Avallach gestured to Emyr, who passed him the small piece of paper from the nightstand. He gave it to Yelena.
She read out loud, "'I'm glad you aren't dead and that you remain undefeated.' Aww, that's cute."
"Turn it over," Avallach said.
Yelena did and choked on her laughter. "'So I can still be the one to defeat you.' Oh gods, she's so murderous, and I love her."
"I'm staying in Faerie from now on," Avallach said with a snort. "Little monster will get me in my sleep, I swear it."
Reeve laughed harder. "Pretty certain it's how Ironwoods show their affection. Threats are like their love language. I'm sure she secretly thinks you're the coolest and will train extra hard to defeat you."
"That's no bad thing. Extra training will keep her safe," Emyr said and nodded in approval.
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one she's sworn a blood vendetta against," Avallach complained.
Yelena laughed with the rest of them and clung to the feeling of normality. She tried not to wish Valentine were there with them. She kept looking at the door, hoping he would come through it.
"He's down in a workshop," Reeve said, giving her a smile so like his brother's. "Don't worry about him. A project is generally how he processes big, traumatic emotions and events."
"Any idea what he's making?" Yelena asked curiously.
"He's being cagey about it." Reeve squeezed her hand. "But you should ask him yourself. You're probably the only one who will understand what he's saying when he explains it."
Yelena grinned. "I just might."
12
Valentine held up his tongs and looked carefully over the small piece of silver plate he had been gently tapping into shape. He glanced over his drawings and notes.
"Hmmm, needs a bit more," he murmured, heating the silver again.
Valentine hadn't worked with metal in years and was finding the challenge helped to clarify his mind. He needed the focus, especially now that Yelena was awake.
Seeing her eyes open and having her hand in his hair had dissolved the ball of worry in his chest, but it had also created another.
Before he came to Faerie, Valentine thought that if he saw Yelena again, he would want to get confrontational about the Caelan matter. He had rehearsed a thousand scathing remarks while he had brooded for weeks. When the time had come, not a single one had sprung to his tongue.
He was a mess inside and out, and he didn't have the heart to fight with the female who had suffered so much. Once Charlotteand Reeve had taken over her care, he had begun to think about how he could help Yelena. She was a mage who was missing a hand, and that would cause all kinds of problems with how she channelled her power. He would do his best to help her with that, and maybe, she would be able to help him with his own problems.
Gods, it would help if she weren't so relentlessly beautiful. Valentine's hands itched to sketch her sleeping face whenever he sat by her. He had resisted the best he could, but his notebook's borders were still decorated with the curve of a cheek here and the bow of her lips there. Drawing her left hand over and over had helped. Trying to remember details about her missing hand had also taken up a lot of his time.
He didn't want to think about the way he felt hard and dead parts of him slowly waking up again. Valentine hated feeling vulnerable more than anything in the world. It made him want to tear his skin off. The project that was taking shape was the only thing that was saving him from his magic and emotions eating him alive.
Taranis and the others could deal with Midir and whatever the fuck he was planning. That wasn't Valentine's problem. He would fight beside them if they asked—that was without question. He didn't care about the politics. He had other things to occupy his time and mind. Things with big eyes and fair hair and a slight smile that hurt to look at.
Valentine didn't hear Reeve come in until his youngest brother stood before him.
"Hey, bro, what are you doing in here?" Reeve asked, slipping his hands in his pockets. Reeve knew better than to touch any of his projects, unlike Apollo, who would have already picked up several items and put them down in the wrong spot.
"I'm making something," Valentine said and pushed sweaty hair back from his face.
Reeve studied the sketches, the wooden model Valentine had carved, and the small silver pieces that were laid out in precise order.
"I can see that," Reeve replied and looked at the pile of books that Valentine had taken from Taranis's library. "You're making a hand?"
Valentine put down his hammer and the piece of silver he was working on. "For Yelena. Do you remember the story Mom told us about King Nuada?"
Reeve shook his head. "My 'mom memories' aren't as numerous as yours. I remember she was good at stories, but nothing specific jumps to mind."
