Текст книги "The Singer"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Hunter

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“You’ll be weak,” Leo’s face was pale. “Unprotected. Like… a human.”

Max said, “Not to mention, you look a bit naked. It’s unnerving.”

Rhys patted Malachi’s shoulder. “At least we know his natural powers are still intact. Language seems to come normally, otherwise he’d not be able to speak Turkish like he did at the gate.”

“I thought I was born here,” Malachi said.

Rhys shrugged. “You’re Irin. The Old Language is our first tongue, the only one we’re born knowing. The humans who found you, did you understand them at first?”

“No. I had to find a newspaper. I could read it. After that… the pieces of the language just seemed to fall into place, and I could understand them.”

“See?” Rhys said to Max. “His natural magic still works, which means he can build his other magic from there. He’ll have to relearn his spells and rescribe his talesm, but he should be able to recover.”

“And who knows?” Leo said. “Maybe when you find Ava, she can help.”

Rhys nodded. “Agreed. The first step is to find Ava and Damien. One, she shouldn’t grieve any longer than necessary. Two, she’s his marked mate. She may be able to heal him.”

“Do you think she could give me back my memories?”

The hollow corners of his mind mocked him. Malachi knew he had lost his past, but he didn’t know where to find it. Or even where to look. Isolated knowledge and bits of the past kept popping up unexpectedly, tucking themselves into pockets in his mind. But with each new revelation, the depth of his loss only became more disturbing.

“She might be able to help,” Max said. “You remembered her? Immediately?”

“No—yes. I remember her voice. Her face.” He grasped at the fragments, as if his very existence depended on holding them. “Hers was the first face I saw in my mind. I saw us here. Together. We were…” He looked around at the curious faces of the men. “None of your business.”

Leo grinned and Max shook his head.

“Still a lucky bastard,” Rhys said. “Even half-alive and naked.”

Rhys led him out of the sitting room where they’d been enjoying the fire, up to a terrace that led to a series of stairs, which twisted and crawled up the hill. The sky was deep blue and the first stars were beginning to shine. Lamplight flickered along the face of the cliffs, and Malachi stopped. Looking up, his eyes hung on the majesty of stars that littered the sky. Pure white against the deep blue and purple night, he blinked and caught a glimpse of a dark sun rising in his mind.

“Malachi?”

He shook off the vision and continued to follow Rhys down a narrow corridor carved into the rocks.

“My rooms are all the way back here?”

“You like your privacy. You always pick rooms that are isolated if you can.”

The green door flashed in Malachi’s mind a second before they turned the corner and saw it.

“This was my room. Was Ava here, too?”

Rhys’s voice was thick. “Yes. She stayed here after you died. Her things are still there. She wanted… Well, she wanted to sleep where you had been.”

His heart tripped as he put a hand on the door and pushed it open. Her scent hit him immediately, and traces of her were scattered around the room. The shoes tucked under the bed. The large suitcase in front of the wardrobe. This was the room he’d seen in his mind. There was the spot on the wall where she’d braced her hand as they made love. He walked around the room, willing more memories to come, but his mind was stubbornly silent.

“These are her things?”

“She needed warm clothes wherever Damien was taking her, so she left her other things here. Said she’d just come back for them. She even left her computer.”

Malachi frowned, picking up a sweater that lay draped across the chair by the door. He held it up to his face and inhaled.

“Did she take her camera?” he asked, his face still buried in her scent.

“You remember.”

Rhys was wearing a huge smile when he looked up.

“What?”

“Her camera. She’s a photographer. Did you remember?”

He walked over to the bed and touched the edge of a pillow. “I don’t know. The question just popped into my head.”

“Hmm.” Rhys watched him taking in the room. “To answer your question, yes, she took her camera. I don’t know why she left her laptop. Maybe where they’re going there’s no Wi-Fi.”

Malachi looked for the small silver laptop and found it on the desk. He walked over and opened it.

“I’m fairly sure it’s password protected,” Rhys said. “So I doubt…”

Malachi let his fingers type without thinking.

F-R-E-A-K

“I hate that password,” he muttered, staring at the picture of him and Ava that popped up as the background.

“How did you know her password?”

“I don’t know.”

The picture had been taken near the ocean in the early evening. Malachi thought it might be near the pier in Kuşadası. There were lanterns floating in the background and the two of them stood smiling with the purple sky behind them. He remembered the faint perfume he could still smell on her sweater.

