by Eva Chase
Whitt’s lazy voice carries from behind her. “Probably because whatever they’ve gotten their feathers in a twist over, they realize we’d never give it to them willingly.” My oldest brother comes to a stop on the lowest step and props himself against the railing. “It seems you all decided to have a party down here without inviting me. I’m very offended.”
“We know how much you value sleeping in,” I reply, rolling my eyes at him. “Good to see you too.”
Whitt smirks at me. “Oh, don’t worry, you were very missed, Auggie.” He sniffs the air. “And so were your epic breakfasts. There are a few things I’m occasionally willing to peel myself out of bed at this hour for, and fallowroot pancakes is one of them.”
I’m home, surrounded by the three people I care about most in the world, and just for a moment, that knowledge melts away any apprehension inside me. I grin back at him. “I guess I’d better start serving, then.”
Talia’s already heading to the kitchen. “I’ll get the plates!”
“How has your practice been going?” I ask her as I follow her in. “The physical exercises and the magical ones?”
She hops onto her knees on a stool to reach the plates stacked on a shelf over the counter. “I think I’m pretty solid with most of the moves you wanted me to focus on. You’ll have to try me with some sparring to make sure my form is good enough for you.” She aims a sly glance at me that heats me up far more than the stove I’ve just leaned over. “And the magic—I still haven’t made much progress with light, but I can bend bronze pretty easily now.”
“I’d like to see that.” I rummage in one of the drawers, searching for another bronze utensil old enough that I don’t make much use of it anymore, and hand her a slightly singed skewer. “You made a spoon into a spike. Think you can make that into a spoon?”
I’m mostly joking about the spoon part, but Talia turns her gaze on the skewer in full seriousness without protest. Last time I watched her work her inexplicable magic, it took her a few minutes to gather the power inside her. Now, it can’t have been more than ten seconds, her jaw clenching and her eyes narrowing in a way that takes her from pretty to fiercely gorgeous, before she spits out the true name like a command. “Fee-doom-ace-own!”
The upper half of the skewer shudders and flattens into a wider, circular shape. It’s not exactly a spoon, really more like a narrow trowel, but I’m not sure I could have fashioned a much better spoon out of the thing myself. Talia looks up at me, hesitant in her pride, and I can’t resist leaning in for a kiss.
“That was wonderful. You’ve really gotten control over it.”
“Not enough,” she says, though my kiss has left her flushed and smiling. “If I needed to work something bronze quickly and I wasn’t already scared or angry, I might not manage it in time. But I’m definitely getting better!”
“So you are,” Whitt says, watching from the doorway with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “You know, with all that skill, you might even be ready to hold your own at the next revel I host. You can be reasonably sure you won’t need to skewer anyone there.”
Talia smiles at him too, more shyly. “I’d like that.”
A sharper sensation prickles up from my gut at the look they exchange, familiar and almost fond. But then, why shouldn’t they be becoming fonder of each other the longer they’ve been living together? I should want them to be.
And I do. I just can’t completely tune out the murmur inside me that wonders how much room there’ll be for me if she has both of my older brothers’ affections to enjoy as well.
Chapter Fifteen
Talia
The sunset stains the distant clouds purple and gold. The colors ripple down over the spires of pale stone that rise above the western forest. It’s a beautiful image, like the world has turned into a watercolor painting, but I can’t help thinking about all the uncertainties that lie beyond this scene. I came outside after dinner to breathe in the fresh air, but the soft warble of the breeze isn’t settling my nerves the way I’d hoped.
Astrid wanders over from the village and comes to a stop beside me, following my gaze. When I turn to her, I think I see sadness in her wizened face.
“The battles are a long way off,” she says. “Unlikely they’ll touch any of us while we’re here. If that’s what’s making you look so serious now that your man is back.”
August is back, but whatever he saw at the border still haunts him. A shadow has been hanging over his normally cheerful demeanor all day. But then, he hasn’t faced a conflict like this before, has he?
How many wars before this one has Astrid seen in all the centuries she’s been alive? Is this one really the worst so far?
I can’t quite bring myself to ask that, so I let a simpler question slip out instead. “Have you ever needed to fight against the Unseelie?”
Her thin lips draw back with the slightest baring of her teeth. “Once or twice, when a few of them needed to be put in their place. But they used to generally know well enough to stick to their own territory and leave us to ours. It’s the Murk that’s caused most of the trouble if we don’t stamp their little insurgencies out quickly enough.”
“The Murk?” I repeat, trying to remember if the men of the keep have mentioned that.
Astrid takes on a creaky singsong tone.
“Wolves of summer, winter ravens
Where they dwell find no safe haven.
But most beware the rats of Murk
Sowing spite wherever they lurk.”
A shiver runs through me at the lilting words. When she’s finished, Astrid glances at me. “I suppose the young ones don’t sing that rhyme in the human world anymore. When I was young, enough of them knew what to watch out for. But anything tied to the Mists fades from mortal minds quickly.”
I shake my head. “I’ve never heard it. Where’s the Murk? Is it part of the Mists?”
