What did you do?
And then—
Tate.
You’ve made a fucking mess of things.
CALL ME!
He had ignored it.
They’d received the keys, by then, to the house in Oldetowne.
Silva had her phone out, finger poised over the camera shutter, the first time Tate stepped over the threshold, with Aelin on his shoulders. They were careful. The house had been empty for so long and had fallen into such a deep state of disrepair that the floors were likely unstable. He’d not wanted to risk taking her in very far, just a few steps, letting her see. See what he saw, maybe. He’d turned when Silva called his name, capturing the moment.
A curved doorway was visible just over his shoulder on the other side of the foyer. The grand, curving staircase behind them was missing steps and half the balusters on the handrail, and the chandelier hanging over them was covered in several decades’ worth of dust and cobwebs. Even so, Aelin’s expression had been one of wonder, Tate’s smile genuine and unguarded, so rare.
It was her favorite picture. She’d saved it in black and white, making it the background of her phone, pulling it out andtapping the screen every time her temples began to throb, sitting behind her desk at work each day.
He had his hands full and ignored the text for several weeks.
When the phone rang one night, shortly after Aelin had been tucked into bed, his hand hesitated over it, fingers curling into a fist of indecision, before swiping it up and tapping the screen, bringing the phone to his ear.
He hadn’t said much. Silva wasn’t able to glean anything useful from his side of the conversation, but his face had been grim. She heard him making plans to meet with someone, supplying a pen and one of her many little notebooks, before he could cast around for something to write it down.
And then — she simply waited.
Once, she would’ve twisted in agony, inventing scenarios in her head of who could be on the other end of the line, what plans he was making, who he was seeing, the affair he was having. She was sad for the elf she had been. She’d spent so much time making herself miserable for no reason.
When he disconnected the call, Tate didn’t say anything to her right away. Silva knew it was bad when he disappeared through the sliding door, pacing around the black yard until he trawled too close to the neighbor’s property, igniting their floodlights. She heard him curse through the glass door, deciding she was better off going to bed herself.
She managed to complete her entire skincare routine and put her hair up, just slipping beneath the sheets when she heard him let himself in. When he climbed into bed to join her, a while later, she remained silent, waiting for him. His head found its way between her breasts, his eyes closed. Silva pushed her fingers into his silky hair, scratching his scalp, still waiting.
“I have to go see someone,” he murmured at last. “I don’t want to, but . . . I don’t think I can avoid it. I need to find out what’s going on there.”
He didn’t need to elaborate where there was.
“Where do you have to go?”
“Somewhere neutral, on this side,” he clarified. “A few states away, at least.”
“Okay. I’m coming with you.”
“Silva—”
“I’m. Coming. With. You. I’m letting you know, Tate. Not asking permission. You’re not doing this alone. You don’t have to anymore.”
“You’re not even concerned if it might be dangerous?” He demanded, head lifting to find her eyes.
“Who is it? Is it someone dangerous?”
He let out a hard breath against her. Outside, it had begun to rain, the steady patter of it like a percussive accompaniment to the conversation.
“They’re all dangerous, dove. . . this is a friend, at least. Astrid. She’s from the Court of Winter.”
“She’s the wisp? The one with the blue eyes?
His head whipped up, eyes narrowing to golden slits. He pushed off the mattress, turning and looming over her, arms caging her in. “Silva, I swear to Mab—”
