“But you cook here,” I say slowly. “I saw the kitchens myself.”
“Yes. But the ingredients aren’t sourced here. They come from across the mountains, near the sea.”
I frown. “So the Cloisters is like…a port city? Does it have a castle, too, like this one?”
“Oh, no.” Her brow tightens. “It’s…hmm. Difficult to explain. I don’t know that I can do it in a way that’ll make sense to you. But most everyone in the Cloisters is old. As in hundreds of years, or even thousands. Because that’s where fae go when they want to retire from the world. When they’re tired of living for their own pleasure, and want to devote themselves to others. In the Cloisters, everyone chooses a craft. They weave and plant and harvest and sew. They find meaning in production, then send it all here for us to enjoy.”
My mind tries to absorb that. “Really? But why?”
She sighs, her exhale brushing across the shell of my ear. “Because the Cloisters is a sad place. Most everyone there has lost someone. Amate, or a child. When you live as long as we do, loss becomes inevitable. And grief can change you like nothing else can. Some choose death, after. Those who don’t withdraw to the Cloisters to serve. They might choose death later, or spend a few centuries perfecting a craft. It’s different for every fae.”
I sit perfectly still. That sounds so gut-wrenchingly…human, and it doesn’t fit my mental construct at all. I’ve always thought of the fae as selfish, unable to see past their own desires.
Now I frown, unsure of myself.
“Anyway,” Ravenna says. “That’s where I’m from. Which is unusual, actually. Babies are hardly ever born in the Cloisters, because it isn’t a place for love, or coupling. I was the first child to come along in a hundred and fifty years.”
Shock sparks inside me. “Ahundred and fifty?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“But how come? Who were your parents?”
Her smile curves into something sad. “Broken people. They’d both lost their mates, and had been at the Cloisters a long time before they made me. I think one night they just needed comfort. Or to forget. Or maybe they wanted to remember what pleasure was like, one last time. Maybe they just needed to think about something other than facing eternity alone.”
I gather a fragile breath, sharpness pricking beneath my breastbone. I’ve never thought of the fae’s immortality as a burden, and have always equated their deathlessness with their godlessness. Because why bother to atone if you’ll never die?
But maybe endless life comes with a cost. With loss and sorrow and heartache. I’ve just…never thought about it that way before. “That’s so sad,” I say quietly.
Ravenna sets down the brush and separates my hair into sections. “It’s life. And not everyone ends up in the Cloisters. Some are lucky enough to find their mate and keep them. Those who do usually stay here. They spend eternity just enjoying themselves. Each other. I mean, that’s the dream. To find the person who can make happiness last forever. Most fae spend their lives hoping for that exact thing. Aching for it, really.”
Her words settle into me, burrowing deep. The Shadow told me mate bonds are rare, and yet I brushed right past it, at the time.
Maybe I shouldn’t have.
That moment from the great hall wraps around me again—the feel of his skin against my palm, the immensity of what lay underneath. His desperation. His desire, so bottomless. Hisloneliness.
Good goddess.
Those things almost make sense, when viewed through this lens. Thefaealmost make sense. And, for the very first time, I consider that maybe they’ve settled on different values because they’vehadto. Because they’ve had to find a way to make eternity bearable.
The thought sits in my chest, foreign and unwelcome.
“Anyway,” Ravenna says, her deft fingers weaving a braid, starting at my temple and working down. “The mate bond is why I’m in Velindra. I came here from the Cloisters one day, to make a delivery, and when I got here, Calen was waiting. I’d never seen him before, but I took one look at him and knew. And I’ve been here ever since.”
“Wait.” My hand lands on my chest and presses. “You mean you and Calen aremates?”
Her gaze finds mine in the mirror, bright with amusement. “You couldn’t tell?”
I give a slow shake of my head. I’d assumed they… Well. Maybe that’s the problem. I’d assumed.
Her mouth tips. “You would’ve, if you were fae. You would’ve smelled it on us. But yes. We’re lucky. So lucky I barely know what to do with myself, sometimes.”
I go still, beholden to the glow in her voice. “You love him, then?”
A tinkling laugh escapes her. “Love? No. What we have isn’t love. I love…I don’t know. Springtime, or freshly baked fish. I love the color yellow. What I feel for Calen isn’t that. It’s surrender. Possession. Inevitability. It’scompletion. Love might be a candle, but Calen’s the sun.”
I stare. A bolt of pure envy drills into me, so sharp it steals my breath.
