He chooses to tell me this before he tells me that Kiran sacrificed his immortality to bring her back to life, and that all of our friends are happy and healthy.
When I complain about the momentary panic he inflicted upon me, he grins and tells me it makes for a better story the way he told it.
It’s another hour before I speak to him again, but eventually he cajoles me by informing me that he’s thought long and hard about it, and has decided that, should I agree, he’d like to give up his immortality as well.
I tell him that’s a sweet gesture, but probably not one to be made rashly, especially when it could come in handy healing Cecilia later if need be.
In the end, he kisses me and tells me we will talk about it later.
After that, he keeps dangling the information about whether my glass coating worked.
I’m just settling into my rocking chair in the refurbished nursery later that day, when someone knocks on the door.
Evander, sitting in his own rocking chair across from me, startles, having fallen asleep as soon as he sat down. He’s more exhausted than he first let on, but I suppose that’s to be expected. I’m still waiting to hear what happened during the battle. Part of me is reluctant to know. I’m not sure I want to hear about all the occasions I almost became a widow.
“Evander!” a female voice calls from beyond the closed door. “Let me in before Mother finds me and makes me speak to her!”
I shoot my husband a questioning brow. Evander drags his hand over his sleepy features. “Did I forget to mention that I brought my sister home for a visit?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, you did.”
Evander groans and drags himself from the rocking chair and to the door. When he unlatches it, a female with golden hair who otherwise looks uncannily like Evander waltzes in. A tall, trim brunette male with tanned skin and vibrant blue eyes follows close behind her.
“Ellie,” Evander says, gesturing between me and the female, “This is my sister—”
“Olwen,” the female says, sauntering past Evander and toward the rocking chair. “I must say, when I heard my brother had married, I didn’t expect it to be to a genius whose invention would end up saving our lives. Quill and I would be sporting holes in our flesh from the wyvern acid if it weren’t for Evander’s shield. Say, have you ever considered becoming a professor?”
“Thornwall,” drawls the male who must be Quill, still hovering at the door, “we’re here to meet family, not recruit.”
Olwen flits her hand before turning and flashing him a mischievous grin. “Who says we can’t do both?”
I must say, I’m a bit confused regarding this interaction, considering the last I heard of Olwen Thornwall, she’d isolated herself in a tower of vines of her own making.
Evander, reading my mind, says, “Apparently, there have been quite a few developments in the past year.”
I’m about to ask for an explanation, but Olwen’s eyes go wide, and her rather arrogant expression softens. “I take it this is Cecilia?” she asks.
She has the look of someone who wants to hold a baby.
She also has the look of someone who’s never held a baby before, and thus is too afraid to ask.
It’s funny—from what I know about Olwen, she’s a prodigy when it comes to magic. But it doesn’t seem to matter how capable someone is in all other aspects of their lives—everyone who hasn’t held a baby before seems to think it’s a monumental task.
I stand and pass Cecilia to her aunt. Olwen’s arms go as rigid as tree limbs, so I say, “She can support her own head now, so as long as you don’t drop her or shake her too hard, you really can’t go wrong.”
This seems to loosen Olwen up a bit, and soon enough she’s holding Cecilia like she’s a little person and not a little explosive.
Of course, Cecilia is a little explosive, but Olwen will come to realize that soon enough, I’m sure.
“Say,” Olwen says, bouncing a giggling Cecilia lightly, “do you think she has magic? You know, Quill and I could save her a spot at the Academy. If she’s good enough at magic, of course. We don’t want to be too nepotistic.”
“Only a little nepotistic,” Quill says, rolling his eyes slightly.
I look at Evander, who is shaking his head. As much as I want to ask how Olwen ended up pulling strings at Dwellen’s most prestigious magic school, it seems as though Evander’s heard an earful of this story on his journey.
“We don’t know if she has magic yet,” I say. “From what we understand, some children with both fae and human heritage are born with magic, others aren’t.”
“Hm,” Olwen says, conjuring a flower in front of Cecilia’s face, as if to probe for any magical ability.
Evander groans in the corner, but Olwen soon makes the flower open and close, playing peek-a-boo with Cecilia, which makes my daughter laugh uncontrollably, so I allow it.
Olwen and Quill stay long enough that night falls, while Evander returns to his rocking chair and falls asleep.
Left alone with my sister-in-law and her husband, I’m about to ask how they met, wondering if this will lead me to understand why Olwen left her tower and how they both seem to have influence at the Academy, when Quill’s ears flick.
“Someone’s outside the door,” he says.
I frown and rise from my rocking chair. When I open the door, no one is there.
My heart thuds, and I turn to look at Evander, who looks as if a jolt of lightning striking the castle wouldn’t wake him.
I turn to check on Cecilia, who is fast asleep in Olwen’s arms, and inform my family I’ll be right back.
When I step into the hall, a draft sends a chill up my arms, and I wrap my chemise tighter around my shoulders, hastening down the corridor.
The hooded figure is already halfway down the next hallway by the time I turn the corner, but I recognize her gait.
“Blaise.”
