Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(67)

Fallon knew the light in Orelana’s eyes when she looked at Minh. She’d seen it in her own mother’s toward her father.

“Here is a man who would fight, I thought, who would choose what’s right and risk himself for it. A man who would provide. And one who would soothe a child with a song.

“I thought too loud,” she said with a laugh. “I hadn’t learned how to quiet my thoughts, to protect them. So he heard me. So he heard me, and he looked at me, and because he was brave, let me hear his.” She sighed. “Litha is a time for love and lovers. One day you’ll look, and you’ll know.”

She gave Fallon a pat on the knee. “But now, I need to put the baby to bed.”

Fallon sat studying the fire. She wasn’t sure there would ever be a time for her for love or lovers. Wasn’t sure she had inside her what would put that light in her eyes.

She’d made a vow. Balance, she mused, yes. A dance around the balefire on the solstice, good food, and friendships. Her first conversation in French. But to balance that, she’d learned Minh was a soldier, part of the resistance. Someone who knew, if she needed to know, where camps and centers had been.

Might still be.

Even now she could see Mallick enjoying wine. But while he did, he huddled with Minh, who’d passed the little girl to her older brother, and Thomas, some of the elders.

She doubted they spoke of love and lovers.

Battles, raids, supplies, strategies, security.

She didn’t need elf ears to know what those charged with leadership spoke of.

She’d made a vow, accepted her duties. One day they would look to her for those plans, those answers. She needed to be ready. Propping her chin on her fist, she looked into the fire, the blue hearts of flame, the snap of red heat, and wondered if she’d see her future.

When she did, she pushed to her feet and walked away from the music, the voices, the dancing.

“Hey!” Mick caught up with her. He had a goofiness in his eyes that made her sure he’d managed to sneak at least a couple sips of the faerie wine. “Where’re you going?”

“Home. It’s late.”

“It’s Midsummer.” He raced up a tree trunk, flipped. When he nearly fell on the landing, she thought he’d sneaked more than a couple sips. “Some of us are going to the glade, going for a swim. Come on.” He snatched her hand.

“No, I can’t. I have to get started early tomorrow.”

“That’s tomorrow. Tonight’s tonight.” He gave her a tug, trying to draw her back to the party.

“Mick, I’m tired.” In the mind, in the heart. To the bone. “I’m going home.”

“You’ll feel better after a swim.” He turned to her in the leaf-filtered moonlight. “It’s Midsummer night. It’s magick. Everything’s magick tonight.”

She heard his thoughts. They gave her a jolt, a warning, but she didn’t evade in time. Maybe, just maybe, part of her wondered. Even wanted.

So on the warm Midsummer night, under the leaf-filtered moonlight, she let him kiss her. It had a sweetness, maybe the faerie wine, maybe the moment. How could she know? It was her first kiss. It felt … comforting, even as it lightly stirred something she didn’t recognize.

Sweet, she thought, analyzing even as she experienced. And soft. For another moment, she let it linger, wishing for the sweet and the soft.

But then she drew away. Not so much a goofiness in his eyes now, she noted. She saw wishes there, too.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, reaching for her again.

“I can’t.” Something else stirred in her, and this time she recognized it as regret. “I’m sorry.”

“I like being with you. I like you.”

“I like you, too. But I’m not … I’m sorry,” she said again, uselessly.

“Fine. Fine. Whatever.” Rejection flushed across his face. “I just figured you might want to have some actual fun. Be normal for a night. But I guess you just want to go off and wallow in your Oneness.”

“That’s not fair.” And it stung like a wasp. “That’s really not fair.”

“It’s what you’re doing. What you always do. Because you think you’re so important. You think you’re better than everybody else.”

On the next sting, deep and sharp, she lashed back. “I know I’m better than you. Right now, I know I’m a lot better than you.”

She shoved him back and, tears burning bitter in her eyes, strode away.

“You kissed me back!” he called out.

“It won’t happen again.” She cast her tear-blurred eyes to the sky. “That’s another vow.”

She marched into the clearing. The candles lit through the day glimmered, and were charmed to flame till dawn. She wanted to snuff them out, just sweep a hand out and shut off their light, cocoon herself in the dark.

Because she knew she wasn’t made for the soft and the sweet, but for battle and blood. The battles and blood she’d seen in the hot blue heart of the balefire. The battle raging around her while she rode Laoch through the clashing swords, the rain of arrows, the red spit of lightning. The blood on her face, on her sword still warm from those she’d killed.

And in the ash, in the dirty ash of the fire, she’d seen the rise of crows, heard them scream as they circled over the dead and dying.