“Rhys,” he said, trying to mask the tension in his voice. “Can you please—”

“I’ll go,” the other man said quietly. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m down the stairs and to the right. The red door with the lion character on it.”

Malachi hardly heard the door close. He grabbed the laptop and took it to the bed, leaning against pillows tinged with a faint floral scent that might have been her shampoo. He turned his face to the side and inhaled, pressing his cheek where hers might have lain.

He scrolled through her pictures, looking at the stunning images she must have taken in Istanbul. Boats on the water. Children laughing at pigeons. Old men catching fish. He skimmed through her albums from Cappadocia until one miniature caught his eye. The album was entitled “M is a thief.” He clicked on it.

The first pictures were more bedding than anything else. Blurry. Out of focus. He frowned, then let out a choked laugh the farther he clicked through the scene. He’d stolen her camera. She was hiding in the sheets, but she was laughing. He’d managed to capture the top of her head in that shot. Her nose in the other. The edge of her smile as he tickled her ribs. Then…

His breath stopped.

The last picture in the set was off center and crooked. Snapped as he held the camera away from them, capturing their kiss. Her fingers were pressed into his inked shoulders, and his mouth took her swollen lips.

“Ava,” he breathed out, touching the computer screen before it blinked out. Malachi tried to turn it on again, but the battery must have died. He sat up and carefully placed the computer back on the desk, plugging it in before he stripped off his clothes and returned to the bed. He wrapped himself in sheets that he knew smelled of his mate and closed his eyes.

Why couldn’t he remember her?

Malachi felt broken. His memories. His lost talesm. Confusion and weakness. All of it paled in comparison to the gut-deep awareness that his mate was in the world, grieving him, and he could not ease her.

He closed his eyes and searched for her in dreams.

The forest was midnight black, shrouded in a thick fog that curled and twisted around his ankles. The path he followed was not clear; wet branches slapped his face as he stumbled in the dark.

Where was she?

He could hear her in the distance. Her cries ripped through his chest. Every time she grew louder, he was forced to turn again as the path diverted him. The dark maze wove through the forest, teasing him. Frustrating him.

He would not be defeated.

The dark mass rose before him, looming over his head as if trying to block out the stars. Damp branches laced with thorns twisted in on themselves, blocking him from going farther. The maze urged him to turn again, but he stopped. Held his hand up.

Her voice was audible now.

“Please. Please come back.”

With a frustrated roar, he pounded on the thorns. Then he spun around, looking for a way out or around or through. It was a dead end. There was nowhere to turn but away from her again.

But his mate needed him. She called for him, and he’d left her alone too long.

He plunged his hands into the thick brush that separated him from her voice. He ignored the pain as he forced his way forward.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “I need you.”

He tore at the hedge, ripping away the thorns and branches that tore his skin, ignoring the pain in his chest, ignoring everything except her voice. Finally, his bloody hand reached through and felt the cool air on the other side.

Pale moonlight streamed through the fog as he forced his bleeding body the rest of the way through the brush. There, on the far side of the clearing, he saw her.

Broken and bent with grief, she curled into herself, her arms wrapped around her legs. She wore a pale robe, streaked with mud, which pooled around her feet. She rocked back and forth as he approached. He approached cautiously, kneeling in front of her where she sat. Then he reached out a tentative hand and pushed a damp curl from her face.

She looked up.

“You left me.”

“I found you.”

“Why did it take so long?”

“I was lost.”

Her gold eyes didn’t glow as they should have. They were dull with sorrow. Exhausted with weeping. He could see the tear tracks glittering on her cheeks.

“I found you, reshon.”

She held out her arms like a child asking for comfort. He reached out and picked her up, lifting her from the cold ground and cradling her against his chest. He felt her fingers tracing over his scratched skin.

“What happened to you?”

“I told you. I was lost, but I came back.”

“You found me.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not leaving again?”

“No. I promise.”

“I’m so tired.” She laid her head on his shoulder, and he felt his heart swell with purpose.

“Then rest while I hold you. I promise I won’t let go.”

Chapter Four

Sarihöfn, Norway

When Ava woke, she felt rested for the first time in weeks. Her head was clear. The tension that seemed to burn under her skin was gone. She felt fresh. Renewed. So renewed she didn’t even scowl when she heard the knock on the door. By the time she was up and presentable, Damien had already let the visitor in. It was the woman she’d met the previous afternoon.

