Chapter 12

12

Molly did the only thing she felt she could—she holed up in her room and didn’t come out. It was childish, certainly, but in this strange place, full of magic and mystery, she considered it the only place that was hers.

It was a silly notion, of course. Inside a sentient house under the fae’s command, no place was truly safe from him. But as the night and finally the next morning began to pass and he didn’t darken her door, she took what reprieve she could.

Curled up in the window seat of her room, Molly watched with tired, bleary eyes as the sun rose over the trees. A shadow occasionally moved within the first rows of trees, and she knew it was Bellarand. Patrolling, no doubt.

She hadn’t heard him since the other day—she supposed he’d figured out how to block her from hearing his thoughts. That was just fine with her, she’d no wish to be privy to whatever deranged things that beast thought.

That left only herself in her head, and it was a crowded place already.

Yet again, Molly berated herself in the aftermath of another outburst. It wasn’t so bad this time around—a righteous indignation burned in her belly. At the trick Brom played on her. At the arrogance of Allarion, assuming he knew best in all things.

She couldn’t stand the thought of either of them.

Another wave of tears pricked at her eyes, but Molly held them back. She was so sick of crying—and of letting men push her about. Since the age of ten, Molly had lived her life trying to please or placate or avoid men. They grabbed at her, wanted things from her, cajoled and teased and demanded.

Well, enough was enough.

Allarion may have been fae but he was still a man. And right then, Molly hated all men.

He may have that ethereal fae beauty and all the money in the world, his words may be sweet and his promises tender, but in the end, what did they amount to? Nothing. For all his magic and money and mystery, he was just like any other man. Doing whatever he wanted for his own ends.

Molly was sick of being collateral.

What she could actually do about it was another question entirely. Despite the hours she sat up staring out the window, she hadn’t come closer to any sort of plan that would get her out of here. If the house didn’t stop her, the unicorn surely would. What hope was there?

Though her legs had long since gone numb and stiff, Molly curled into herself even tighter. Sequestered away in her room, she’d never felt smaller.

And she hated him for that.

Yet, she also hated herself some, too. For letting this all happen. For not seeing through her uncle’s scheme. Of course he’d tell her whatever he had to, to get her out the door with Allarion—Molly had seen the sack of money, and that was apparently only half of what’d been promised.

If she didn’t find it all so disgusting, she might’ve been flattered by the small fortune he’d paid.

Which only made her angrier with herself. She should be worth more than two sacks of coins—to her uncle, to a potential husband, to herself . The problem was…Molly wasn’t always so sure. And if she wasn’t sure herself, it was no wonder everyone around her paid that or less.

Her mind ran circles round itself all morning, a filmy sort of haze settling over her. Her eyes stung with exhaustion and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth for want of water. She’d give herself a proper headache if this went on any longer, but Molly just couldn’t summon the will to move.

She was still there when the knock came in the early afternoon.

Molly didn’t answer, but Allarion still opened the door. A brief glance revealed that he’d brought a tray laden with an eclectic variety of foods. Apples and cheeses and turnips and what looked like unsoaked oats. It might’ve been amusing, his attempt at putting together a plate when he didn’t eat himself, had she anything inside her but apathy and self-pity.

“I learned from the house that you haven’t eaten today,” he said gently.

Molly scowled at the ceiling. “Tattletale.”

“Don’t be too angry with it.” With measured steps, he walked across the room to place the tray on the lid of the trunk. “It worries for you—as do I.”

“ I worry. Do you know how scary it is, thinking the house itself spies on me? That everything here is working against me to keep me here?”

His lips pressed together with unhappiness. “I can imagine the feeling, yes. But please, don’t be afraid, sweetling. For all the magic here and the unicorn outside, it is you who are most powerful within the estate.”

Molly snorted. “Right. Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“The house adores you—I think it likes you even more than me. You talk to it. Bellarand will come around. And I…there is nothing you could not ask of me.”

“There’s plenty I can’t ask of you,” Molly retorted. “Or have you already forgotten your mysterious friend?”

