And I didn’t fall.
I flew.
46
The Talk
I followed my parents into their glassed-in bungalow, drinking in the scent of brine and drosas that wafted off the sea and combed through the Floating Garden.
My pulse drummed inside my neck and skull, and my stomach was full of nerves. I tried to remind myself that I’d died—twice—faced innumerable monsters—most in fur, one in skin—and yet it felt like a thousand rockets had been set off inside of me at the very same time. And it all got worse when my father poured himself a whiskey before asking me to take a seat while Nima paced the plush beige carpet.
“Amoo”—Iba perched on the edge of the teal couch and swirled his drink—“you no longer have to pretend to be nice to Remo.”
I cringed, the moment reminding me acutely of the birds-and-the-bees talk Nima had given me after my spirit ceremony. Except this was so much worse, because my father was present this time. “I know.”
He took off his crown of golden leaves and placed it on the cushion beside him. “What we’re saying is that you don’t have to pursue the charade of your engagement.”
“Iba, I understand.” A small smile pierced through my nerves.
Nima thankfully stopped making tracks in the carpet. “Unless you want to.”
I stared at her and then at my father. “I know this’ll come as a surprise, but Remo and I . . . well . . . he saved my life. But that’s not the reason I want to be with him.” I toyed with the tip of my braid. “He makes me laugh, and he makes me feel safe.”
Nima took a seat next to Iba, clasped his hand, and the small gesture made me acutely aware of the absence of Remo’s hand in mine.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking this is a side effect of being locked up together, of having to rely on only each other, and now that we’re safe and out, my feelings for him will fade and—”
“That’s not what we’re thinking at all, abiwoojin,” Nima said.
“It’s not?”
“No.” She shot me a small smile. “I know you and Remo always had your differences, but we’ve always liked him.”
“Really?”
“Who’s my new wariff?”
“You might love Silas but you hate Faith.”
“Hated.” Nima sighed. “But that was more her than me. Then again, I did kill her mother.”
“For a perfectly good reason.” Iba eyed the tattoo girdling Nima’s neck.
Her fingers tightened around his. “Anyway, the sins of Remo’s grandparents shouldn’t reflect on him. He was raised by a good man, and even though Faith has been difficult, she is a good mother.”
Was she? One of her sons had tried to off me.
When I caught both my parents staring at my decorated palm, I slipped it underneath my thigh, worried they might change their mind about Remo if they found out whose dust pulsed under my skin.
Iba exhaled a protracted breath. “We heard how you got that.”
“You did?” I squeaked.
“Believe it or not, Faith’s the one who volunteered the information.”
I sat up straighter.
“Karsyn’s been severely reprimanded, by Silas and by Faith,” my father said.
“Also, you are to keep his dust until his eighteenth birthday,” my mother added.
Well, that wasn’t going to earn me any brownie points with Remo’s little brother. Not that I needed to ingratiate myself to the rascal, but if I wanted a future with his brother, I most definitely didn’t want to be at war with another person in his family.
“Okay.” I rubbed my palms against my thighs, about to get up, when I remembered something. “Iba, Josh said he had an informant. That’s how he knew where the portal was and where it led. Did he by any chance tell you who it was?”
My father’s jaw flexed. “Joshua is the informant. Gregor owed him a gajoï, and Locklear asked what had become of his sister. That’s how he found out about the supernatural prison.”
That weasel! “Why didn’t he go get her himself then?”
“Because he didn’t think Gregor would ever let him back out.”
“Why didn’t he ask you to help him?”
“Because he assumed I knew about the prison and would be plenty happy to lock him inside. Honestly, it would’ve been tempting.”
To think he was the new draca. “Is he the one who told you about Kingston?”
“No.” Nima sighed. “That was your grandmother. The one on your dad’s side.”
My father knocked his shoulder into hers. “We can’t all have flawless relatives.”
They might’ve surpassed the shock-factor of this revelation, but I most definitely hadn’t. “Was Addison complicit with Gregor? She wanted you dead, Iba?”
“No, amoo.” Iba rubbed his jaw, which was in dire need of a shave. “One of her maids heard her muttering while she was high about Gregor sending Kingston into a place called the Scourge, and she went to Silas with the information.”
A wave of goose bumps washed over me. “I could go my entire life without hearing that word again.”
“Sorry.” Iba sent me an apologetic smile that deepened the little lines around his eyes and mouth.
Expelling a breath, I finally climbed to my feet. “Fire and dust may bring some rust, but words will never hurt me, right?”
Palpable worry tightened Nima’s eyes.
“Well, if you guys don’t mind, I’d like to go rest and change out of this outfit.”
“One last thing, Amara,” she said, and my father finished, “You’re grounded.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Just because you’re our daughter does not give you the right to break the law. Selling your scales on the human black market—”
“I did it to buy you guys an anniversary gift, Iba.”
They exchanged a wordless but loaded look.
My father sighed. “Your motives might’ve been noble, but you still broke the law.”
“But, Iba, haven’t I been punished enough? I did go to actual jail.” Never thought I could play that card . . .