“Good morning,” the visitor said with a smile. “I hope you slept well. My name is Astrid.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

She was definitely the most welcoming woman Ava had met so far. Without the heavy clothes and aura of magic, Astrid looked like a teacher or a doctor. Smart and friendly, she exuded calm welcome. Sari and Mala hadn’t made the greatest impression the day before, and Ava had gone to bed with second thoughts about the remote enclave where Damien had brought her. Astrid’s appearance put her at ease.

“So, what’s up?” She looked between Damien and Astrid.

“Sari and Damien thought it would be good for you to tour the retreat today and get a feel for where things are since you’ll be here for some time.”

Ava asked Damien, “How long?”

He shrugged. “As long as you want.”

“As long as it takes,” Astrid said, “for you to be able to control your magic. Letting you roam the world untrained would be too dangerous.”

Ava bristled. “I’ve managed for a few years on my own.”

“The Grigori hunt you. The humans do not understand you. And Damien says you mated with an Irin scribe who bonded with you and lent you his power. Your magic will be stronger now.”

“I have it under control.”

Barely. The voices pressed on her. Damien’s presence might have been soothing, but it did nothing to dull the soul voices as Malachi had done. They crept up on her. She had no shield from them. And worse, she seemed to have tapped into other voices, voices that were unlike the others. Dark and twisted, they haunted her dreams. At times Ava thought she was losing it.

Astrid’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “Remember, you might not even realize you’ve worked magic. Without training, you’d have no idea. Here, you will be protected, and so will the rest of the world.”

“You’re acting like I’m some loaded gun.”

“In a sense, you are. I started learning to control my magic as soon as I could talk. My mother guided me until I went into formal training at thirteen. For scribes”—she nodded toward Damien—“the act of working magic is far more deliberate. No child is born writing. It is learned. But for Irina, our magic comes like breathing. It is our first language. The fact that you’ve been able to exist without hurting those around you is somewhat astonishing.”

The steady woman’s voice grated on her, killing the peace she’d woken with. “I would never hurt any—”

“You need our help. You burst Damien’s eardrums when your mate was killed.” Astrid’s voice was no longer soothing. She stepped closer to Ava, and though the woman was even shorter than Ava, Astrid’s presence dwarfed her. “You hurt yourself, three Irin, and countless Grigori—”

“You’re worried about the Grigori now?”

“I’d kill every one of them if I could,” Astrid said calmly. “But that is not the issue.”

Maybe Astrid wasn’t so unlike Sari after all.

“Maybe it is,” Ava said. “Maybe I don’t want to hide in a village somewhere and lick my wounds. Maybe I want to fight with the scribes instead of—”

“You have no idea what we do here.”

“And maybe I don’t want to!”

She stopped shouting when Damien put a hand on her shoulder.

“Sister,” he said quietly, brushing a hand down her arm.

Ava felt the calm immediately. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the peace she’d felt that morning, but it was wrapped up in dreams of Malachi and it hurt as much as it helped.

Astrid had backed down, too.

“Stay, Ava. We can’t force you, but we can help you. I promise.”

She said nothing, but relaxed when she saw Astrid smile a little.

“So, you want to kill Grigori?” the woman asked.

“They killed my mate.”

“And how do you know we don’t kill Grigori?”

Ava frowned. “But the scribes said—”

“Irin scribes say many things, hidden away in their scribe houses or lecturing in council meetings.” Astrid glanced at Damien and winked. “But they can be frightfully blind when it comes to reading things other than books.”

Ava hadn’t considered it, but it was true. Most of the scribes she’d met had admitted to not seeing an Irina in two hundred years. Why on earth was she taking their word for anything?

“So, what you’re saying is—?”

“Have you seen how the scribes fight?” Astrid asked, stepping closer.

“Yes.”

“They are the world’s finest warriors. None can match them in strength or grace. They are ruthless. Strong. Fast.” There was a fierce pride in Astrid’s eyes when she spoke. “Their talesm is like a living armor around them. A trained scribe could take on a dozen Grigori soldiers and walk away with their dust on his shoulders. Do you want to fight like that?”

She wanted to scream, Yes! But Ava flashed to the image of Malachi as he battled Grigori in the alley in Kuşadası, the graceful thrusts and twisting combat. The powerful way his muscles moved under his shirt. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to match that. What was she thinking?

“I… I don’t know if I—”

“You can’t.” Astrid cut her off. “You never will. You are not Irin. You will learn physical fighting—we learned our lesson two hundred years ago—but Irin have their strengths”—her eyes flickered to Damien—“and we have ours. To fight as an Irina, you must learn to use magic. And we can teach you that. The scribes think we withdrew?” She shrugged. “That just shows you how well we can hide.”

