Page 230 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“Because you think my life is worth more than yours?” I supplied a terse answer and fell to sit at his side.
Eyes flashing, Pete faced me. “Aye, Shorty. Because it is.”
“That’ssonot true!”
“You’re the queen; I’m a fecking pawn.”
I sniffed at him. “Don’t use chess metaphors on me, you geezer.”
Souring, Pete threw up a hand. “Fine! Then how’s this? You’re theAurora, Shorty. ThefuckingAurora! You’re the savior of all the fae realm—and maybe the human realm as well, if Gentian’s growing bane bonnets. And I knew if I didn’t dosomethingto buy you time, that other harbingers, or Gentian himself, would find you. And soon.
“And I was right, Shorty! Damnit all, I was right!” He glared at me. “You ken how close we still were to Eden when you caught up with me? The Leprechauns were on your trail, and they weregoingto find you.”
“And I would’ve barbequed them if they tried to take me, Pete! Just like I fucking did!”
“Aye. And who knows how many refugees you’d have killed doing so?”
Ooh, that stings. He has a point, but it stings.
“Please, Shorty, you’ve got to be more prudent than—”
I clapped my hands in his face, startling him into silence. “Pete, I get that I’m impetuous sometimes, but don’t lecture me about chasing after you. Because that means we’ll be getting into a very deep discussion about who in this world is worth saving. If I’m the savior of all, as you just said, doesn’t that include you?”
Pete’s jaw hung.
“Uh-huh!” I hopped up to dance. “No comeback for that one, I see!”
He glowered.
Bloated with self-satisfaction, I folded my arms again. “Now, promise me you’ll never do anything like that again—that you won’t fall on your sword for—”
“No way inbloody hellwill I promise you that!” Pete harrumphed, his flat-out refusal heartwarming. He’d make no false vows to appease me, too bloody honest. “My life is mine to lead, Shorty, and it’s been a good deal longer than yours, as you keep reminding me. If I choose an ending that gives it meaning, a purpose, then I’m bloody well entitled to it.”
Softening, I sat beside him again, clasped the bear paw clenched in his lap. “How youlivegives your life meaning, Pete. Not how you die.”
I’d stumped him for words again.
After a brief silence, Pete scoffed, quirking one corner of his chapped lips, the bottom now faintly scarred—compliments of the Leprechauns. “Guess I’m buggered then, huh?”
Tsking, I reached up and tucked a brown tuft behind his ear. “No, Pete—you’re definitely not.”
ThefisherfaeandI often joked that we’d run out of fish. Because Pete was eating them all. He’d shovel four filets into his mouth at each meal, without swallowing, it seemed, and then look at me like a big, shaggy dog who’d lost his favorite bone.
“I wish we had some beef,” I confessed to Morus one afternoon during my first fish cleaning lesson. I worked my knife through an opal trout’s belly, trying not to cringe. “Has anyone ever raised cows here?”
“You mean kinera?”
“Sure.”
“We have three now.” Morus clawed the guts out of his trout and discarded them onto the ground beside him. Sionna, keeping me company that day instead of playing with her faelet friends, tramped over and wolfed down the innards.Ick! “Where do you think our milk comes from? We also have a bull and a steer.”
“I assume you need the bull for making more kinera.” I chuckled. “But the steer—you think we could convince someone to butcher it for Pete? Some red meat would do him good. He’s a predator, after all.”
“You’ll have to take that up with the druids. They have it earmarked for your summoning.”
Once Pete’s life was out of danger and my mind less occupied by death, plans for my summoning had commenced hardcore. Now, they were gearing up to summon me in a week. Aweek! And I wasn’t anxious about it at all.
Not.