Another look passed between them.
“I had to deactivate a bomb, and fight monster tigri, and—”
“Ace?” my mother said.
“Cat?”
When the corners of my mother’s eyes tipped up in time with the corners of my father’s mouth, I sensed they’d come to a mutual decision about my fate.
“You are forbidden from using portals,” Nima said. “No traveling to Earth—”
“Or to anywhere else,” my father interjected, to which I rolled my eyes, because I would never again hop through a creepy portal. “For a month.”
“Deal!” I shouted before they could tack on some extra punishment.
“She took that much too well.”
“Maybe we were too lenient,” Nima agreed.
My gaze volleyed between them, praying they weren’t reconsidering their decision. “You made me get engaged,” I shot in.
Both their eyes narrowed.
“Clearly, you’re exceedingly upset about that,” Iba said.
I smiled; they smiled.
I walked over to them and leaned in for a group hug.
Nima sniffled loudly. “Never do that again, abiwoojin. Never go anywhere without telling one of us where, promise?”
“I promise.” My arms tightened around their necks, and their arms tightened around my back. “I love you.”
“Not as much as we do, Amara,” they said at the very same time.
“Ut Rowan e retri,” Iba added.
I swear, they shared a mind. Was that how Remo and I would be someday? Always surfing on the same wavelength?
As I stood, Iba turned to my mother. “Should I have that talk with Remo tonight or tomorrow?”
I coughed. “A talk?”
“If you two are planning on spending time together, privately,” Nima said, “you can bet we’re going to have a little
chat with him.”
“Weren’t you on your way to see Cruz? Cruz who you thought was dead. Cruz—”
“You made your point, Amara.” Iba shot back his whiskey. “But tomorrow . . .” He wagged his finger.
“I’ll warn him.”
“Because you’re planning on seeing him tonight?” Nima asked.
Where was that field of mud when I needed it?
“You shouldn’t keep Cruz waiting. He must be exhausted. I’m exhausted.” I feigned a huge yawn as I backed up toward their sliding glass door.
“Pappy and Nana are expecting you at breakfast tomorrow,” Nima said.
“I’ll be there.”
One of her black eyebrows creeped up. “Alone?”
Although a blush stained my jaw, I asked, “If he’s free, can I bring him along?”
“He probably won’t want to after that talk—”
I cut off my father, “Please, don’t scare him away.”
“If he truly cares about you, nothing we do will scare him away.” My father lifted my mother’s hand to his mouth. The W on the back of her hand flared from her heightened heartbeats, and his palm glowed in return.
My cue to get out. “Goodnight, beloved parents.”
I whirled and soared over the palatial gardens and then over the small bridge leading to my floating bungalow, landing on my volitor deck. With my mind, I slid open my window and walked past my billowy sheers, catching their silken hem and running it absent-mindedly through my fingers.
In the privacy of my bedroom, I sat on my bed and swiped my Infinity. Just for the pleasure of it, I scrolled through my entire closet, but of course that made me think of Remo. Especially when I landed on that dress he’d mentioned liking the day we were in Fake Neverra.
Smiling to myself, I fired off a quick message to his Infinity, swapped my tattered jumpsuit for a tiny red bikini, and then raced back across my deck and swan-dove into the ocean.
Epilogue
When I emerged from the depths of the Pink Sea after a long and delicious swim, I found someone sitting on my deck, one long leg dangling over the ledge, the other bent and supporting his forearm. Although we had no use for pens in our digital age, my visitor held one, clicking the tip in, then out. A memento from the Scourge? Hadn’t he left it on the beach with his machete?
“You’re sparkling, Trifecta,” Remo said, watching me levitate from the water and land beside him.
My copper scales had returned and so had my ability to breathe underwater. “Can’t believe you actually came.”
“You invited me.” His eyes rappelled down my body then climbed back up, gleaming like the pirate treasure I’d once found at the bottom of the Pink Sea—treasure I later learned had been planted by my parents to give me an adventure.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be brave enough to show up, what with having to fly over the palace to get to my little abode.”
“You must have me confused with some other faerie, because I’m the bravest one you’ll ever meet.”
“How about we revisit that tomorrow after your chat with my parents?”
“My . . . chat?”
“Oh yeah. I almost wish I could be there, but apparently they want to speak to you in private.” My grin widened when he scratched his jaw. “I wonder what they want to discuss?”
Using his kalini to buoy himself up, he hopped to his feet and turned the pen to wita ribbons. “Probably my pie baking skills.” He stroked the length of my neck, watching my scales, feeling them. I was guessing he’d never touched a Daneelie’s skin, which brought me immense satisfaction.
“If you ever make me a peach pie, Farrow, or an apple one, you’ll be standing by that Cauldron alone the next time it shows up.”
“You’ve used that threat before, and haven’t followed through with your unfriending menace.” His eyes settled on mine, a smile—or was it my shimmering scales?—reflecting in them. “Besides, have you forgotten that you owe me a gajoï, Trifecta?”
I gaped at him. “You wouldn’t dare use it to cement our essences.”
