He buzzes nearer as though to check it’s truly me. When he whirls on himself with a squint, I realize who he must be seeking out.
Sure enough, he asks, “Where’s Salom?”
I can neither shape the answer nor breathe out his fate.
“He didn’t make it,” Imogen says—softly. “I’m sorry. I know you were close.”
Borat’s mouth becomes a stroke of chalk on his brown face. And then he begins to bob, racked by soft sobs that impale the organ in my chest further onto my ribs. When he dips, Imogen slides her palm beneath him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save him,” she murmurs as he lands. Crumples. He drags his legs into his chest and buries his face against his knees.
“His murderer—Bohdan Zaslofsky—is dead,” she says, which makes him peek at her. “But I believe a few of his coconspirators got away. Though I’ve committed most of their faces to memory, I’d love your help hunting them down.” When his tear-bright gaze slices to me, she adds, “Your king has granted us permission to seek revenge.”
Borat gapes at her, then at Vance, then at me. He sniffles, then presses his brown locks back and tips up his chin. “All right, but just so we’re clear, I’m not a pet.”
Imogen snorts. “I called you Sprite not Pet. But I like the ring of it.Pet.”
“You call me Pet, and I call you Big Bird.”
The corners of Imogen’s mouth reel. “As long as you call my mate, Big Serpent, you have yourself a deal.”
Isla huffs out a laugh that she unsuccessfully tries to smother against my chest.
“Big Bird,” she gasps in between two peals of laughter.
And then she’s tossing her head back and pouring the magnificent melody into the crisp night. Into my crackled soul.
When Borat smiles, I find myself returning it.
Suddenly, Isla stills. My heart clatters, until I notice shadows and wings stirring the indigo. Her family lands like hail pellets, pounding into Patchenkov’s property.
Isla spins away from me and skips toward her father, pitching herself inside his already open arms. Her relieved sob splinters me anew. I suddenly hate that the Cauldron entangled her in a battle that was never hers to wage.
If only it had never shown her family the prophecy.
If only Behati had kept it a secret…
I didn’t come here because of the Mestyla-prophecy. I came here because of the mate-one. I came here because Behati told me that if I didn’t cross paths with my mate at the Jubilee, then he would die. I didn’twant to lose him,she tells me as she peels herself from her father to hug her hulking grandfather.I didn’t want to loseyou.
Justus, who flew in with the Crows, is the first to come toward me. “How are you holding up, son?”
At first, I think he’s addressing Vance, but his son and Imogen have stepped away to greet the others.
Heat cripples my lids while a chill gnaws at my spine. I gape at Justus, his visage transmuting into another’s—one with blond hair and brilliant amber irises. The last to call meson.
By a thread,I think.That’s how I’m holding up.
I keep the reply at bay, for if Salom taught me anything, it was not to show the chinks in one’s armor. Not even to one’s allies.
Isla’s gaze presses against my puckered brow.
I don’t want your pity, Little Witch. Only your laughter and your love.I straighten my neck, roll my shoulders back, thin my lips.Never your pity.
I hear her sigh as I thank Justus for coming, before stalking past him to greet my father-in-law. As I approach, I hunt his gaze for dissatisfaction. And hunt… Oddly enough, though, I find only reluctant acceptance and strategic empathy as he nods toward Ksenia.
“There’s no worse pain than the betrayal of someone you would’ve succored from the fires of the underworld,” he says, crossing his arms, which makes his leather sleeves creak from the strain. “Luckily for me, I only had to live through it once, and luckily for the world, I had five centuries of imposed meditation to cool off.”
“Cool off, you say?” Isla quips, squeezing in between us and collecting my hand.
