Chapter 15
Lark
Iscoop Hugo off my hat and place him beside Eevi before tightening my fingers around the blue brim. With a deep breath, I force myself to pull it off.
Snow doves burst forth, their bright wings catching the light as they wheel through the laundry room, circling above us in a magical storm.
Val flinches at the burst of movement, but her tension fades to wonder as she watches the doves wheel across the ceiling.
Every moment she watches them is another moment she isn’t looking at me.
I may have panicked at the last moment…just a little.
But every good illusionist must have his tricks.
Finally, the last dove vanishes, and her gaze drops back to me. The breath she was holding escapes in a startled gasp.
I fight the instinct to duck my head, to snatch my hat back and hide. I’ve spent my whole life keeping this part of myself out of sight—at the orphanage, on every outing, even now. Hiding is habit.
But she doesn’t recoil. Doesn’t step away.
Instead, she moves closer, her head tilting in fascination. Her hand reaches out, then hesitates in midair.
"You have…ears."
"We all have ears," I tease, sounding lighter than I feel.
“But yours…” Her fingers stretch out. “May I?”
I swallow. “If you want to.”
Her fingers brush against the fur covering the lynx ears atop my head, careful at first, then more confident as she strokes along the edge.
My breath catches at the ticklish sensation, but I don’t dare move.
Few people even know this part of me, and fewer still ever touch me there.
Every gentle caress sends shivers down my spine.
I wish I could forget where I am—who I am—just for this moment.
“Oh.” She lets out a soft sigh as she strokes the fur. The sound of it, laced with awe instead of disgust, makes my pulse stutter. The temptation to lean into her hand is almost overwhelming.
My ear twitches as she brushes the ticklish edge, the tuft of black fur at the tip flicking forward.
Eevi giggles from her nest of blankets, so I flick my ear again and wink. I don’t want to hide anymore.
Val smiles, so close to me I can see the delicate way her breath stirs the strands of hair framing her face. Her gaze meets mine, steady and searching, her lips barely parted. It would be so easy to close the distance, to press forward, to take.
I want to.
But then she blinks, and the moment fades like frost melting under sunlight.
She bites her lip, curiosity surfacing with the question I can see forming. “What…are you?”
This is the moment she’ll change. She already suspects, I’m sure, but it’s different to have confirmation. It’s not something I announce. Ever.
“Lyslander,” I say at last.
“Lyslander,” she repeats in a slow whisper.
She blinks. The word hangs heavy with the weight of the prejudice it carries.
Shock that’s more than surprise spreads across her expression. She’s so open, so easy to read, but right now, I wish she wasn’t. Even among Wilder Fae, Lyslanders are feared and ostracized, to say nothing of what the high-blooded Point Fae must think.
I shouldn’t be surprised she sees my kind the way the high courts do.
She recovers quickly, but not quickly enough. “I just—” She hesitates, looking guilty. “I didn’t know any of you could…well, that you weren’t all—”
“Beasts?” I arch a brow.
She winces. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No?” I try to keep my voice light, with arguable success.
She fumbles for words, studying me with new attention. “Your eyes,” she murmurs, “they looked gold before, but they’re more…”
“Cat-like? Yeah, they’re greenish yellow.” I tilt my head from side to side, trying to break the awkward tension of being scrutinized.
She studies them as if she’s seeing them for the first time. Maybe she is.
“They’re like amber, but with a wash of mossy green,” she says, speaking more to herself. Then she blinks. “They’re beautiful.”
The warmth that clutches my chest is absurd, and I school my expression before she sees what that one simple word means.
“Are you a shifter, then?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. I’m only half Lyslander.
I got some traits—the ears, some senses—but I can’t shift into anything but myself.
What you see is what you get.” I offer a lazy grin.
“Unless you count my illusions. Now you know why no one would have wanted a child like me. An embarrassment to the Lyslanders, and a horror to the rest of fae-kind. I’m lucky Frederik took me in. All of us are.”
She frowns, still watching me. Contemplating. “You said Aili was like you. You weren’t serious about her being part gremlin, were you?”
I snort. “Nope, she’s just a plain old grump. And sometimes a brat if we’re being candid.”
Then I drop the humor, because she needs to know the rest. Or most of it, anyway. Some secrets aren’t mine to tell.
“The other kids, though? They were still at the orphanage for similar reasons.”
The princess’s brow furrows, and I can see her thoughts turning. “They’re all half-br—uh…different, too?”
“Nice save.” I smirk. “Not all half-breeds, but some of us are. Happy here is half-cherub.”
She glances toward the slumbering infant with soft eyes. “Katja’s rather small…”
“Part pixie.”
Big blue eyes widen. “Really?”
“Mhmm. She has wings and everything.”
Delight flickers across her face. “Wings? So, she can fly?”
“Yes, but she doesn’t let people see for obvious reasons. You know how some folk abuse pixies for their dust.”
“Oh.” Bright eyes blink rapidly while the princess presses her lips together like she’s trying to hold back a whole parade of questions. “And Mikael is very—”
“Tall? Large?” I cut in smoothly. “We obviously overfed that one. I kept telling him to stop growing, but he’s stubborn like that.