“I have not. It isn’t my secret to share, not yet at least. But even that won’t be denied you, given time. That is the only secret I keep—all else is yours to know. You have but to ask.”

“And why should I trust that anything you tell me is the truth?”

A tendon jumped in his neck and at his temple, a sign Molly recognized from yesterday of his growing frustration. “I have worked every day to prove this to you. I have shown you who I am—if you would only stop to look.”

Biting her cheek, Molly turned away. He sounded too much like being right, and she didn’t like it.

“I don’t want to argue again,” she sighed, leaning her head against the windowpane.

“I haven’t come here to argue. I only wish to speak with you, to make clear what has been obscured between us.”

“Figured you’d be sick of me by now.” It was fairly clear her bursts of temper unsettled him. She’d gotten some satisfaction last night from knowing that whatever he’d thought of her before, he hadn’t bargained on someone who would yell back.

Now, though, she was just tired.

“Never. You are my azai .”

“You keep saying that.”

“It’s the truth. I realize now it is something I should have explained long ago. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

Molly turned to watch in amazement as Allarion bowed low to her, his long fall of silvery hair nearly hitting the floor. The sight stunned her almost as much as it left her squirming in discomfort—to see a being as tall and proud as him stooping like that…it didn’t sit right, for some reason.

“Please, I beg forgiveness of you, Molly. I’m ashamed to have raised my voice to a woman, but you of all people. I spoke to you in anger, and that is not acceptable.”

It was a flowery apology if Molly ever heard one, but the fact that he made it at all, and he said it so earnestly…

“This is all…a lot,” she muttered, unable to think of anything better to say.

“I understand this. We are from different worlds, you and I, but I like to think the goddesses had a hand in bringing us together. That they knew we would need each other.”

He straightened to his full height, those dark eyes of his somber. The purple had gone dull, not sparkling like jewels but faded like a bruise.

“Like some other folk, the fae believe in a fated one, a perfect mate. Such a union is considered devised and blessed by the goddesses and coveted above all else. The bond between azai is sacred, said to be stronger than those between the fae and their magic. I had not found mine amongst my own kind and long despaired that such a blessing would never be bestowed. And then I saw you.”

Slowly, he closed the distance between them, but rather than loom over her, he bent to kneel before her on one knee. Molly’s heart lurched in her chest, and all the blood that’d gone sluggish in her unmoving body gathered at her cheeks in a blush.

“I will be honest—it’d entered my mind to find a human mate as many of the others hoped to in the otherly village. Bonding to an Eirean woman would help secure my foothold in the native magic and hasten my own in creating the circuit I require to live.”

“So you thought, ah, I’ll just get a poor woman and take her away to my house,” she said, though without any heat. She couldn’t say she was overly surprised—how many times had she seen much the same happen to other women, especially those who didn’t have the safety of a home or business or family. They easily became prey or playthings to more powerful people.

So no, she wasn’t surprised, but she was disappointed to hear that Allarion too would do this.

She’d been beginning to hope he was different.

His wince of shame was telling. “Not quite like that, but yes, I sought an expedient option. I needed to like the woman, of course. It had to be a true union. Then, one day, I saw you—and I knew. I felt it, here.” He laid his hand over where, for a human, a heart would be. “That pull to you. I soon realized what it was—the goddesses led me to you, for you are my azai . My fated one.”

Unease clenched in her middle. “But I’m human.”

“It can happen between a fae and a human. I’ve seen it.”

“But…” Molly just couldn’t swallow this fated lover business. It was too easy. “Why me? I’m no one special. If it’s a human you wanted, Lady Aislinn could’ve introduced you to many who’d gladly be the lady of this manor.”

“I didn’t want a lady or a noblewoman or any other barmaid.” The corners of his mouth lifted, as if he tried for humor, but quickly fell. “I wanted you, Molly. Since the moment I saw you. Your liveliness, your vitality—it filled up the room, and I was in awe. I knew within a moment why the goddesses led me to you.”

