"Elara would kick your ass for using her as an excuse," I say bluntly. "She'd want you happy. Not spending eternity punishing yourself by being alone."
"You don't know that."
"I met her. Multiple times. She threatened to castrate me if I got you killed." I smile at the memory. "She was terrifying. I liked her immensely. And she would absolutely tell you to stop being a martyr and go fuck the fairy who makes you laugh."
He almost smiles. "That's not how Elara would phrase it."
"Fine. 'Make love to the fairy.'" I roll my eyes. "Better? More respectful? Less crude?"
"Marginally."
"So?" I press. "When are you going to stop pretending you're fine and actually do something about this?"
"I don't know." He stares into his goblet. "What if I fuck it up?"
"You will fuck it up. Repeatedly. That's how these things work." I lean forward. "I nearly destroyed my marriage seven times before we figured our shit out. You'll be fine."
"Your wife was sent to assassinate you."
"Exactly. And if I can make that work, you can definitely handle a fairy who already likes you." I raise my goblet. "To being complete disasters in love."
"To surviving despite ourselves," he counters.
We drink.
"When you finally tell her," I say after a moment, "try not to be your usual grim, death-and-duty self. Women generally prefer romance to tactical assessments of relationship viability."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Good. Because if you fuck this up through sheer emotional incompetence, I'm going to mock you mercilessly for the next two hundred years."
"Noted." He refills both our goblets again. The bottle's nearly empty now. "You're enjoying this."
"Immensely. You've spent eight hundred years being the responsible one while I cause chaos. It's nice seeing you be the disaster for once."
"May the gods preserve me from your idea of friendship."
"No they won't. You love me. Just like you love her." I grin. "Admit it. You're soft now. Domesticated. Next you'll be settling down, having children, hosting dinner parties?—"
He gives me a look that could kill lesser men. "If you continue this line of thought, I will demonstrate exactly how 'domesticated' I am by throwing you through that tent wall."
"See? Still got some fire in you." I laugh. "Good. Banu would get bored with someone completely tame."
"This conversation is over."
"This conversation is just getting interesting." But I let it drop, seeing the exhaustion finally catching up to him. "Get some sleep, old friend. Tomorrow we start rebuilding."
He nods, rising with only slightly impaired dignity. At the entrance, he pauses.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For not letting me be alone with this."
"That's what I'm here for. Well, that and creative violence. But mostly the friendship thing."
He leaves, and I catch the direction he turns—toward the healers' pavilion. Toward where she is.
Some things don't need to be said aloud.
CHAPTER 39
