“The bear wasn’t to blame for the deaths; he was just a bear. They were.”
He was quiet as he rested his chin on top of her head. She didn’t know if he got the point of her story. She certainly didn’t know how to feel about the way he held her—or the way her body responded.
The only thing she knew for sure was that every minute spent getting to know Stolas only reinforced the feeling that she didn’t know him at all. Every shield he let down revealed another, even more impenetrable one erected. Every kind act was followed up by a reminder of his beastly nature.
And every lingering touch was tainted by his fierce and unwavering duty to her.
And yet, his choosing to be honest with her about who he was—and who he wasn’t—felt like a promise of some sort.
Like a whisper of hope.
He was showing himself to her—all of himself. The good and the bad. The villainous parts as well as the pieces that were still, somehow, after everything he’d experienced, good.
Relatively speaking, of course.
She knew Stolas would never cling to the noble ideas that Archeron once had. He would never speak of honor as if the word was sacred, or shy away from cruelty because of notions of right and wrong.
Perhaps that’s what the world needed right now. Not a golden hero, but a dark prince capable of meeting the Shadeling’s evil with a little wickedness of his own.
Sighing, she sank even deeper into Stolas as they quietly watched her Shadow Familiar move around the room. It still had yet to choose a form, but there was something graceful in the way the oily-black mist glided around the columns and prodded the books. Something whimsical in its delicate, agile movements.
Maybe having a monster living inside her wasn’t so bad after all.
And maybe loving one, even if that love wasn’t returned, was forgivable.
30
Days passed. Waiting for word to spread of their new alliance. Waiting for Eros to confirm the kingdoms under his rule didn’t object so they could begin preparing for the inevitable war with Penryth. Waiting for the ravens they sent—in lieu of emissaries this time—to elicit a response from the Solissian nations.
Waiting. Haven despised it.
She filled her time working around the castle, doing anything and everything to get through the day. Evenings were spent with Stolas, training first and then releasing her Shadow Familiar. Each time, Stolas slid behind her, holding her during the experience.
She’d figured out why last night. They were watching her familiar, and something—she still wasn’t quite sure what—had triggered a memory of Archeron.
Everything had happened so fast. Her familiar reacted to her pain, transforming from an innocent blob of shadow into a rage-filled creature of talons and gleaming teeth. Before it could destroy the nearby column, a finger of pleasure stroked down her spine, filling her with mindless joy.
Her familiar calmed immediately, and nothing was destroyed.
It was only afterward, when she thrashed in bed remembering how he held her, that she understood.
He’d used his soothing powers to prevent her familiar from losing control.
To prevent her from losing control.
So she threw herself into even more work the next day.
No one objected when she put on an apron and scrubbed pots in the kitchen, to Demelza’s absolute horror. She joined Surai to mend fishing nets, weaving the frayed strands of rope together with magick until her fingers blistered and bled. Helped Bell and Xandrian patch the wards on one of the failing towers dotting the coast. She even aided Delphine in the tiring process of conjuring crops to replace the ones poisoned by Archeron.
When Haven questioned why they couldn’t simply conjure food to feed the people, she learned that magicked food held almost no substance, and it degraded ten times as fast.
They could summon an entire island full of fruit that would be rotted and inedible before they could finish distributing it.
Conjured plants, on the other hand, could produce normally if they were rooted into proper soil within the first few minutes of being summoned.
Delphine was already bent over, her wings a charcoal color in the ethereal light, silky white hair pulled back in a loose braid. Like the rest of the Seraphians here, she wore knee-high leather boots and gloves. Haven found out why a moment later when Delphine jerked her chin to a fly-ridden mound at their feet.
“What is that?” Haven asked, wrinkling her nose at the stench that wafted from the pile.