“Wouldn’t I? I am . . . what was it you called me again? . . . oh yes, cruel.”
My smile reappeared. “So very.”
His smile strengthened. “But I just thought of a much better use for it.”
“Really?”
“Amara Wood, how do you feel about me?”
How did I feel? Like a bottle of shaken faerie wine, pressurized and full of bubbles that were rising and popping against the walls of my chest, and then against the lining of my abdomen. And, oh crap . . . my stomach clenched.
I looked down at my belly button and then back into his face. “I can’t believe . . . you used . . . your gajoï to . . .”
Concern made the smile warp off his face. “Sorry. I thought—I didn’t mean to—”
“Extract the sentiment through brute force?” Since the cramps didn’t lessen, I blurted out, “I love you, you bagwa.” The violent pain ceased.
His hands wound around my waist, features still contorted in guilt. “That played out much more romantically in my mind.”
Even though I was no longer in pain, I breathed in and out slowly. “Mm-hmm.”
“I’m really sorry.” His blush told me he was.
“The least you can do is tell me how you feel about me now.”
Soon, his skin tone lost its red tint. “How about I show you instead?”
“You’re good with words.”
He brushed the edge of my sharp, no longer discolored cheekbone, my rapid healing having kicked in the moment I’d landed in Neverra. “I’m also good with my hands.” As though to support that claim, he ran his fingers down my bare spine, bumping against the tie of my bikini top. “And my tongue.”
He was. He was also good at changing the subject when it suited him. Instead of pushing him like he’d just pushed me, I said, “Forget I asked. I know you like me, and that’s enough for now.” I kissed his sinking smile.
He pressed away from me. “Amara, I’ve been away from you for an hour, and it’s been the fucking loneliest hour of my life.”
My heart performed a tiny somersault.
“I’m way past love. And the insecure fae that I am was afraid you weren’t there, yet.”
“When have we ever gotten off the train at different stops?”
His eyebrows quirked.
“Too soon for prison humor?”
He smiled and shook his head. “It’s never too soon to turn something bad into something good.” He finally leaned over, stopping an inch from my lips. “And just so we’re clear, you and I are never getting out at different stops.”
“What if I see a dragon on a platform, and I really want to stop?” Fire. I was playing with fire.
His scowl was quite formidable. “I’d kill Joshua, and then I’d make our fathers swear me in as the new draca.” His arms curled around my back possessively. “Do you . . . have a thing for dragons?”
I smiled. “I have a thing for redheads with short tempers and soft hearts.”
“Soft heart,” he grumbled. “I thought we’d cleared this up already. Nothing about me is soft.” He pulled me back into him, all but bruising my abdomen.
Smiling, I stretched my arms and hooked them around his neck, then pushed up on tiptoe—even though I could’ve levitated—and pressed my smile to the scudding throb beneath his birthmark before remembering we were out in the open where anyone and everyone could see us. I fell back on my heels and looked up. Sure enough, my new guards were right there, patrolling the airspace over my little house.
When Remo glanced up, their gazes flicked away. “Inside. Now.” His hand moved to my lower back as we walked through the open sash doors of my bungalow.
When he reached for the handle to close them, I flicked the large pane of glass shut with my mind. He startled even though he knew my arsenal of powers as well as everyone else in the kingdom.
Perhaps even better.
“That one”—he tapped his
temple to indicate my telekinesis—“that one will never cease to make me jealous.” He stepped toward me, but before he could touch me, I said, “I almost forgot something.”
His brows slanted.
I swiped through my Infinity until I located the dress I’d favorited. With another sweep of my finger, I swapped my red bikini for the beaded nude gown. I wasn’t sure if it was the reflection of the gilded beads or the fact that his eyes were no longer green, but they seemed almost molten as he took me in.
A ragged noise formed at the base of his throat and vibrated through the warm air. “I was quite a fan of the red bikini. In case you wanted to make a note of that.”
Even though my feet were anchored to the ground, the way he looked at me made me feel as weightless as the stars outside my window. “Noted.”
He stared at me some more before finally bridging the distance between us, flicking my dried hair over my shoulder and leaning in.
I pressed my palms into his chest. “Wait. I wanted to ask you something.”
He straightened, one of his umber brows arching up. “Go ahead.”
“First, is your mother disappointed that we . . . that you . . .?”
“No. She told me to make sure not to step out of line, so that your mother doesn’t gas me, but—”
My jaw slackened. “You’re kidding?” I gasped. “Nima would never.”
“Relax. I’m kidding.”
I swatted his arm. “That wasn’t funny.”
“Sorry. It wasn’t.” He shot me a rueful look, pushing his red locks back. “The truth is Mom told me that I shouldn’t lead you on if I wasn’t sure. That she respected Cat and Ace and you enough not to subject their daughter to my philandering ways.”
“Seriously?”
“I didn’t even know she was aware of my philandering ways, but yes, seriously.”
“And?”
“I told her that I loved you.”
My jaw popped a little wider. “You told her but not me?”
Reckless Cruel Heirs Page 37
