“You haven’t taken an oath,” Suire replied, but she stopped glaring in Talia’s direction. “She’s not yours yet. And until you renew your bond with Nimai, she can’t be.”
“I’m aware. I am also aware that she is mine to look after with the death of my mother and her bond.” What were the terms? He’d heard them from the cradle. “Three and three days, to give an oath of blood and binding. And until that time passes, my guardianship cannot be challenged.”
“Told you,” Talia interjected, her voice a singsong mockery. “Nine days. We have nine days. And I’m spending themhere.”
They did. They had nine days. He had nine days.
“That’s nothing but outdated tradition.”
“It’s Protocol.” Everil’s voice chilled further. He crossed the room to Talia’s chair and let his hand rest on her shoulder. It was no longer shaking. “I have nine days.”
“What difference does it make? Now. Nine days from now. Nimai is waiting. You have a duty, Everil. Yoursoulbondis waiting for you. He’s willing to take you back. Don’t be so fucking selfish.”
He did have a duty. There was no escaping it. But the ax need not fall today.
“Nine days,” he said, taking Suire’s mostly untouched plate from her hands. “My ward and I will take that time to get to know each other. After that, I’ll do what’s necessary.”
Suire stared up at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw regret in her eyes. “You know you’ll only upset him. He said he’d come himself if you wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“I’ll expect him in nine days, then.” He set the plate on the table and crossed to the door, “Thank you for visiting, Suire. I’ll show you out.”
“Kisses to Nimai,” Talia threw in and giggled.
“Everil?” Talia’s high, playfulvoice cut through the house with admirable clarity. “There’s another one.”
“Of course there is,” he called back, sitting up in his bed and fighting a wave of dizziness.
Fae, even healthy fae, fared ill if they spent too long in the human realm. Fading, they called it, that slow draining of magic. Easily rectified, for some. For Everil, a dip in naturally running water in his stallion form did the trick. And if his damaged soul required such trips more frequently than so, it was no matter. The river wasn’t far.
But for the past seven days, he’d stayed inside. Talia thought he was being ridiculous. But, whatever her objections, he was doing it for her sake. Binding one’s soul was easily done when one was open to it. Everilwasn’topen to it. The very thought of tying himself to Nimai again still closed his throat.
There had been so much blood. Lawrence’s blood. Nimai had been painted with it.
No matter. It could be forced. If Everil was only faded enough, the process should happen regardless of his desires.
Ignoring the way the walls swayed, Everil made his way to the entryway, keeping a hand on the banister, just in case. Talia was standing in front of the open door, staring at what appeared to be a small, jeweled music box.
“Tacky,” she said as he drew close. She wore another tattered hoodie, this one gray.
“If only they knew to send you someone else’s discarded sweaters. Courting has no romance anymore.”
Talia wrinkled her nose and nudged the box with her foot. “That makes it sound like you’re my boyfriend. Or maybe my dad. Going to walk me down the aisle, pops?”
“That’s a human custom.”
“And so fun.”
The first gift had arrived mere hours after Suire’s departure. No one could compel Talia to give her oath, Everil included. But they could attempt to woo her to their House. Considering how powerful Gates were, it was only natural that they try. If Talia left him for another house, they would earn instant status and power.
And Everil would be free. No returning to Faerie. No binding his soul to Nimai.
Caring for Talia and her prior incarnations was his family’s oath. Their blood, bound to her protection. Everil had known many of her forms over the centuries, each like and unlike the last. While he wouldn’t attempt to dissuade her, nor could he bring himself to coax her to consider accepting some other fae. He knew better than most what they were capable of. They cared so little for those whose lifespans didn’t match their own.
“Oh, really, Everil. Don’t be hysterical. Do you think humans weep at the deaths of roaches? You had your little distraction. And now it’s gone. Now come. You’re embarrassing us both.”
Everil stepped closer to Talia, studying the box. He could feel the magic of it, a thrum of power that dragged at the tattered edges of his starved soul, inviting him to drink. That he could resist it meant that he was not yet as desperate as he needed to be.
“It’s not a courting gift,” he said, the words coming flat. “That’s Nimai’s magic.”
