Page 77 of Of Sword & Silver

I decide to take my chances.

There’s a dreamlike quality to the quiet night, especially once I move further from Lara’s incredibly loud snoring.

“Kitty-kitty?” I murmur. Wretchedly unoriginal.

The eyes are close now, and the great rumbling purr of the direcat is like a balm to my soul.

“I missed you, you big bag of bones,” I say softly, holding out a hand to the huge beast. I did, too, the truth of that statement surprising me. “I fought a manticore. It got ugly. I’m glad you weren’t there to see it, but I would have liked having some company when I was recuperating.”

I frown and the direcat butts against my hand, as if he senses my dismay.

Because I did have some company.

Just not company I understand. Not at all.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say again, scratching under his ears until his eyes close in contentment. “I would have brought a few extra rabbits for you if I’d known you were going to show up.”

I run my hand over his rumbling chest, expecting to feel bones—and I do, but not nearly as prominent.

“You’ve been eating well, huh, Fluffy?” My nose twitches. That’s not a great name for him. “I’m glad you’re doing better.”

I lean against the giant cat and he rubs his face up and down my back, nearly knocking me off balance.

“He’s marking you as his.”

I nearly yelp in surprise, stopping the noise just in time.

The Sword emerges from the dark, moving without a sound.

“I don’t mind,” I say, too shocked that he’s followed me to come up with a smart remark. “I just wish I knew what he wanted.” His fur is so soft and warm I want to bury my face in it.

“Direcats were created as battle partners for the Fae.”

I glance back at him in surprise. “I suppose you were there when the Fae fought with them by their sides, considering how ancient you are.”

“I was there,” he says simply.

“What was it like?” I ask before I can stop myself. I shouldn’t pay attention to him at all, much less ask him questions. He’s been extremely clear about how he feels about me.

And yet.

And yet—here he is. Standing in front of me, half-dressed despite the cold, his chest just as perfect as the last time I saw it at the hot spring, ready to tell me about the Fae.

About him.

“It was glorious and horrible all at once.” He tilts his head up, staring at the stars dotting the night sky. “They were the kind of the days legends are made of, that great songs are composed about. There was nothing great about them, though. Just a lot of senseless death. Blood and violence, all because of the petty quarrelings of the princelings of the Fae.”

He falls silent and I keep stroking the direcat, grateful to have something to do with my hands because I can’t seem to look away from him.

“Did you know they say the gods were Fae once?” His words are so quiet I have to strain to hear them.

I frown in earnest, confused. “I have never heard that.”

“No, you wouldn’t have, would you?”

“Because I’m so incredibly young compared to you, is that right?” I ask on a low laugh.

“You have no idea,” he agrees, his attention finally moving from the constellations hanging in the night sky to my face. “You have no idea,” he repeats.

---