Page 212 of House of Striking Oaths
At the first glimpse of florescent pink, Cathal releases a marrow-deep wail that shakes the very stone beneath my feet. I lower my lids and curse the hope which had breached my hard-bitten heart.
But then Fallon gasps, and my eyes open.
There, on the mirror-smooth surface of the Cauldron, rests the body of a woman with a shock of pink hair.
“Daya?” Cathal croaks.
I jolt forward and grip his arm before he can trounce over the Cauldron’s surface to collect the woman born from Minimus’s body.
She opens her eyes, which are . . . which are . . .
“Oh, Goddess,” Fallon gasps.
“Serpent eyes,” Cathal murmurs.
They are, in fact,exactlylike a serpent’s—lid-to-lid black. But the rest of her features are Daya’s. Save for the hue of her mane and the strange marking in the middle of her forehead that looks like a white pearl has been pressed into her skin.
The woman props herself up as the Cauldron glides her toward Priya. “Abi Djhara.”
Being called Priya’sdarling jewelcrimps Daya’s forehead. Does she no longer speak Shabbin?
“Mádhi,” Fallon murmurs in Crow, her gaze roving over the white scars that lace around Daya’s torso from neck to waist, the same scars that blemished her serpent scales.
Daya swings those fathomless eyes of hers toward Fallon and lifts one arm. After frowning at it and twisting it this way and that, she extends it toward Fallon, who falls to her knees beside the Queen.
My shadows tear off my flesh when my mate clasps the returnee’s fingers, then harden into skin to hold on to Fallon before she can tip herself into the Cauldron. Daya brings her daughter’s fingers to her face, rubs her cheek against them, andrattles.
What in Mórrígan’s name has the Cauldron brought back?
I have to remind myself—a great many times—that I can morph into a bird, so I’ve no right to be repulsed by her bestial quality.
Fallon draws Daya’s hand toward her own cheek and presses a kiss to the humanoid fingers, before standing and guiding her mother to her feet. Daya unfurls slowly, shakily. Fallon steps back, still holding on to her hand, and Daya pitches forward.
Cathal catches her with a hoarse, “Mate.”
The woman rolls her arresting eyes toward the male whose throat bobs with swallow after swallow. Frowning, she tips her head and pokes his beard.
Though I don’t want to interrupt, I cannot help but ask Cathal,Can you hear her?
Cathal releases her and takes a step back, murmuring a deadened, “No.”
I splay my hands on Fallon’s waist and pull her into me, irrationally terrified that the tether that binds us will snap like it snapped between Cathal and Daya.
When Cathal dissolves into smoke and soars into the sky, Fallon’s breathing turns ragged. “Dádhi!”
“He’ll be back, Little Bird.” I press my mouth against her temple as the odd creature raises her head to watch him leave. “He’ll come back.”
Cathal Báeinach, you better return, because I don’t want to have to break my promise to your daughter.
My brother’s silence is so loud it saturates the Vale and twists around every creature that stands within it, be they Crow, Faerie, human, sorceress, or . . . or whatever Zendaya of Shabbe has become.
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