A surge of desire shot through Ava. The dark voices whispered in her mind and a ripple of power teased her lips.

Kill them, they whispered. Take them. Hurt them as they hurt you. Hurt them more…

“You want that,” Astrid said.

“Yes.”

“I can see. But before any of that happens, you must do something else.”

“What?”

Astrid’s voice softened. “You must rest, sister. You must grieve. And you must heal.”

The Irina’s words were sour in her ears. An ache rose in her heart, and she tried to push it back.

“I’d rather just kill something,” Ava whispered.

“You try to forget him, but you can’t. You never will. He is the other half of your soul.”

“Astrid,” Damien said softly, but the Irina ignored him.

“Half of you died with him, Ava.”

“Shut up.”

“Half of you died, but you must understand, half of him still lives.”

She could feel the tears welling. Tears she’d shunned. Tears she forced herself to battle back. If she let them loose, they would fall forever.

“He lives in you.”

“Shut. Up.” She choked on the lump in her throat. “You have no idea—”

“I have every idea.” Astrid took a hand and put it to her throat. Then a whisper came from her lips in the Old Language, and the marks on her skin began to glow. Her mating marks were intricate, like gold lace covering her skin. When she pulled her hand away from her throat, Ava saw a band appear. Duller than the other marks, it crossed her collarbone and disappeared over her shoulders.

“What is that?” Ava asked.

Damien put his hand on Astrid’s shoulder, leaning down. “Too soon, sister.”

Astrid blinked and her mating marks disappeared. “Of course. Forgive me, Damien. I forget myself.”

“A rare occurrence, if I remember correctly.”

“Not so rare as before,” she said with a smile. She turned back to Ava, all friendly business again. “Shall we meet in an hour? That will give you time to dress and eat some breakfast. Did Karen bring a basket?”

“Yes, it’s in the kitchen.”

“Good.” Astrid nodded brusquely. “Eat something, dress warmly. Good shoes. I’ll be back in an hour to show you around.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“And if you need anything, if you’re not sleeping well… Just know that’s very normal when we lose a mate. I can help if you wish it. I’m the resident healer here.”

Damien stepped to the door as Astrid walked toward it. “Thank you.”

Ava saw him grasp Astrid’s hand in both of his. Saw the gentle hold she knew must be easing some of the other woman’s tension. Then Astrid smiled sweetly at him and left.

“She’s a widow,” Ava said a few moments after the door closed. “Astrid. She’s a widow.”

Damien nodded. “Yes.”

“What was that band around her throat? Does that happen when…”

“No,” he said softly. “Nothing has changed with your mating marks, Ava. Astrid wears a mourning collar to show respect for her lost mate, but it’s not permanent like a mating mark.”

“How long?”

“He was killed during the Rending. He was a good man. A friend.”

Ava looked out the window. She could still see Astrid walking along the pathway to the large colorful house where most of the Irina lived. Her soft brown curls bounced cheerfully and she saw her stop another woman and exchange some words that made both throw their heads back in laughter. Would she ever laugh like that again? Would she mourn for two hundred years, as Astrid had?

Half of you died with him.

Only half? It felt like more.

As if he could read her mind, Damien said, “You will take your own path to healing, Ava. Don’t ever look to another to rule your grief.”

She didn’t want to think about Malachi. Didn’t want to think about her dark dreams and the dull pain that lived in her chest.

Ava slid on a facade and turned from the window. “I heard someone brought breakfast?”

Hours later, she was walking through the valley with Astrid, drinking in the beauty of the water and the sky. The hills rolled softly up from the fjord, and the houses dotted the green meadows that rested in the shadow of the mountains. The retreat was far from just a collection of houses. There were greenhouses, workshops, even animals the community kept for milk and eggs.

“We’re mostly self-sustained. We try to keep to ourselves. The people in the nearest town think we’re hippies.” Astrid smiled. “They leave us alone, for the most part.”

“How many women?”

“It varies. Some of the older Irina, those Sari trusts the most, come and go. Living here full time, there are probably fifty or so.”

“The ones who come and go, what do they do?”

“Various things. Some maintain ties to the human world. A few have mates in active service in a scribe house somewhere relatively close. Most do other things that protect this haven and a few others like it around the world. So much of the world is run on the Internet now. We’re hardly isolated at all.”

“So there are other places like this? Where?”

Astrid glanced at her. “Sari doesn’t know you that well.”

“And everyone just follows Sari?” Ava found that hard to believe.