Molly shook her head. “Allarion, that person serving in the tavern isn’t me, not really. It’s an act, a persona. All barmaids do it. Patrons want a jolly serving girl. But that’s not who I am.”

His lips drew thin, and despite his strange features, she could tell this truth troubled him.

Fates, what a mess. All this because she wanted a few tips and her uncle wanted a payout. Maybe her and Brom weren’t so different, after all.

“Then who are you, Molly?”

His voice was gentle, his question soft, but it struck her with all the devastation of a killing blow. A fat tear escaped her lashes, leaving a hot trail down her cheek. That hollowness in her chest expanded wider, threatening to suck all that she was, whatever she was, down into it.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

And how pathetic was that? Separated from the tavern, she didn’t know who Molly Dunne truly was.

A pained sound escaped his throat, and Allarion reached out to lay a comforting hand on hers. She didn’t push him away—the weight of his hand felt like it was the only thing keeping her from breaking apart.

“I first saw you in a square, fetching water and speaking with other women. You were laughing. You had a brown fillet in your hair. I don’t know what you said to them, but I stood and watched, unable to look away. When you left, I followed and found the tavern.”

“Allarion,” she groaned, “you can’t just follow women back to their homes.”

“It’s too late now,” he said, a sad sort of humor to his voice. “It wasn’t in the tavern I first saw you. That Molly at the well is part of you, too, as is the Molly at the tavern. I wanted all of you, and I didn’t care what stood in my way. Another lover, your uncle…not even your own wishes.” His grimace was pained and heartfelt. “I see now that that was a mistake. I should have spoken to you first, announced my intentions. As I am now.”

He took both her hands in his, claiming her gaze with his own. “You are my azai, Molly Dunne. The goddesses have declared it so. But I wish to earn that blessing, and your trust. I cannot go back, but we can go forward. Please, I beg of you, consider what I offer.”

“Allarion…”

He shook his head once, that silvery hair sliding over his shoulder. “I would love you, Molly, if given the chance. I have loved the Molly at the well and the Molly in the tavern. I want to love the Molly I see before me, too. I hope that this can be a safe place where you can discover who it is you are. I should like to get to know her, too.”

Allarion’s gaze fell to their joined hands, where they sat in her lap, knitted together not unlike their handfasting. His throat bobbed, as if getting out his next words pained him.

“If, however, this cannot be done, I swear to you, I shall return you to your uncle’s door. Nothing will be expected of you. You can return to your life as if this never was.”

Molly’s lips parted in surprise. “You would do that? Take me back?”

“Yes,” he said, although it was evident he struggled with the word. “I would ask only that you consider, now that you know the truth. That is all I wish.” And, never dropping her gaze, he dipped his head to press a single, soft kiss to the back of her hand.

Molly sucked in a breath, unprepared for how his lips on her skin made her every nerve alight. Was that his magic, or just him?

“Please, sweetling, tell me you will at least consider staying?”

Fates, did she dare? Did she even want to?

Those questions were hard to answer in her fuzzy, dazed mind. She still held onto her anger, but her insides twisted with indecision. He gazed up at her with so much longing, his words so gentle and loving, it was hard to deny him outright. Yet, she didn’t have any answers, for him or for herself.

He’s not asking for an answer, he’s asking for time.

She was in no state to make a decision, that was certain. So maybe…

Maybe she should take that time he asked for. Not for him or anyone else. For Molly.

Slowly, Molly nodded, her heart racing with a baffling kind of excitement.

A great rush of air left him, and he bowed his head in relief. “Thank you,” he whispered against her skin.

He lingered there another moment, but neither said a word. Shocked into silence with all he’d told her and what she’d agreed to, Molly watched as he finally stood, bowed to her again, and made his exit.

She stared at the door long after he’d closed it behind him.

Without thinking, mind still fuzzy, Molly drew her hand to her mouth and pressed her lips to where he had, imagining she caught his lingering warmth.

Fates, what will I do?