I pull back the sleeve of my dress to show him my branding scar. “Would you be able to cover this?”
He gently takes my arm in his hands, getting a good look at the scar.
“Every morning when I get dressed, I see this, and I remember feeling so completely powerless andterrified. Covering it with something that would be more pleasant to look at would be so lovely. Besides, it would probably be safer not to have the royal insignia clearly branded into my arm.”
When Dayfyd looks at me, there are tears in his eyes as he nods. “I can certainly help you with that. Do you have anything in mind?”
I smile at him and nod.
“Perfect. Then come by when you have some free time.”
Over the next few days, I train longer than usual. I still make it a habit to pick up Taig early from the Hatchling’s Nest so I can spend as much time as I can with him. We walk through the community garden, cuddle on the couch before the hearth, and every night I watch him sleep.
I memorize the dimples in his cheeks when he smiles and the way his hair coils in perfect corkscrews over his ears. I hoard the images of his little puckered lips, his small frame, the wild flapping of his hands, and goofy, crooked smiles.
Gods, I’m going to miss him.
My heart feels ready to cleave in two. I’m almost certain that when we ride away from here, I’ll be leaving behind a part of myself. It brings back the memories of the Forayers barging into my home nearly four months ago, of being branded, of living in constant fear of being discovered as an Undesirable.
This time, I’m leaving willingly. I’m leaving knowing that my heart won’t, in fact, cleave in two—that his will remain intact.
I’m leaving because everyone’s lives may depend on it.
Still, it doesn’t make things easier.
Tears brim in my eyes. I stare down at my forearm while Dayfyd meticulously works over it with a delicate bone needle. Gone are the obvious discolored ridges in my skin, the unsightly remnants of my branding scar from back in Paramount. The sun and eclipsed crown turned on its side are no longer visible.
With each sting of the bone needle, the design I’d asked Dayfyd to ink slowly emerges. My right hand grips the cushion beneath me as I sit on the floor with my arm propped on the tea table. Dayfyd kneels on the other side with ink, a handkerchief, and a replacement bone needle within his reach.
He glances up at me, concern etched into features that I foolishly never realized looked so much like my own. “Am I hurting you too much?” he asks. “We could take a break.”
I watch the words form on his lips and shake my head. Dayfyd nods, compassion in his eyes. He gently blots a dribble of blood from my arm with a handkerchief before resuming the inking process. I grit my teeth against the bite of the needle. It’s nothing compared to a decade of headaches, nausea, and dizziness, but it’s still unpleasant.
Dayfyd looks up at me again and I catch his remorseful expression. “I know I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he says. “But I am truly sorry for not speaking to you earlier. Alys feels awful about it as well.”
“You did what you thought was right,” I say.
“No, I did it out of fear.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “What were you afraid of?”
“I was afraid of the prophecy. Morwenna frequently dreamt about it. I suppose I feared that once you knew the truth about your bloodline, it would all come to fruition. I was also afraid to chase you away when I’d dreamt of meeting you again for so long.”
My heart tugs as I look away. When I turn back to say something, he’s refocused on my forearm, putting the final touches on the tattoo.
“There,” he says after a few moments. He takes a cloth and dabs away the blood. “It’s going to look a little swollen and red for a couple days, but afterward it should be fine. A Healer could also speed up the process.”
A smile blooms on my face as I take in the artwork in the middle of my inner forearm: an image of the moon phases inline, nestled within a branch of flowers and foliage. It’s symbolic of the only person I thought I could be before arriving at Paramount, and my hope of embracing who I truly am—dreamwalking included.
Tiernan appears from the kitchen where he’d been chatting with Alys—as if my thoughts have summoned him. He looks down at the tattoo, then at Dayfyd. “Beautiful work,” he signs.
Dayfyd’s smile is humble and sweet.
“I agree,” I say. “Thank you, Dayfyd.”
“It was my honor,” he replies. As he gathers his supplies, Tiernan takes my right hand to pull me to my feet. My body is a little stiff from sitting on that small cushion on the floor for too long, but it was worth it. I peer at the complete tattoo and begin smiling anew.
“I think it’s perfect for you,” Tiernan says as Dayfyd heads into the kitchen. “Do you like it?”