“At the end of the day,” Astrid said with a smile, “this is really her house. Her land. She doesn’t force any of us to stay, but where else would we go?”

“What about the scribe houses? Or that council they told me about in Vienna?”

“The council?” She sneered. “Old men who think Irina shouldn’t leave the house. The council of the elders thinks the only thing Irina are good for is breeding little scribes and inventing things to make them rich. They’re the ones who isolated us in retreats to begin with. They’re the ones who allowed the Rending to happen.”

Ava was shocked by the ire in the woman’s voice.

“Okay, then what about the scribes? The ones in Istanbul—”

Astrid stopped walking. “The Irin are far from one mind about this. You’ve seen Damien and Sari. You know they’re equal partners. I’m sure your mate was the same. They keep to the old ways. Many of the scribes are just like that, because that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

“So—”

“But that’s not the reality. Before the Rending—even now—many Irin wanted the Irina powerless. If we were their equals, then that made the scribes less, in their eyes. Twisted, I know, but some of the sickness of the human world has crept into the Irin race, as well.”

“So why withdraw?” Ava asked. “You can’t change things if you just disappear.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice at first. And now?” Astrid shrugged and continued walking. “We change things. In our own way.”

“In secret. So that no one knows what you’re doing or where you are?”

“If that’s the way it needs to be? Yes. Do you think we want to paint another target on our back?”

“Why can’t you work with the scribes? Work together? Malachi said that Irin were most powerful when they were mated.”

“Yes, because we can loan them Irina power when they go into battle,” Astrid’s voice was acid. “Why do you think the Grigori decimated us as they did? Most of the Irina were weak from loaning our mates magic. So when we were attacked ourselves, we were vulnerable. You think we will chance that again? Think we will put our sisters and the few children we still have at risk so that the Irin gain glory?”

“Malachi loaned me his power,” Ava said. “And I gave him nothing. He went into battle weak so that I could be strong. And he died because of it. He sacrificed his own safety for mine.”

Astrid said nothing for a moment.

“Your mate will be rewarded in the heavens.” Astrid spoke quietly as she continued walking. “The Creator values nothing more than love. And what is love that does not sacrifice?”

“But you’re acting like he’s the only one.” Ava shook her head. “Malachi and his brothers treated me like some sort of royalty when I was at the scribe house in Istanbul. Don’t you realize? There are men—good scribes—out there. Fighting against the Grigori who harm people. Fighting against the Fallen. And they’re doing it alone. They’re mourning mates and children, alone.” Ava thought of the devastated faces of the scribes in Cappadocia. The longing she’d seen in Rhys’s face. In all of Malachi’s brothers. “They would give anything to have the Irina back.”

“They might, but you know little of the Irin world, Ava. One group of good scribes does not mean that we are safe from all. There are still those who want us silent. And that is something we will not be.”

Ava said nothing. Astrid was right. She knew little about the Irin world outside her own narrow experience. It was an argument she couldn’t win. At least, not at the moment. Plus, she was tired. The time change, the travel. Her restless nights all seemed to be catching up with her. It must have shown on her face.

“Come,” Astrid said. “You’re tired. We’ll go to the house for lunch. Then you can rest.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed in the house.”

“No.” Astrid smiled. “Damien isn’t allowed in the house—for now—and he insisted on staying close to you. Which is why you’re in one of the cottages. You’re Irina. You’re always welcome in Sari’s house.”

“But her mate isn’t?” Ava shook her head. “I gotta meet this woman.”

Astrid’s smile was mischievous. “You will.”

When Ava walked into Sari’s house, the energy of the place almost knocked her over. Her exhaustion fled immediately, even before Astrid led her to the dining hall.

Far from institutional, the dining hall in the house was attached to the kitchen. So while some of the women cooked, others sat at the table, some chatting and keeping company with the cooks, others working on their own projects. Ava saw one black-haired woman working on a laptop and slugging coffee back, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around her. Another was knitting an intricate scarf. Still another was playing a guitar in one corner while two others listened. The whole mess created a lively hum over Ava’s skin that echoed the sudden jolt of power in her blood.

And sitting at the end of the table, braiding the hair of a girl no older than twelve, was Sari. Her long blond hair fell almost to her waist, and her face was softer than the first time Ava had seen her. The girl tilted her head back and Sari kissed her forehead before she shooed her away. She wore a soft blue sweater that brought out the color of her eyes. She noticed Astrid and Ava, and her eyes narrowed a bit as she waved them over.