She makes a rough sound in her throat. “The fae of the Murk live nowhere and everywhere. They gather in the grimy shadows of the human world and along the fringes of ours, wherever they can steal a little space and spread their rot. They’re rats, after all.” She shows her teeth again, this time in a thin grin. “No match for a wolf’s jaws, much to their dismay. They mostly trouble humans, not us.”
“So, they don’t have their own realm like you have summer and the Unseelie have winter.”
“No. They’ve always been the dregs, the fae that didn’t quite fit anyplace. And they resent that we do.” Astrid lets out a huff. “But don’t worry yourself about them. This once, it is the ravens causing the strife. I expect we’ll sort them out soon enough.”
I hold myself back from pointing out that the war has already been going on for decades. From Astrid’s aged perspective, a century would probably be “soon.”
The elderly but sprightly fae gives me a light pat on the arm. “Really, you shouldn’t worry yourself about any of this. I can tell you with the wisdom of much experience that nothing ever truly ends; it only changes.”
With that declaration, she walks off again, across the field toward the hills. She must have sentry duty tonight.
Her remark isn’t exactly comforting—there are plenty of things I’d rather not see even change—but I slip back into the keep more at peace than when I stepped out, which was my goal, after all.
Sylas and his cadre are standing in the hall outside the dining room in intense discussion. As I approach, Sylas sighs and makes a gesture as if waving the subject away. “I have more thinking to do. But I value both of your perspectives.”
He turns toward me, his somberness falling away with a quiet smile. “Talia, there you are. There’s something I wanted to show you. And you should come as well, August.”
As the fae lord ushers the two of us toward the staircase, Whitt eases back. When I glance his way, he’s disappearing into the basement, already too deep in the shadows for me to make out his expression. It feels strange, splitting their group up with the three of us togeth
er and him on his own.
I’ve tried so hard not to come between Sylas and August. Have I severed the cadre in a totally different way instead?
But then, Whitt has always seemed to enjoy his independence, and he definitely hasn’t shown any interest in becoming part of our carefully negotiated arrangement. If he took issue with where he stands with his half-brothers, I’m sure he wouldn’t hesitate to tell them.
“What’s this about?” I ask Sylas, curiosity nibbling at me.
“Patience, lady of the keep,” he says lightly. “I’ve conducted a minor… renovation, you could say. It’s best explained when you can see it.”
August gives me a shrug that seems to say he has no idea what Sylas has in mind either. At the top of the stairs, the fae lord leads us down the hall to the area where the men’s bedrooms are. He stops at a door I don’t remember noticing before, just beyond his and August’s rooms, and rests his hand on the knob as he turns to me.
“I was thinking about the things you said the other day, Talia, and about how entwined you’ve already become in our lives… How difficult it might be for you to draw boundaries when you’re relying on us for so much. So I think this might help make those boundaries easier for us all to navigate.”
He nudges the door open to reveal a small but cozy room. A large skylight in the high ceiling shows the stars starting to twinkle in the darkening heavens. Amber orbs at the edges of the ceiling flood the space with a broader, warmer light, glowing over the four-poster bed that takes up most of the floor. The silver and blue duvet draped over the bed looks so fluffy just looking at it makes me want to dive right into it. A small vanity and a dressing screen stand in one corner.
“I tried to think of an appropriate name for this spot, and the best I came up with was ‘the tryst room’,” Sylas says, one side of his mouth quirking up into a crooked smile. “Your bedroom can remain your own place of refuge, and if you need to come to either of us in our own bedrooms for security in the night, you shouldn’t have to worry about whether there’ll be expectations beyond that. I think we can manage to keep our paws to ourselves unless you invite us in here.”
He glances at August with a mildly questioning expression, and the younger man laughs. “I can agree to that. Anything that makes it easier for Talia to fend for herself amongst us beasts is good with me.”
“You’re not beasts,” I protest automatically, still staring into the room. The sight of it and Sylas’s explanation fill me with a glow as warm and bright as the lanterns beaming over the bed.
This is exactly what I needed, this clarifying of expectations and knowing I wasn’t offering more than I realized or disappointing anyone by not making the offer. Sylas figured it out without my even being able to fully express it to myself.
I bring my gaze back to him, reaching for his hand. “Thank you. It’s perfect. I didn’t expect—you’ve already given me one whole room—”
“Well, this one is for all three of us, after all.” He squeezes my hand gently and then moves as if to drop it.
Something inside me pangs in sharp objection. I grip his fingers before they can completely release mine. The words stick in my throat for a second before I can propel them out, my cheeks flaring at the same time. “Maybe… we should give it a trial run?”
Between the looming threat of the Unseelie and the uncertain truce with Aerik, I don’t know what’s going to become of us in the days ahead. But right now, standing between these two men with this show of devotion… I can’t imagine feeling safer or more cherished.
What does it matter if they’ll never see me as quite as valid a mate as someone of their own kind? I can still love them with all my heart and make the most of what they’re offering me—which is already more than I would have dreamed. They’ve made me a part of their world in so many ways, and I—I want to experience everything that can come with that. Before one or both of them has to leave again and might never come back.
