Page 151 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
“Said you were to rest.” Roark takes her hand, stroking the lines of their matching marks. “No one needs you to prove what a warrior you are, my love. You’ve done that a hundred times over, and you did it again when you brought our sons into the world.”
Rowena folds. I don’t even blame her. I’m melting a little watching them, even as my chest twangs with envy. Their blue mating marks are like iridescent swirls of wind across their arms. It’s a struggle to keep my mind focused on the logistics of getting the armies to Elfhame, and I find myself tracing the patterns instead.
Rowena’s stems from a silvery scar shaped like a diamond on her hand and I smile as I realise it must be the shape of Roark’s beak in his animal form. Mating might require a blood exchange, but Kitarni explained that shifters tend to bite to mark rather than using a knife.
Would Jaro do the same?
Longing, the likes of which I’ve never experienced, stabs at me until I can’t breathe. Hot on its heels is misery that drags my eyes away from the couple and their beautiful babies, and back down to where my hands are fisted loosely on my lap.
There are a million reasons why I don’t have those marks. I know that. There are a million more why watching Bree or Drystan cradle our child isn’t in the cards for us right now, either.
Goddess, I’m heartsick for what I can’t have, and it’s pathetic.
As quickly as it hits, Jaro is there. He scoops me up without breaking the conversation he’s having with Drystan about the Knights of Elfhame, cradling me gently in his arms with the gold of his wolf in his arms.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly as soon as the topic changes.
“I’m tired,” I whisper, avoiding the question. “I think I’ll head to bed for the night.”
“I’ll go with you,” Bree murmurs, standing and offering me his hand.
I’d rather not have company right now, but I recognise why he might not want to be alone. After all, his father is currently in the dungeons. What thoughts must be running around in his head? How much of him is caught up in the fact that Torrance is so close?
So, ignoring the wound that’s quietly haemorrhaging inside my chest, I take his offered hand and allow him to pull me up.
“There are plenty of guest rooms down the hall,” Roark says. “It’s the opposite direction to the nursery, so you should be able to sleep undisturbed.”
As if on cue, the twins start crying again, and Bree hurriedly leads us away before I can offer to help.
Bree doesn’t bother checkingout the rooms, simply picks the one at the farthest end of the hall and tugs me inside, locking the door behind us.
I doubt that will keep the others out, but I get the feeling it’s more for his peace of mind. I undress in silence, stripping off layer after layer of clothing until all that’s left is skin, then bury myself beneath the thick quilts and furs that cover the bed with a groan.
My púca joins me, taking the spot against my back but not meeting me skin to skin. Still, he’s close enough that I can feel his warmth and the lithe planes of his body.
A ghost of a touch brushes against my shoulder, and I lean back into it affectionately.
“I just want to hold you,” Bree promises. “I can’t… I don’t think I can sleep or let myself get distracted right now. Not when he’s so close.”
Another whisper-soft touch against my nape, followed by a kiss. “It’s been a hard few weeks for you as well, dragonfly. You haven’t had time to grieve properly. Now that the pilgrimage is over…”
“The war begins,” I finish for him, my hands fisting by my sides as I turn to meet those pitying green eyes before looking away. “You don’t need to worry about me. I did my grieving. You were there, remember?”
Strong fingers caress my chin, making me look at him. His sympathy twists at my insides, making them burn.
“Bree, don’t.” I’m not above begging. “I just… I have to live with it now.”
I learned long ago that this is what dying does; it forces those who are left behind to adjust. Even when we wish we didn’t have to. Even when doing so successfully, and finding joy again, brings with it its own share of guilt and bitterness.
He opens his mouth like he might continue to press the issue, so I interrupt before he can say anything.
“Besides, I need to know what you need me to do with your father. He’s imprisoned, but?—”
“But with his gift, and Eero’s backing, there’s no guarantee that he’ll stay that way.” His eyes turn hard as emeralds. “I know, dragonfly. Do whatever you want with him. You’re the Nicnevin, and he came here trying to destabilise your realm on the orders of a traitor.”
Yes, but the harm he’s done to Bree is far deeper, and far more personal.
“I would rather have your input,” I answer, moving incrementally towards him until our chests are touching.
