Page 48 of Killian
Cynog inhaled sharply and Killian knew that Lonnie had heardthe terror in that sound. Lonnie grinned, showing off the silver fronts again.
“Bring me my book,” he said.
Just in front of them, the little leaf that had been spinning idly as a seed pod on the breeze began to drift toward the forest floor.
“We’ll see what we can do,” said Killian. “We will return. Soon.”
He grabbed Cynog by the elbow and hurried back down the path.
“You’d better, reject,” yelled Lonnie. “Or we’ll be making firewood!”
Episode 21
Put a PIn in It
Moira
Why wasn’t Killian angry? Moira knew why she was mad—people were not allowed to say bad things about her family and walk away with all their teeth. It was a policy that was currently causing conflict between herself and Killian. But setting that aside, Lonnie Brutus was a racist pig, and that was being rude to pigs. She’d heard every word that asshole had said to Killian, and it had made her want to storm down the stairs, grab him by the ears and head-butt him until his face flattened. But Killian hadn’t even blinked. He hadn’t been surprised. He hadn’t been angry. He hadn’t been anything, and she didn’t understand. How could he be mad at her for what her grandfather had done to her uncle—neither of whom he remembered—but couldn’t be bothered to do more than yawn at Lonnie Brutus?
And then there was the question of just what exactly they were doing in Greece. Moira felt confused and she hated it. She needed her memory back because she was goddamn tired of guessing at what she was supposed to be feeling. She didn’t think she’d ever had to question that before.
“Well,” said Ceallach as they pushed their way through the underbrush back toward their encampment, “we have learned somethings. One of which is that your mate is a man of deep roots who can keep his temper under trying circumstances.”
“Then why is he mad at me?” Moira blurted out angrily.
“Because you matter more,” said Ceallach, and she stopped and stared at him.
“What?”
“If he expresses anger with you then it is clearly becausehe feels safe to do so and because he cares more about your opinions and thoughts. He does not care about Lonnie Brutus even though he is an enormous buzzing mosquito of stupidity.”
Moira was surprised into laughing. “He’s a dangerous mosquito, though,” she said.
“Most mosquitos are quite dangerous,” agreed Ceallach. “Bloodsucking disease spreaders.” Then he paused and then, with embarrassment, spoke cautiously. “If you are having a disagreement with Killian, you might be advised to try listening. It is an unpleasant fact that I have learned from my own marriage. The times that I have spoken first and listened second have generally ended in me being wrong. And the times that I have listened before acting have resulted in me learning something about my husband and the situation that changed my opinion.”
Listening... The word triggered a flood of images and the smell of home.
Her grandfather was standing on the back porch, his enormous green coffee flagon in one hand as he sniffed the air. Moira took a cautious sniff as well. She didn’t smell anything wrong, but Grandpa had an intense expression that said he didn’t like something.
“What’s up, Grandpa?” asked Moira, bumping into his free arm by way of greeting. He promptly wrapped it around her. She was nearly up to his shoulder now. She wondered if she’d grow again this year. She would like to be at least as tall as her mom. “Something in the wind?”
“There’s a certain…” He opened his mouth and bit the air. “Nothingness.”
“Nothingness? Grandpa!” Moira laughed. She swore he sometimes just made things up.
“You can’t just listen for the noises or smell what’s there. You have to listen for the things that aren’t there. Sometimes there’s a shape to the silence. It took me far too long in life to learn to listen. Your mom can tell you that. You start now, baby girl, you might get somewhere.”
Moira felt homesick and sighed in frustration at having to learn lessons more than once.
“Thanks, Ceallach,” said Moira. “I appreciate the advice. It’s really weird to be in a relationship that I don’t remember. I love Killian. He is my one, but I guess without my memories you’re probably right—I could be making assumptions that are wildly inaccurate.”
“Well, I expect your memories will return eventually. And once these mosquitos are dealt with, I’m sure the librarian in charge of the door magic can clear it up even faster.”
Moira felt more settled as they returned to the camp and was relieved to see Cynog and Killian already waiting for them. But far from the calm that she had expected from Killian she could tell he was nervous and his eyes turned toward her anxiously as she entered the clearing.
“Oh, you’re back!” exclaimed Cynog. “I am relieved.”
“Yes, we’re back,” said Moira, taking Cynog’s hug. She didn’t mind hugs. Wolves were physical people who required a lot of contact, but somehow the dryad’s proclamations always surprised her. Killian was still nervous. She could feel it. Was that weird? She checked the clearing. The other elves were shaking Ceallach’s hand. Everything seemed fine. Why was Killian nervous? She patted Cynog on the back and then tried to move toward Killian. That made Killian more nervous.
