Page 101 of Alien God

“It’s what we say where I’m from,” I said, shrugging. “What do stone sky gods say when someone dies?”

“Nothing, usually.”

“OK then... What about the Sionnachans?”

Wylfrael’s mouth twisted, and I thought he wouldn’t answer, but he did.

“‘They rest with Nacha now. And I will help you rest until you meet them.’”

“Then, I’m sorry for your loss. But they rest with Nacha now. And I will help you rest until you meet them.”

“You should not make promises you don’t intend to keep,” he admonished, deadly quiet. “That saying means that you will take care of the other person in their grief. That you’ll take on their burdens as your own.”

I shrugged again, not willing to confirm the sentiment of the expression but not exactly taking it back, either.

“I mean, I am supposed to be your bride, aren’t I?” I asked. “Anyway, I’m just saying that I know what it’s like to lose everyone you’ve ever loved.”

His gaze searched my face. His elbow flexed, his hand twitching forward, as if to touch me.

But he didn’t.

He closed himself off with a nonchalant flick of his wings.

“Well, I do not need any rest. And I do not plan on meeting Nacha or anyone else anytime soon.”

That was an understatement, considering that he was immortal.

Well, lucky you, then. You’ll never die like the rest of us.

But there was no real ire in the thought. In fact, I thought that being alive forever was even worse than dying. Endlessly living while those you cared about disappeared around you. Collecting the deaths of the ones you loved like stitches on a cloak, each one adding just a little more weight to your steps, your shoulders, your heart.

It probably made me a fool, and maybe he didn’t deserve it, but now I felt even sorrier for him.

“What will you do when I die?”

My question cracked his illusion of control. Astonishment wracked his features, and his wings snapped wildly, sending a cracking boom, like thunder, through the air.

“What?” he asked, as if he hadn’t understood my question.

I stared at him steadily and repeated the question slowly, calmly.

“What will you do when I die?”

His brows crashed downward in confused consternation, as if I’d brought up some bizarre scenario that made no sense.

“I’m mortal,” I reminded him. “I’ll die eventually.”

“How long does your kind live?” The question made the same sound his wings had a moment ago – a vicious snap.

“Barring any illnesses or accidents, I probably have another fifty or sixty years. Maybe seventy, but that’s pushing it. Oh, and a year is three hundred sixty-five days.”

Sionnachan days were very similar in length to Earth ones, so I knew he’d be able to do the math.

He gave me a stricken look, storms in his eyes.

“That’s all?”

It came out like an accusation, like he was angry with me for being mortal.

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