Sitting down on the bench to her left, Astrid motioned to the chair across from her that backed up to one of the stoves.

“Sit there,” she said. “It’s the warmest spot.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sari, this is Ava. She’s not a dumb human.” Astrid waved her hands between the two. “And Ava, this is Sari. She’s as mean as she looks, but she won’t bite unless she has to.”

“Ha ha,” Sari said, rolling her eyes at the woman who was obviously a close friend. Then she turned to Ava. “Damien told Astrid that you’ve traveled to Norway before?”

“Yes, for work.”

“You’re a photographer?”

“I am.”

“Welcome to my country. And to my home.”

“Thank you.”

The woman looked amused at Ava’s terse answers. “Have I offended you in some way?”

Ava decided that Sari would respect the direct approach. “I showed up and you tried to bash in the head of the guy who’s been protecting me. Even though he’s your mate. What do you think?”

The room fell almost silent around them, but Ava never let her eyes leave Sari’s. Sari said nothing, but the smile never left her lips.

“And how is this your business, Ava Sakarya? Did I attack you?”

Ava supposed she had a point. It wasn’t her business. Not really. So why was she so resentful of the woman? “No, you didn’t attack me. I just think… you’re lucky to have him,” Ava said in a low voice, her eyes flicking to Astrid. “Not all of us do.”

Was it her imagination, or did a hint of guilt cross Sari’s face?

“I suppose you’re right. Then again, he’s quite lucky to have me, as well.”

“I’m sure he’d say the same thing.”

Sari’s eyes gleamed. “I know he would.”

There was a pause, then attention shifted away from Sari and Ava as the voices in the room resumed their quiet hum.

Sari stretched her arms up. She was an immensely tall woman. Her body and presence both made Ava feel like a child. Her muscles were hardened and lean. In the human world, people would assume she was a serious athlete. To Ava, she simply looked lethal.

“Are you comfortable here?” Sari asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“And how are you sleeping?”

Astrid barked something in a language Ava didn’t understand, then exchanged a few sharp words with Sari.

But Sari only smiled at her. “Astrid tells me that this is none of my business, and that she is the healer. I disagree. You’re in Sarihöfn—which was named for my great-grandmother, by the way, not me—so that makes your sleep part of my business.”

“My sleep? What does sleep—”

“Sleeping. Dreaming,” Sari said. “For us, these are not the same as for humans. Sleep is when our souls reach out. We can perform magic in dreams if we’re not careful. Didn’t they explain that to you?”

“No. There was a lot the scribes never explained.”

Sari sighed. “Well, that is… sadly typical. They do love their mysteries and cryptic puzzles.”

“There also wasn’t much time.”

Astrid said, “Sari, move on. I’ll talk to her about sleeping. I think she’s fine.”

“Very well,” Sari said. “Astrid tells me you are a mystery. Were you truly raised among humans?”

“Yes.”

“Very curious. I assume your mother lost her mate. Why did she not seek shelter with her family?”

The focus of the room was back on them both, and Ava tried not to cringe under the scrutiny. She felt like she had every time she entered a new school. Her stepfather’s money and connections meant that people had certain preconceived notions about who Ava would be. Their notions always exceeded the reality.

“You’re not crazy. You’re a miracle.”

His voice whispered to her, reminding her to sit up straighter. “My mother is human, not Irina.”

Sari frowned. “I known a human raised you, but who is your real mother? A nanny? A servant? It wouldn’t be unheard of after the Rending to hide among the humans, but someone must have shielded you as a child. Didn’t they ever find out? Surely the scribes with all their voluminous records could find your real mother. Even in America, they have archives.”

Why hadn’t Damien explained it better? “No. Lena Matheson is my real mother. And my father—”

“So she is Irina.” Sari looked as frustrated as Ava. “And mated to a human?”

“No, my mother is not Irina. I told you—”

“But she has to be.”

“She’s not,” Ava said through gritted teeth.

“But you’re Irina!” Sari said, grasping Ava’s wrist. She tried to pull away but couldn’t. “I can feel you. So powerful. You’re like a shot of pure energy. And mated, as well. Marked, Astrid said.”

“Yes.”

“So there must be some mistake.” Sari squeezed her hands tighter. “You must not have known. Your real mother—”

“Lena Matheson is my mother,” she said. “Now let me go.”

She didn’t. “But your mother must be Irina.”

“Well, she’s not. And before you ask, I look exactly like her. Everyone knows I’m her daughter. A single look would tell you.”