This is the life. Comfy sofa, snuggly blanket, and Netflix on the projector. And best of all, a mug of proper tea. Supermarket own-brand bags and white sugar. None of this loose-leaf, sweetened-with-honey-from-wild-forest-bees nonsense.
Saying that, the tea Luci made me was delicious. As were the cups I’ve had here. But nothing beats familiarity. It is reassuring and comforting, and I am a little surprised at how much better such a simple thing is making me feel.
Tristan would probably give me the world right now, so asking for a cup of tea like Granny used to make, felt all kinds of feeble. But now I feel justified. It was a damn good thing to ask for, after all.
I take another sip and sigh in bliss. I probably should be alarmed that the guards couldn’t find the would-be assassin. But I cannot muster the energy for it. We are home. Tristan is safe. I have tea. All feels right with the world.
Behind me, the door opens and closes softly, but I don’t bother craning my neck to see. I am pretty sure it is Tristan. He promised he wasn’t going to be gone for long. And he is being trueto his word.
However, that is no excuse for these stupid butterflies that have invaded my stomach. I can’t do a thing about them, but I can control myself and not let Tristan know that I’m ridiculously ecstatic that he is back.
Tristan walks into my line of vision, followed by Selwyn. My butterflies vanish in a whoosh of disappointment. What the hell is Selwyn doing here? I frown but say nothing. Hopefully, he will not be staying for long and then it will be only Tristan and me. Just the way I like it.
“Selwyn is here to examine you,” says Tristan.
I nearly choke on my tea. What the actual hell? As if him being here wasn’t bad enough.
“Like medically?” I splutter. “My knee is fine!” I add hastily.
And it is. The earlier ache has completely gone. Yay for fey fast healing. I honestly do not need a checkup. Especially since I’ve always thought there was something deeply insidious about a medical exam. Strangers touching me. Potentially in intimate places. I shudder. No thanks.
“Magically,” clarifies Tristan.
Oh. A magical examination? I’m not sure if that is better or worse. It still sounds ominous. And deeply unpleasant.
“Why?” I ask.
“To find out how you could foresee the attack,” Tristan says.
I stare into his eyes. I cannot see any deception. Which isn’t exactly surprising. He is an annoying bastard, but a straightforward one. If he wanted to pin me down and flay my skin off to see what colour I am inside, he’d just say so. He wouldn’t pretend it was a magical examination.
He holds my gaze, and I feel my blood heating. I swallow. Fuck it. For better or worse, I trust this motherfucker.
“Why can’t you do it?” I ask as my last protest. I’d much prefer to be magically probed by Tristan than anyone else.
Tristan shrugs. “Selwyn is far better at this kind of magic than I am.”
That’s candid enough, and pretty much what I had assumed. It is disappointing, but I am a big boy, and I will live.
“Fine,” I grumble.
It would be interesting to know exactly how and why I’m suddenly seeing the future. I am a little curious about it. Was it a one-off? If not, how often will it happen? Is it going to be useful, or is it going to be a pain in the ass?
Selwyn pulls up a chair and sits directly opposite me so that our knees are nearly touching. He gives me a small smile, one that I think is meant to be reassuring.
Then an itchy sensation spreads all over me. It is like being covered in ants or having a really bad case of pins and needles. I wince, and immediately Tristan steps forward and takes my hand.
Oh, that feels so much better. Now that I can cling onto him and squeeze his hand, everything is suddenly a lot more bearable.
Selwyn takes a deep breath, and the unpleasant sensation stops. I lean back against the sofa and huff out a breath of my own. Tristan doesn’t try to claim his hand back, and I make no move to release it.
“Your talents are finding what has been lost, and detecting threats,” says Selwyn. “You may not be able to wield magic to cast spells and such, but your senses are fully intact. You have talents like any full-blooded fey.”
I look up at Tristan. “Talents?”
“Most fey have a talent or two. An area of magic they naturally excel in. Rhydian can dreamwalk. I’m good at making translators. Dyfri is brilliant with potions.”
A shudder trembles through me. Yeah, I know that one far too well. Which leads me to a thought.
