“An apartment. I won't say more about it. He's excited to surprise you with it.”
“In Ruva?”
Rath blinked. “Yes. How did you know?”
“It's where he grew up. And where he took me on our first date.”
“Ah.” Rath sighed. “If you don't like it, we can find somewhere else.”
“I like it. That's not the problem.” I went to the archway and ran my hand along the border of wolves and flowers. “You obviously put a lot of thought into this place. It's a combination of Xae and you.” I turned to face him. “But where am I? Taroc at least left some rooms bare for me to fill.”
“We've done a little more than that. Let me show you.” Rath opened the doors and headed inside.
I stepped into a cozy living space of dark wood, heavy furniture, and green fabric accents. It was yet another combination of Xae and Rath—the solid masculinity meeting delicate refinement. And I still didn't see myself in it. But what would that even mean? Who was I? Shit. How did a house challenge my fucking identity?
Then I saw the knitted blanket. It was casually laid across a chair near the fireplace. As if its owner had just gotten up and cast it aside. How many times had I seen it laid in just such a way? Hundreds at least. Tears filled my eyes and emotion constricted my throat as I went to it. No, it couldn't be the same blanket. Fress had been burned to the ground, my house included. I'd mourned the things I'd so carelessly left behind, but had never mentioned it to Rath or Xae. Partly because Rath had been with me when I packed a bag to take to the citadel. A small bag. He had commented on it, asking if I was sure that was all I wanted to take. And I had said something flippant. I didn't have a lot of possessions that were important to me. Just a few mementos that I had taken with me. Or so I thought.
I guess I had assumed I could go back for the rest. Or maybe it was one of those things where you don't care about something until it's lost forever. But after Fress burned, I started thinking about all the little things that my home had been feathered with. The tea set my mother loved. The rug my father had braided for her. And the blanket she had knitted for me. This exact blanket.
I picked it up and buried my face in it to hide my tears. But I couldn't hide the way my shoulders shook. It smelled like home.
Rath's hand slid up my back to grip my shoulder supportively. “I knew you weren't thinking straight. So I went back for your things. I packed up the whole house.”
“You what?” I spun to face him. “Everything?”
Rath smiled gently at me. “I wasn't sure what you'd want. I figured I would keep it for you until you missed something, and then I could surprise you.”
“When?” I whispered.
“When what?”
“When did you go back for everything, Rath?”
He cleared his throat and looked away.
“Rath.”
“The next day.”
“You went back the next day?” I gaped at him. “You barely knew me. Why would you do that for me? It must have taken all day.”
“It took several days actually.”
“Rath.”
“Ember, I have loved you from the very beginning. My heart recognized you instantly. That's why I fought my attraction to you so adamantly. I knew if I lost you, I'd never recover.”
My legs wobbled. My heart clenched, pumping out a signal so strong and bright that it shot down the line between us and made Rath smile. He opened his arms, and I went into them.
Tucking me in against his chest, Rath said, “I distributed everything among us. There are pieces of you in all our homes. I'm surprised Taroc didn't show you the teapot he took.”
“Teapot?!” I jerked back to look up at him. “The copper kettle?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “Did you like that one?”
“It was always over the fire. My mother liked having hot water ready in case she wanted a cup of tea.” I blinked back my tears, but one slid free. “It will be nice to see it in my home again.”
Rath brushed it away. “Some people say that possessions are just things. They don't matter. They are not the people we loved. But I disagree. Some items hold memories for us, and when you're immortal, reminders like that are especially important. Time claws at our minds. It steals little moments. But precious things like this,”—he ran his hand over the blanket—“they retrieve those stolen moments. So, cling to your possessions, Ember. Wrap them around yourself.” He took the blanket and drew it around my shoulders. “Hold them to your heart and cry if you have to. Crying is another way of remembering. Tears are a badge of honor that we offer our dead. A sign of a well-lived life.”
