Chapter 33

33

Before the dark of night could fully take hold, Molly raided her bedchamber and Allarion’s and even Ravenna’s for the coverlets. The vast linen cupboards were stocked with some extras, and those she left for their guests, but for tonight…Molly wanted them to have their blankets.

The heavy fabric thrown over her shoulder weighed her down, and after nearly falling on her face twice, she heeded the house’s unhappy creaks and watched her step.

When she reentered the kitchen, trailing coverlets behind her, she felt the weight of many eyes fall upon her.

It was such an odd feeling, having others in the house. They milled about the atrium, dining room, and conservatory. Several had found their way down into the kitchen, her biggest pots steaming with boiling water to cleanse wounds. They’d thankfully lost no one, but the fae attackers had certainly done damage before succumbing to superior numbers.

Hearing feet tread the floorboards and the muffled voices of over a dozen other people grated against her ears. It was nothing to the din of a full tavern, of course, but the house, the forest, were usually so quiet. Their peace had been uprooted, and although she was infinitely grateful for their help, having so many here at once, crowded in her spaces, itched under her skin.

All the more reason to hurry back to Allarion and Bellarand in the meadow.

Pulling the wet cloth from his bruised face, Balar stood when he spotted her from his unswollen eye.

“Here, kitten, let me carry those for you.”

“No,” she said, too quickly.

The manticore looked on her with sympathy, but it didn’t soften her. Logically, she knew they were there to help. They already had. They meant Allarion no harm.

Yet, the idea of allowing them anywhere near him, to see him at his most vulnerable, made acidic bile burn the back of her throat.

Whatever he saw in her eyes, the manticore seemed to understand some of her feelings. Paws up, he approached slowly before dipping down to grab the trailing ends of the coverlets.

“Here, at least don’t let them get wet.”

Gently, he wound the coverlets over her other shoulder, making something of a bulky, unwieldy scarf.

“Thank you,” she managed to say. She wasn’t being a very good hostess, but then, she couldn’t care less if they were comfortable. They weren’t Allarion.

Stepping closer, Lord Hakon asked softly, “How is he, Miss Molly?”

Glowing. Covered in roots. Still asleep.

She blinked at him, throat bobbing as she swallowed the words—he probably didn’t need to know all that.

“He’s resting,” she finally said, “and Bellarand thinks he will recover.”

Of course, Bellarand was known to lie to her, but she didn’t think he was this time.

Lord Hakon sighed in relief. “That’s good to hear. We came here to aid him, only for him to take the worst blows.” His green face drew tight with stark lines. “He saved me.”

The need to get back to her fae pulsed through her veins, but Molly managed to nod at the lord consort. “He’s insufferably noble. I love him for it, but he’ll be getting an earful about it.”

Lord Hakon offered a sad smile. “In his place, I would be too from my Aislinn. Please give him our best. We’ll stay as long as you need. I’ve sent out scouts to ensure that no other threats remain on your land.”

“Thank you,” she said, truly meaning it and not just wanting to finish the conversation. That Lord Hakon and the others had so willingly and quickly rallied for Allarion, that they were still here now, just waiting to help more in some way, filled her with a gratitude sharp enough to pierce her numb panic.

Everything will be all right.

“We won’t keep you. Just please know, our thoughts and hopes are with you and Allarion tonight.”

Molly bit the inside of her cheek to keep back the tears, nodding brusquely to the half-orc’s kind words.

“I’m sorry for not being much of a hostess. The house has everything you need, just ask for it.”

His brows drew lower over his finely chiseled face. “I’d meant to ask—the house is…?”

“Alive, yes. The magic. It understands you when you speak.” Raising her gaze and her voice, she called out, “House, help them with anything they need, all right? Everyone here is a friend.”

The shutters of the kitchen window rattled, making several halflings jump. Even through the tawny fur, she thought Balar paled as he looked around at the rafters, the reality of a sentient house sinking in.

Having his answer didn’t seem to fill Lord Hakon with confidence, but he shook his head when she asked whether they needed anything else.

“We’ll manage. Be with your mate.”

“I’ll be back in the morning,” she said, more to the house than anyone else.

She left the house to a chorus of farewells and chattering shingles. Girded with the coverlets, she headed straight into the forest, the shrubs and brambles curling out of her way. Although she could hardly see in the gloam, she put one foot in front of the other, trusting the forest to not let her fall.

By the time she made it back to the meadow, the darkness was thick and cold. Only a sliver of a moon hung in the sky, offering little light. Still, Molly had just enough to see the meadow opening up ahead.

The shadowy form of Bellarand was her landmark, and his dark head lifted as she neared. He watched her with those fathomless, liquid eyes as she shook out a coverlet and laid it out over Allarion—and all the glowing roots encasing him.

Next, she spread another coverlet over Bellarand. He said nothing, not even a little quip, until she’d crawled under her own blanket and settled beside Allarion.

Did you eat and drink at the house?

No. She’d completely forgotten in her haste.

He’ll be displeased when he wakes to find out.

Well, I’m displeased he got stabbed, so we’ll both have to be unhappy with each other for a bit.

Bellarand huffed a horsey laugh before laying his long head over both her and Allarion. The weight of him was solid and comforting, and the warmth from his great body seeped through the coverlets to keep out the worst of the night’s chill.

Still, Molly couldn’t help shivering.

“Did he wake up while I was gone?”

No. He won’t wake for a while yet. The long sleep will take as long as it needs.

Peeking under the blanket covering Allarion, Molly watched the glow of the roots. Peeling back the tattered shoulder of his tunic revealed skin newly sealed back together. The scar was pink and raw, but his skin had already knitted well.

Before she could pull the coverlet further down to check the slash at his side, Bellarand slid his head up to pin her.

