Chapter 34 #3
“Lumnos’s jugs, I’m glad we’re friends again. There’s something I’ve been dying to tell you.” He took a deep inhale, but didn’t go on. His leg bounced, his hand raking over his stubbled jaw.
“Well?” I asked.
“I thought, maybe . . . I was considering . . . you know, if he’s open to it . . . but only if he wants to . . .”
“Out with it, Taran.”
“I’mgonnaaskZaltobemymate,” he blurted out.
What I should have done was smile. I should have beamed and clapped him on the back and told him at length how obscenely happy I was that he found someone he loved enough to make such an important, permanent bond.
What I actually did was stare at him blankly, that final word pounding in my ears.
His face fell. “You don’t approve. You think it’s too soon.” He looked distraught. “You think he’ll say no.”
I shook my head to clear away the echoes. “No—nothing like that.” I managed a smile. “He’d be a fool to say no, and Zalaric is no fool.”
Taran blew out a nervous laugh. “It just feels right, you know? I think he’s ready, too.
Last week, he gave me a jar of oil. He said mating magic would never work on a man with jagged nails.
” He proudly flashed his nails—still jagged, but distinctly softer.
“And with the war and Ophiucae . . .” He shrugged.
“I’d feel better going into battle knowing that whatever happens, we’ll be together on the other side. ”
I was happy for him, I truly was. But every word he spoke was a sword through my ribs, a reminder of what I craved down to the core of my being—and what I couldn’t have. The bitter sting of jealousy poisoned my joy.
Taran knew me too well, and I could tell from his pained look that he understood. I loved him all the more that he did not judge me for it.
“Have you thought about asking her?” he said.
I sighed. “Every day.”
“You really think she’d say no?”
“She won’t even speak to me. She thinks I’m too . . .” Pathetic. “ . . . devoted. That there’s nothing in my life but her. She said there needs to be a ‘Luther without Diem.’”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Cousin, I love you, I respect you more than anyone on this earth . . .”
I groaned. “Don’t tell me you agree.”
He grimaced. “Think of it this way . . . if Diem didn’t exist, what would you be doing?”
“I’d probably be King. And I’d be even more miserable than I am now.”
“Pretend you weren’t. Pretend the Crown went to someone you trusted to rule without your help. Someone like Zal.”
“You just want to imagine yourself as King Consort.”
He smiled guiltily. “Don’t change the subject. If your life didn’t revolve around a Crown, what would you want? What would make you happy?”
Her.
“Something that isn’t Diem,” he added. “Nothing about Lily or me or House Corbois, either. What do you want that’s just for you?”
He might as well have asked me the Kindred’s middle names or the best use for a one-legged ant. The idea of a life to myself was so unlikely an outcome, I’d never even allowed myself to consider it.
My head sank back against the tree. “Blessed Kindred, I am pathetic.”
Taran roared with laughter, finding a little too much delight in my wallowing.
“Keep trying, cousin. You’re used to being good at everything you do.
This is like using a new muscle. It’s uncomfortable at first. You’ve got to work at it every day until it gets strong.
” He curled his arm to his shoulders and flexed a mammoth bicep. “Trust me. This is what I’m good at.”
“I’ll think on it,” I promised. I dragged myself to my feet, then helped him stand. We pulled each other in for a tight embrace that lingered just long enough to speak the words we didn’t: I’m sorry. I love you. We are family, no matter what.
As we returned to the palace, my thoughts churned over Diem’s words and Taran’s advice.
I went to my room and opened a hidden compartment in my wardrobe, then fished out my journal of the half-mortal children I’d helped.
My eyes lingered on another item I’d stowed out of sight—a folded tunic marked with a bloody handprint.
I let my palm rest against it, thinking of the words I’d spoken that day.
If you’re the way my fate finally catches up to me, I can’t fathom a more beautiful end.
A confession. And an omen, perhaps.
There was no use pretending I could be happy without Diem in my life. That ship had set sail months ago. I was hers, now and always.
But, perhaps, I could be that . . . and more.
I took the journal into the sitting room of my suite and pulled a chair to the table. I gently thumbed through the pages, chest warming as I realized how long it had been since I’d had to add a new name. I reached the blank pages at the end, smoothed down the spine, and began to draw.
When I finished, I glanced out the window, surprised to see that hours had passed and the sun was low.
I didn’t have long—a messenger hawk this morning had told us to expect Diem home this evening.
I carefully tore out the page and tucked it into my pocket, then returned the journal to its hidden drawer.
I grabbed my cloak and strode for the door.
It was time for a visit to Mortal City.