Heat sparks in Sylas’s dark eye. He runs his thumb over the back of my hand in a tingling caress. “I suppose you can make whatever invitations you’d like as you’d like to, Talia. I have nothing urgent to otherwise occupy me.”
At my other side, August starts to pull back with a dip of his head. No. That’s not—I want something more, something that doesn’t exclude either of them.
I don’t know if they’ll accept that, I don’t know what it will even look like, but my gaze jerks to the other man and the question tumbles out with only a slight stammer. “What if—what if I want to invite both of you? At the same time?”
The moment I’ve said it, my entire body flushes, embarrassment at my awkwardness burning beneath my skin. But neither of them laughs or scoffs. Sylas hesitates for a second and meets August’s eyes. There’s a subtle flexing of muscles and shifting of stances between them, as if in some silent conversation. Maybe even a debate.
With each other? With themselves? Have I asked for more than I should have?
August drops his gaze first to look at me instead. Something fierce and hungry shimmers in his golden irises. “If it would please you, I’d happily see what we could do for you together.”
Sylas chuckles, and some of the tension I’d barely noticed building in his posture relaxes. “Yes. A collaboration for our lady. Perhaps that would be good for all of us.” He sweeps his arm toward the bed. “Lead the way.”
My momentary elation at my victory falters in my limping trek to the bed. The tapping of my foot brace sounds so loud in the stillness of the room. Wanting to do away with that reminder of my human fragility, I sit on the edge of the mattress—where the duvet really is soft and puffy as a cloud—and reach to remove the contraption.
The men follow, Sylas shutting the door and uttering a quiet word I assume will lock it so we’re not interrupted. My pulse kicks up a notch in anticipation. My mouth has gone a little dry. I set down the brace against the side of the bed and look up at my lovers, abruptly shy despite the bold request I just made.
“I’m not really sure what to do now,” I admit.
August sinks down on the bed next to me and kisses my cheek. “Why don’t we take it slow and just see how it goes?” He glances at Sylas, and again I get the impression of a silent negotiation, although this one only lasts a moment.
Sylas nods, sitting at my right. “Show us when you want us to continue—or tell us if we should stop. We’ll only go as far as you enjoy.”
Nestled between their bodies, my nerves settle. “Okay. That sounds good.”
August eases across the bed to the far side, giving me a gentle tug to follow. He sprawls out with his head by the pillows, and as I lie back next to him, Sylas follows suit at my other side.
When I look toward August, he teases his fingers up my jaw and brings his mouth to mine. At the same time, Sylas kisses the top of my head, his hand coming to rest on my waist. I’m contained between them, heat sparking everywhere they touch.
It’s a good thing we’re taking this slow, because these first sensations are already overwhelming me with giddiness.
As August’s lips brand mine, Sylas’s thumb traces an arcing line just below my ribs. Then August drops his head to kiss my neck and my shoulder, and I turn my head, instinctively seeking out the other man. Sylas is right there, his head ducking so he can meet my lips. The brush of his mouth sears right through me. I grasp his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.
Just this is so good. I thought it was some kind of paradise being cherished by just one of these men’s hands and mouth, but both of them—I don’t have the words for it. However seriously they take this arrangement, I mean enough to them that their desire to please me matters more than the instinctive possessiveness I’ve seen in them before. What’s happening between us no longer feels like two separate relationships but something we’re building together.
For several blissful minutes, we lie like that, the two men restrained in their caresses, one claiming my lips and then the other. As I adjust to the
rush of stimulation, a growing need thrums through my veins. When August strokes his hand right over my breast for the first time, I’m so ready for his touch that my back arches up in encouragement.
“Hmm,” Sylas murmurs by my ear, his breath deliciously hot as it spills down my neck. “I think our lady needs more attention than we’ve been offering.”
His hand rises to cup my other breast, the flick of his thumb over the peak sending a jolt of pleasure through my chest. I gasp and make an encouraging sound in my throat, in case there’s any doubt at all that I’m very much enjoying how this “tryst” is proceeding.
August claims my mouth again, the slide of his tongue over mine echoing the movement of his fingers over my curves. I kiss him back hard, and then turn to Sylas again, more and more heat flooding me with every skillful touch. With each swivel of their fingers over the tips of my breasts, my nipples stiffen with headier tingles.
The pleasure quivers down through my belly to pool between my legs. I’m unspeakably grateful that my first period after my long starvation only lasted a few days, and I was able to do away with the enchanted cloth Whitt gave me this morning. No need to worry about bloodying these sheets, whether my lovers would actually mind or not.
Sylas slips his hand up under my shirt, and I break our kiss to push myself farther upright. He takes my cue to ease the loose blouse right off me, August helping from his side. The room is warm enough that no chill touches my bared skin, but looking at the two men still fully dressed doesn’t feel quite right.
“You too,” I say with a tentative tug at Sylas’s shirt. I glance at August to make it clear my request also applies to him. With a grin, he sheds his typical T-shirt, revealing all the muscular, tattooed planes of his chest. As I trace my fingers over the curving lines of the true names etched on his pale skin, Sylas undoes the lacing at the V-neck of his more formal shirt and sheds it.
