Cabhan lay back, tension tossed away by the tide of One’s sentience. Let her look.
She flowed through him, beneath his skin. The only acknowledgment of Morien’s presence was how she kept away from his heart.
It was Morien’s fault that they couldn’t complete each other.
Though they came damn close.
The tickle of her claws tracing his veins, the flicker of her tongue behind his teeth, the throb of her pulse in his temples. His breathing eased and he floated, serene. He slumped into the bed, forgetting where his flesh met fabric. His fingertips tingled, went numb.
One traveled the inside of his skull, his memories, his marrow. She saw everything, knew everything, and embraced all without the stabs of guilt that still woke Cab, sweating and snarling, most nights. She watched what he’d done, the mistakes he’d made, the false steps taken and the right ones, without judgment.
So. This is who you are, her voice whispered.
Somewhere along the way, Cab began to weep.
This was what the fae could do, and they were all but lost now.
He drifted out of consciousness, entering a state more restful than sleep. When he opened his eyes again, it was morning. One was curled up by his side, sharp teeth and scaled chin resting on his knee. He stared at her for a long while, recognized what her face looked like when she smiled instead of grinned.
Good. You survived.
More than that. Cab couldn’t remember when last he’d slept without jerking awake to fight or flee a dreamed-up enemy. He sat up, without dislodging One, and stretched his shoulders. Only the faintest twinge between his ribs, like the mirrorglass was the last remaining shard of regret he possessed. He rubbed his stubbled cheek and pushed his hair from his eyes.
Better than survived, Cab thought.
One’s chin dipped, eyes flickering. Yes. We are an excellent match.
He stood, was halfway to the door—he needed a bath, every inch of his skin too warm and metallic-smelling—when she added, I know what we must do to find Two’s master.
Cab paused, one hand on the doorframe. Resting at eye level, a scar on his knuckle from his final night as Queensguard.
Think we can find where the last of the Ever-Loyals are lately? One asked.
It had been so long since Cab had let anyone or anything under his armor, he’d all but forgotten the pain of a gut-punch, blooming its bruise in him now. Leaving him breathless as a dead man.
He hadn’t realized moving forward would mean he’d have to come to terms with what he saw when he looked back.
37
Cab
So there it was. Unavoidable.
Having to face the surviving Ever-Loyals, having to look them in the eye, would prove too much for the craven to swallow.
But to disobey the sorcerer would be ending his life as surely as if he’d done the deed with his own hands. And even though he’d noted a letter opener and razor while taking stock of the assets in the guest room, killing himself wasn’t the solution to his reckoning.
Cab went to Morien instead. What else could he do?
The sorcerer’s eyes pitched black in the dim light of Faolan’s study. The windows had been obscured with bloodred fabric hung like shrouds, obscuring the glass, blotting out all natural light. A fire crackled angrily in the hearth, though Cab detected no heat in the air.
“You look hale, Cabhan of Kerry’s-End.” Morien hovered the way a spider hovered, pleased as one with a web full of prey. “An incredible recovery. Queensguard training does make a lad strong.”
“Right,” Cab agreed, because Thank you didn’t seem appropriate. There was something venomous about Morien’s goodwill, considering he’d been the one doling out the punishment. The agony. “I remember how to follow orders.”
One’s tinkling laughter chimed in his head. He hadn’t meant it as a joke. He was trying to placate, to show he wasn’t a threat and could be relied on to do as instructed.
In short, he was lying through his teeth. Thankfully, One approved of who he was lying to, which didn’t leave room for guilt.
Morien refused to fill the silence, waited for Cab to explain why he’d come, wouldn’t move on until he got what he wanted.
Cab’s hands felt empty without a tool of some kind. He clasped them behind him after a second’s uncertainty, aware of how the position made him stand too straight, almost at attention. “I have a destination for us.”
“Oh?” Morien betrayed no interest beyond that syllable.