” Before she can ask any follow-up questions, I distract from Mika by moving on to a certain redheaded terror.
“There’s a reason I call Helkki my Hellion. You’ve heard of redcaps?”
“You’re joking.”
“Not full-blooded. As evidenced by the lack of murderous rampages. Not even half-blood. Just enough to make her a menace.”
She shakes her head in disbelief. “That explains a lot, actually. I’ve never seen anyone so ready to climb every unmoving thing in sight. And some moving things.”
“Or fling herself off them,” I add dryly.
“And the boys, you call them twins but, well, they look nothing alike.”
I smile at her obvious confusion. “That’s because Johannes is a changeling.”
Her whole body goes still. “You mean…” This time, her shock looks different. Less curious. Uglier. “He’s…human?”
“Yes. He is.” The hot spike of defensiveness in my words carries an unspoken challenge. My teeth clench to stop me from saying more, remembering who stands before me.
The moonstone in her pendant catches some light, seeming for a moment to glow like a reflection of my flash of anger. The princess startles, shifting as if she felt it. Her mouth is a thin line until she draws a careful breath.
“I’m sorry. That was rude. I’ve just never been around humans before.”
“Well, now you have. And you lived to tell the tale.”
“Lark, I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did. Everyone does.” The words come out harsher than I intend, but it’s not just me I stand up for; it’s the ones I love.
“The twins are actually from a respectable Wilder family of merchants. Did you know that? Their parents perished in a storm on the Ever Seas. Juani could have found a new home easily, but there was no hiding Joha’s status, and Juho refused to go without him.
Year after year, I saw people come to the orphanage, take an interest in those boys, only to turn up their noses as soon as they got the paperwork.
I don’t need anyone else to do the same, so if it’s a problem for you, then walk away, Val. ”
She waits for my rant to end, her expression frozen. When she speaks, it’s soft. “You’re very protective of them.”
“Someone has to be.”
Slowly, she nods. “I can see that. I’m sorry for my reaction. I should have thought before speaking.”
“I’m sorry for getting so defensive. Sometimes I get carried away.”
She softens. “So that’s why he’s always sick? I should have realized illness is a human weakness not suffered by fae.”
I sigh. “They’re just allergies. Though we don’t get those either, so it really should have been your first clue.”
“Right.” Her brows pinch, her face set in thought until she jerks upright.
“Hey! There’s a trader who comes to the capital sometimes, a gatekeeper.
He’s human. I could never meet him, but he brings things from all the other worlds.
I bet he’d have human medicine, or could get whatever Johannes needs from Terra. ”
She says it so easily it’s clear she’s forgotten her disguise.
The moonstone glows softly again, and those sapphire eyes widen.
A moment ago, I was upset with her. Now I want to reach out and tug her into my arms for thinking of a way to help Joha, even if it’s completely impractical, and she obviously spoke without thinking.
There’s a compassion to her I wasn’t expecting to find in Point Fae royalty.
“Sure,” I tease to cover her slip. “We’ll just waltz into the capital full of Point Fae, locate a globe-crossing gatekeeper, and pay him a small fortune to get medicine for sneezing.”
“Oh. Well, when you put it like that…I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I can’t hold back any longer, reaching out with one arm. She leans into the half-hug, spreading warmth up my left side as the clean smell of soap and fresh snow wafts up.
She lifts her chin to look at me. “I’ll help,” she says, quiet but firm.
I blink.
“Not just with the engagement for your hearing, but the rest too. Moving in, helping with the costs.”
I turn to face her properly, staring down at the unexpected kindness of the woman in my arms. “You’re serious.”
Her emphatic nod loosens several blue curls. “I still do need your help with the cleaning stuff, though. I don’t know how to mop.”
I tug at a curl, a smile curving my lips as it bounces back into place. “You want to know a secret? Mopping is just pushing dirt from one place to another and hoping no one notices.”
It startles a laugh from her, the last tension melting away, and warmth unfurls in my chest. I should drop my arms…let her go…
I can’t go catching real feelings in a fake arrangement. She’s only being nice.
But for the first time since Frederik died, it feels like I won’t have to do this alone.
I know it’s only temporary. But even that reminder doesn’t dampen the feeling.
It’s warm in the dim light, with the scent of soap and clean linen around us. Eevi has finally settled into sleep. The snow outside has muffled the world. And we’re here, in this space between reality and possibility.
Quiet awareness lingers between us—a thread pulled taut, a hum of energy. She’s warm and solid in my arms, looking up at the real me, the truth no one but my family sees, and offering me more than I could dare to ask for.
I glance at her tempting lips again before I force myself to pull away, missing her as soon as cool air fills the place where she was. Why did I promise her no flirting? Silly, stupid rule. Having her under the same roof is going to test me in more ways than I realized.
“We’d better get you moved in the morning then,” I say with a grateful smile.
Her answering sparkle is full of warmth and hope, and the promise of what’s next. I’m still glowing when I lay Eevi down in her bed after returning to the cottage. As I finally crawl under my own covers, I find I’m more excited for tomorrow than I have been in ages.