they’re treated as full participants in the conversation.
The food is hearty and homemade. Roast chicken with herbs, vegetables that clearly came from their own garden, bread that fills the air with the scent of fresh yeast. It tastes of love and shared work, and unlike all other human food I’ve ever had, it is delicious.
I find myself seated between Laurie and a woman who introduces herself as Cara, and across from a cluster of children who seem determined to include me in their animated discussion about whether dragons prefer to eat fish or sheep.