Page 90 of Bane of the Wild Hunt

“She will sleep all night. I promised to stay in the tent with her, so I will need to bring the scouts here to meet. Are you still planning to stay?” I asked him.

“She is not a toy, Rian,” he said, sounding so terribly disappointed in me that it actually stung a little.

I abruptly decided I didn’t care if he saw my drinking and turned to stride over to the table in the corner and the last of my wine.

“I am not sure what you mean to insinuate,” I said, uncorking one of the bottles. The gods knew whether any of my crystal had survived my temper before I departed for the Winter Court, so I opted to forgo a glass. The mere taste of the wine was a balm, but I knew from experience it would require a couple bottles to achieve numbness.

“You knowexactlywhat I’m talking about. You think Sage never told me about these… relationships you—”

“This washer choice, Carrick. You said she might not make good decisions, but I should let her in the interests of giving her some sense of safety,” I reminded him.

“This isnotwhat I meant—” he began.

“But this is how she feels safe, and just because it is not whatyoufeel she needs, nor can you understand it, does not make it wrong. I know how it feels not to want to make decisions when you are exhausted and do not trust yourself. I know that it can befreeing to choose someone in whom to place your trust and allow them to be your buffer and your compass.”

He did not like it, I could tell as he began to turn away from me, mouth tight as he shook his head. But then he grudgingly began to consider my words a moment while I tossed back a few more gulps out of the bottle.

“She is very vulnerable and suggestible,” he insisted.

“Agreed. My intention remains to help her get healthy. And it washerrequest,” I reminded him. “I asked what she wanted, and she said she didn’t want to have to make any decisions. So why can I not make them for her until she is ready to be autonomous?” I asked him.

“You are sure this is not about you?” he verified, and I gaped in feigned offense. “Rian,” he growled seriously.

“I have meetings,” I attempted to dismiss him.

“Is she a distraction?” he demanded firmly.

“Yes, Carrick!” I shouted suddenly, the rage igniting in an alarming rush that consumed my entire body in a white-hot heat. “Yes, she is a distraction. Yes, she is something to focus on that is in my control that I might actually be able to help. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Oh, Rian,” he sighed, his anger fading instantly.

“I do not want to talk about this anymore. I am done, Carrick, do you understand? No more about it now!”

To his credit, my uncle knew when he had pushed me far enough. He simply nodded in understanding and then picked up a box of puzzles that he seemed to have rooted out of a trunk earlier.

“I will sit with her while you conduct your meetings,” he advised me, and then took the box into the chamber. Leaving me with a confusing medley of guilt and shame for getting upset and for what I’d revealed. I was used to feeling disgust in myself, but Carrick’s disapproval was more than I knew how to process.

Bring the scouts to me, I ordered Darragh mentally, because I could not be alone with my thoughts for a moment longer.

Chapter twenty-six

YOU SMELL OF AUTUMN TOO

Ornella

The strips of cotton from Sage’s undershirt had boiled long enough to disinfect them, so I wrapped my hands in my cloak and took the pot off the fire. Ignoring Ciaran’s watchful gaze, I went to Sage and knelt behind him.

“Tend to Serafin first,” Sage requested, but I shook my head immediately.

“I am sorry,” I added apologetically to Serafin, but the vargr seemed to agree with me and nudged his rider hard as if to chastise him.

“Summer—” Sage tried to protest.

“You might be better at handling hot water,” I guessed, glancing at Ciaran who agreed more readily than expected and rose from his place at the fire. Ciaran might not like or trust me, but he wanted to help his brother rider.

He still kept a careful distance from me as he knelt and used those seemingly fireproof hands to wring out some of the rags. He twisted them with a technique that let me know he’d done this many times before.

“Do aes sídhe not feel heat at all?” I couldn’t help but ask as I watched him handle the steaming cloth.

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