I turned to find her holding one of Cara’s books, turning it in her hands. Her eyes moved across my desk, which now contained several crystal jars containing nuts, candies, and cookies. Cara was always interested in nibbling on snacks and never asked for them, so I’d ordered a selection to see which one disappeared first.
Her gaze roamed over the rest. Golden and silver jewelry draped from the bedposts, glinting in the sunlight. The stack of extra pillows and thick, fluffy blankets I had accumulated since I knew she would be coming to my bed, turning it into a nest.
She didn’t comment. She moved to the window instead, settling into the frame in the way that had always been hers: hip against the sill, arms loosely crossed, as if she were settling in for a long talk. “Obsidian is boring.”
“Most clans are.”
“It’s all fucking. They’re always fucking each other. It was diverting at first, but now it’s become dull. I want to fight for something.” She glanced at me sideways, and there it was: the familiar sharpness hidden in the banter, the blade she’d always kept in easy reach. “I’m wasted, Fear. You know I’m wasted.”
“Wasted or not, you’re housed and fed and alive. I called in a favor to get you shelter in Obsidian, if you’ll recall.”
“I recall.” Her voice had dried up. “Though Obsidian now questions if that favor was a favor for me or a trick of yours.”
“Is that so?”
“There’s talk in Obsidian about some enchanted knife.” She sounded casual as she laid down the book. She moved to the wall by the window, leaning against it with her arms crossed.
I gave her a pointed look. It was insulting to us both, really, pretending that there was anything casual about this conversation. “There’s always talk. Shifters’ interests are—as you pointed out—fighting, fucking, and running their mouths.”
“Obsidian was sent by the queen. They didn’t include me, of course. I don’t belong anywhere now. But perhaps if they had used me, they’d have brought back the knife.” Her gaze narrowed meaningfully. “Perhaps they would have recognized the thieves.”
“If they had a mission, they should have used you.”
“You’re not going to tell me anything.”
“There isn’t anything to tell.”
She made a sound that was almost a laugh. “There it is. Always the polished liar.”
She pushed off the wall and moved to drop onto the window seat. The movement brought up a renegade wave of memory, a wish that things could be the ways they were before.
But nothing can be put together the same way again once it has been shattered by betrayal. I knew that better than anyone.
She was too close to me now, though we had sat this close a thousand times before Cara, to nurse each other’s wounds or lean together when drunk or whisper behind the backs of other shifters. She tilted her head to look up at me, and this close, I could not ignore the strain in her face, the way the ligature of her throat tightened.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her as badly as I did. You know that.”
“I know.” The words came out soft, though my decision would not.
“I thought she would be fine.” Her mouth pressed together. “She can be strong. I misjudged how much—” The sentence dissolved. “I misjudged.”
“Yes, you did.” She had misjudged Cara’s mortal fragility, and she had misjudged what Cara meant to me.
Which was not, and had not been since I first met her, entirely the promise of Lightbringer.
“That’s all you’re going to give me.”
“What would you like me to give you, Maura?”
The question landed more directly than she’d expected. I watched the slight adjustment in her expression. She had come in with a shape for this conversation, and I had stepped sideways out of it.
“Honesty,” she said finally.
The week before, I’d felt a rush of sympathy, seeing the way she sought Bismyth. Until Cara flinched. That small involuntary motion had made my decision. I would always choose my wife. “Honesty. About what, specifically?”
“About why you won’t…” Her jaw worked; any suggestion of things outside of her control bothered her. But finally she spat the word out. “Allow me back in Bismyth.”
“You know why.”