Go to sleep, titmouse, he advised. The best thing for both of you is sleep.

Molly didn’t know how she could possibly sleep after today, yet as she lay in the little cocoon the three of them made, warm and beside her fae, her eyes grew heavier and heavier. The weight of the day, the worry over Allarion, somehow both lifted and bore down on her, heavier than Bellarand’s head.

Burying her face against Allarion’s arm, Molly took a long, deep breath.

You’ll wake me if something happens?

I promise. I’ll look after you both.

She meant to tell him not to try anything funny while she was asleep, like cover her in pinecones or steal her blanket, but Molly was already slipping away.

Wake up tomorrow, she whispered to her fae and to the magic that coursed through him.

When Molly woke, it was to find Allarion much the same. He looked as serene as he usually did in his long sleeps, so that at least was a little relief. No pain marred his brow, and the roots continued to glow.

She shook the dew off the coverlets as Bellarand disappeared between the trees to relieve himself. When he returned, Molly took her turn, picking berries to stave off the worst of her hunger and thirst along the way.

The morning began cloudy with a mild breeze that cut through her coat. Molly huddled back under the coverlet before tucking Allarion’s tighter to him.

As she did, she noticed that the roots were slowly sliding back into the earth.

A noise of alarm caught in her throat. “Wait!” She tried to pull them back to cover him, but the roots kept retreating into the dirt.

The forest has done all it can.

Molly couldn’t help her whimper as the roots disappeared entirely. She stared at Allarion’s face, looking for any sign, but he remained still. Serene but still.

She covered him again, tucking him in so he wouldn’t get cold.

Something close to an hour passed, and Molly couldn’t contain her worry anymore.

“If the forest is done, shouldn’t he wake up?”

Healing takes time, Bellarand reminded her. His calm, wise tone was starting to irritate her. But…talking to him couldn’t hurt.

Molly couldn’t think of anything to say—everything felt trite or unimportant. So, Molly began to sing. She sang him each of her favorite ballads and then all of his favorite songs. She sang him everything she knew except the dirges because they were too sad. Tears sometimes accompanied her singing, and sometimes Bellarand bobbed his head although he denied it, yet as the sun rose behind the clouds, Molly sang.

Her throat rubbed raw and her legs fell numb sitting there singing, but she didn’t care.

She sang the morning away, and when she began the final song she knew, a low thrumming harmonized with her voice.

Molly yelped, the sound one of profound, desperate hope.

Allarion’s brows wrinkled. “Why did you stop?” he muttered.

She crumpled at his side, hot tears washing her face and his as she sobbed with relief. Not daring to throw herself atop him, she wrapped him in her arms and pressed her damp face to his.

Molly sobbed his name and other nonsense, all her worry and relief and love pouring out of her. Arms came around her, pulling her down into his body. She resisted a moment, thinking of his healing wounds, but after another, she couldn’t deny either of them.

“You’re awake, you’re awake, you’re awake!”

A velveteen muzzle ruffled her hair and nipped at Allarion’s face.

I told her not to worry, said Bellarand. You’re far too stubborn to die from one little stab.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “I’ve had far worse.”

Molly groaned before a laugh bubbled up her throat. It was a mad sort of giggle, but it felt good—and so did their teasing, although she’d never admit it.

“Absolutely no more stabbings,” she demanded, sitting up to glare at her fae. “I can’t bear it again.”

Allarion’s dear face softened, those amethyst eyes glittering up at her. His hand, with those tapered fingers, cupped the side of her face, his thumb running a soft line across her lower lip.

“Forgive me, sweetling,” he rasped. “I fear I’ve frightened you.”

“You scared me to every hell and back!”

He chuckled to hear it, and she might’ve smacked his arm for it, if she hadn’t seen him be stabbed the day before.

As he looked up at her from the forest floor, his expression faded into something more serious. Molly’s insides clenched, and she reached out to smooth his brow.

Allarion caught her hand and kissed the palm.

“I truly must ask your forgiveness,” he murmured into her hand. “I was careless. The triad should never have been allowed to ambush us. To get so close to you…”

“I’m not the one they wanted.”

But Allarion shook his head against her logic. “You are my azai, my heart. Your safety is my greatest desire and duty.” His brows drew together again, and Molly’s heart lurched to see tears gathering along his fan of lashes. “I failed you.”

“Never.” Leaning down over him, Molly claimed his mouth, pressing a fierce kiss to his lips. “You couldn’t fail me if you tried.”

He made a noise of disagreement, so Molly shushed him with another kiss.

“I always get what I want, remember?” she said softly. “I don’t want your guilt. I just want you.”

“My sweet mate. You honor me.”

Molly was convinced the honor was all hers. How a man like him, noble to his core and far kinder than he had any right to be, looked at her twice she’d never know, but she wasn’t about to question it. No matter what he and Bellarand claimed, she’d come close to losing him. How close…well, that didn’t warrant thinking about.

Whatever the future held, whatever else the Fae Queen might try, it didn’t matter. What did was that he’d come back to her. Just as he’d promised he would.

“Can you stand?” she asked. The forest may have done its part, but she wanted to get him tucked into bed, where she could properly look after him herself.

“I’d like to try.”

Molly pulled back the blankets, and Bellarand stooped to get one of Allarion’s arms over his withers. Together, they helped Allarion to his feet.

Standing, he pulled a great lungful of air into his chest as Molly wrapped her arms around his middle. “Thank you,” she said, to him, to the forest, to everything.

Allarion was fae, he was strange, and he was utterly hers. Molly would never take it, nor their extraordinary, magical life here, for granted.

He smiled softly at her before kissing her forehead. “You know I live to please you, sweetling.”