She sighs and shakes her head. “No. I still wait. Immy, too, wait.”
I bet I know who Imogen would like to be mated with. Well, he’s taken.By a Glacin princess, my mind is adamant to toss in.
“But mysiér”—I imagine that meanssisterin Crow—“doesn’t want bond. She too mated to Crow plight.”
I cannot help the snort that steals out of me. “I’m pretty certain your sister would love nothing more than to be mated to Lore.”
“Why you say that?” Eefah’s mouth rounds with genuine surprise.
“Because she’s always with him.”
“She part of Siorkahd. That’s job. That’s why she spend much time with our King. Trust me, Fallon, she not want Lore.” She shakes her head, which propels her heavy braid over her shoulder. “Immy too enjoys fighting to love-make.”
Was her hair and makeup really mussed from plotting Lorcan’s next war?
“Who is mate?”
“I—I—” I bite my lip. “I prefer to keep that to myself.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She sounds so deflated that I add, “I haven’t even told Syb and Phoebus about it.”
“You think they not understand?”
“I think they won’t understand why I’ve turned down the bond.”
“Turn down?” One of her blackened eyebrows arches. “You can’t turn down bond. It’s blessed.”
“I want to choose, Eefah.”
Her lashes beat vigorously as though to clear her eyesight. “Your mate must be very sad.”
I shrug. “He’s already betrothed to another woman, so he got over it.”
Her head rears back. “If he Crow, that not possible.”
It takes me a moment to realize that sinceI’mpart-Crow, I could’ve potentially been mated with someone who wasn’t.
“He not Crow?”
I want her to stop cross-examining me or she’ll find out whose mind I can walk into. “Eefah, while we wait for Sybille to come and get me for dinner, can you teach me your language?”
Her nostrils suddenly flare, and I think she’s put two and two together—after all, I did admit he was recently betrothed—but then her lips bend into a smile. “I honored to teach you Crow.”
Although I’m relieved she didn’t guess, the beats of my heart are each duller than the next. I turn away before she can spot the strange upheaval overtaking me.
As I plod into the closet separating the bathroom and the bedroom, I ask, “How do you say,dress?”
“Dréasich.”
“Dreesseh,” I repeat as I finger a coral-colored gown with a fitted bodice and a fluted satin skirt. Is it too much for a dinner with a group of rebels? I glance at the rest of the hangers. Except for one rather simple stone-gray frock, everything is over-the-top.
As I pull down the coral gown, then fish out some underwear, Eefah steps into the bedroom and slides the door closed, affording me privacy. I slip on the silk, grateful that Syb splurged on such exquisite undergarments, then hoist the dress up and contort my arms to reach all the hooks and eyes.
I’m suddenly struck with the memory of Lorcan helping me into the gown I wore in Tarespagia, of the ghostly fingers caressing my skin, and a new blush splashes my skin.
I need to get that man out of my head before my body can—once again—project itself toward his, or he’s going to start thinking Iwantto be with him when that couldn’t be further from the truth.
