Page 74 of Song of the Dark Wood

“There’s not much to tell. My mom found out what I was, and for about a minute, I saw conflict in her, but we were so poor, Conor. I’m not excusing it because, honestly, I would never dream of doing the same thing, but it’s worth mentioning. I went to bed hungry…often. I can’t imagine how hungry she and my father were. Anyway, she saw her chance and took it, and she never looked back. I didn’t see my family very often after that. I’ve always felt a bit like—” She cut herself off and flushed as she looked away.

Her admission filled him with fury. She must have been wretchedly lonely. He’d always thought Orla was the loneliest person he’d ever met, but Orla was made for solitude. Rowan clearly thrived on connection.

“Please continue.”

She hesitated. “It’s horrible, but I always felt a bit like my mother went so far in the other direction to prove something to herself. The way she chases status and wealth is unnatural afterwhat we’ve been through. But I felt like maybe she was just all in because she very badly needed to convince herself that she’d made the right choice. Maybe you’re right, and I’m excusing her, but I can’t help but think it still. Maybe there’s a naive part of me that wants to believe that at least her motivations were good.”

Rowan was so bright and analytical. Conor wasn’t sure that he could have evolved enough to accept such a thing even after centuries.

“Anyway, I can’t imagine my life any other way now. I am what I am because I’ve been without them for so long. I’m fortunate to have Sarai, and I was fortunate to have Orla for so long, and Aeoife.” She was smiling at him even as tears filled her eyes; even as she sounded like she was trying to convince herself that was enough.

“Rowan,” he whispered. “You’re allowed to want what you want. No one can take that from you. You’re allowed to want better for yourself even if no one else will.”

“Wanting is for people who have futures,” she said softly.

“No, lass. Wanting is especially for those who live short lives. You get to want more, want desperately. You have a shorter time to claim those desires, but it should not stop your trying.”

Conor tried to pull her up from the depths with his words, but he saw her floundering. Grief followed death around and he was well acquainted with it.

Rowan had already grieved many times for what her family could not be, and he’d ripped open old wounds to satisfy his curiosity. It was unforgivable. He could not stomach her tears, even as she tried desperately to hide them, brushing them away with a vengeance reserved for someone who’d done her a great wrong.

Panic tightened his chest like a vise. He needed to fix this. He loved watching the way she brightened when he introduced her to something new, her eyes filled with wonder and fascination.She never seemed to think anything was strange, only delightful and unique. It might be the only thing to distract her from his questions.

“I want to show you something,” Conor said.

“But our game,” she protested, gesturing to the chessboard.

“We’ll come back to it.”

Her face lit up, though she also looked apprehensive. He would be the first to admit his surprises had been a mixed bag. It was his fault she seemed unsure whether to anticipate something pleasant or terrifying, but she showed no hesitance.

“It’s a surprise, though,” he amended.

She bit her lip but nodded as he held up a silk handkerchief. He tied it over her eyes.

“Also, I’ll need to carry you because it’s a little treacherous, and you can’t get there blindly.”

He chuckled as her pulse kicked up.

“Okay,” she rasped.

With no ceremony, Conor scooped an arm behind her knees and swept her into his arms. She was clearly startled, but she still leaned into him. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, her hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. It felt divine.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, drawing her hand back.

“No, it’s actually nice. It just surprised me,” Conor murmured as he started to move. “I like the way you touch me.”

“Tentatively?” she laughed, running her fingers through his hair again.

“No. Gently—like you’re afraid to hurt me.”

She was struck silent by the admission. Of course, she was probably just afraidhe’dhurther. She’d lived her entire life one false move from being struck, and although he’d never given her the impression he’d do so, touching the entire world with that delicacy seemed a hard habit for her to break.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and rested her other palm on his chest. Her fingers skimmed the opening of his collar. Her hand was cold against his skin. It was mesmerizing how such a cool touch could inflame him so easily.

Conor’s hands were made for violence and death. Even before he became the god of death, he’d been a fierce warrior. But the first time he held Rowan, he believed perhaps they were made for more. He didn’t just want to consume her. He wanted to explore a capability for tenderness he’d never thought he possessed.

His footsteps echoed louder as they entered the eastern wing with its high ceilings and oppressive darkness. The stream trickled, and he could sense Rowan trying to get her bearings. Conor took several jerky and unsteady steps to climb down the mossy rocks.

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