Page 120 of Heartsong
She breathed a big sigh through her nose. “Story of my life lately.”
“Hold on tight,” Frey told her, then stepped out of her apartment and through the portal.
33
Frey didn’t enjoy the sensation of being ripped apart then put back together again in the space of two steps. His very cells vibrated with energy as he carried Anna through the portal to the other side, a kinetic energy that gathered and zipped through his viscera.
The other side of the portal was a sumptuous living space. His feet met shiny hardwood floor, and as he fully exited the rift, he turned to see a multitude of plush furniture taking up the spacious room.
It had familiar elements to Anna’s dwelling—a TV, a couch, a coffee table. But where Anna’s things were small and cozy, these pieces were almost grand, the sofa making three sides of a rectangle and the coffee table nearly as long as the dining table in Anna’s dwelling. Soft blankets and pillows littered the sofa, and the TV spanned much of the wall it was mounted to over a handsome mantel and hearth. Glittering trinkets decorated the mantel, shimmering crystals and colorful glass and clusters of pinecones.
Yet, with its dark woods on the floor and ceiling, the space felt cavernous in a way that appealed to Frey. It reminded him of their clanhome by the sea and the pitched roofs of the Pritani halls.
Warm light spilled from several lamps and a cluster of tall candles on a side table under a set of diamond-patterned windows.Haloed in this light stood the female gargoyle, a woman he’d known in another life.
Frey heard the fae step through the portal, and the rift closed behind him. For a long moment, the three of them stood silently as Anna held very still in his arms.
The first to speak was Captain, voicing a curious chirp as he poked his little head out from under Frey’s wing.
The female gargoyle smiled softly as she carefully approached.
Frey’s heart seized in his chest. The light wasn’t over-bright and she had aged in some ways, around the eyes and her wings had grown a little larger in the way they did when their kind aged. But he remembered her pink face with its golden striations, like rosy marble, and he most assuredly remembered her wings, small and malformed.
“Carys?”
Her smile widened, revealing her fangs, and she gently reached up to cup his face in her hand. Candlelight caught in the tears welling along her lashes as she gazed upon him, and a bittersweet ache lodged between his ribs.
“I can hardly believe it,” she murmured, voice gone thick.
“You escaped that night?”
“I was never there. My mother…” An old pain creased her brows, and Frey remembered well how Carys’s mother berated her.
Arda had been a bitter woman who took that unhappiness out on her youngest, smallest daughter. He was ashamed to admit it, but sometimes he’d look upon them and, even with Carys’s bruises and defeated eyes, thought,At least you have your mother. It was an ugly feeling, and he was ashamed of it now; Arda hadn’t been one of those cursed, which meant she was one of those slain. And…she hadn’t been a kind mother.
The fae appeared beside Carys, tucking her into his side again. The movement was so fluid, so easy, it spoke to a couple familiar and comfortable in their bond.
“I raced to the glen, but I was too late.” Her face grew sad, and while Frey harbored a small jealousy that she hadn’t been cursed, he also couldn’t imagine what being the last would’ve been like. Hellish.
Of all the guardians in their clan, Carys was the last one he expected to survive. When no one in their collective consciousness sensed her, it was assumed she, like her mother and sister, had perished by fae blade or beast. A small thing for a gargoyle, she’d been born with misshapen wings that made flight impossible. Soft where their kind was hard, Carys had studied under the Pritani druids rather than train as a warrior.
A few years younger than himself, Frey hadn’t paid much attention to the little pink female. When the years passed and neither of them found a heartsong, he’d found himself looking a little more. Yet, he’d never hoped it was her. There was something delicate about her then, something utterly breakable that terrified him.No, I need a strong, fiery mate,he’d told himself.
In many ways, that’s exactly what he’d gotten, too. His Anna was strong in her own ways, and he thanked all the ancestors for her. Looking at Carys now, though, he had a new admiration for her. If what she’d said was true, that the fae was her heartsong, then it meant they had been alive all this time. Not everyone could have weathered as she apparently had. He didn’t…think he’d survive being left behind.
“We’ll tell you our story, then we’re anxious to hear yours. But first, some tea, I think,” said the fae.
Wiping at her eyes, Carys nodded. “Tea would be lovely. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
“Thank you,” said Frey, “but I wouldn’t want to stain your fine things.”
Anna gasped from his arms. “Ohmigod! Frey! You were wounded!” She squirmed as if to be let go, but Frey held her tight. Frowning at him, she protested, “We need to see to the cuts. You were bleeding!”
“I would rather you be seen to,” he said, “your head and your neck…” The memory of witnessing his Anna be strangled with magick would haunt him the rest of his days, and the bruises already darkening her throat set him to rumbling unhappily.
Anna shook her head. “No, you’re the one who’s bleeding.”
The fae held up his hands. “We can see to both of you.” With a flick of his wrist, more lights came on. “If you will allow me to see…”
