Page 11 of Crown of Wings and Whispers

Archer pushed away from the counter and came at me, hissing and glancing between me and the hallway. “Dinnae say such things. Ye think I’d do anythin’ to hurt my family?” He shook his head as he pulled out a chair, then dropped onto it like he’d just run a marathon.

“I’m not buying it.”

“I beg pardon?”

“Your mouth says you won’t hurt me—”

“Aye—”

“But your eyes say eat rocks and die.”

He blinked a few times, then he smirked. “Eat rocks, ye say?”

“Yeah, well, we Americans haven’t had a thousand years to perfect our insults.”

“Obviously.”

We sat in silence for a minute with the occasional tink of a shell hitting the side of the bowl as I tried to concentrate on my task at hand. Eventually, the promise of a truce settled around us like a delicate layer of snow that could melt instantly from the warmth of our own breath. To my surprise, the longer we sat together, the stronger it grew, and I didn’t so much as jump when he reached over and grabbed a handful of broken walnuts.

He set the pile in front of him and hunted for bits of the meat, adding them to my growing collection. My relief was more profound than expected, and after five minutes of true peace, the emotions of the past twelve hours rolled over me in one large, unexpected wave, leaving me blinded by my own flood of tears.

In a move he must have learned from his brother, Archer urged me out of my chair, swept an arm under my knees, and carried me into the living room while I fought for air between near-soundless sobs. I found myself sitting on the green cushioned couch tucked up under his arm while he tried to console me by awkwardly patting the side of my head.

“I lied,” he said, trying to distract me.

I took a couple of deep breaths. “What about?”

“It seems yeareowed an apology.”

“I won’t stop you.”

He laughed, then loosened his hold on my shoulders and made some space between us. “I’ve been…cruel to ye, when it is Daphne who deserves my anger, for takin’ her own life. And I blamed ye.”

“Well, don’t forget that beating you took…because of me.”

“Auch, aye. So, ye prefer I stay angry with ye?”

“Well, no—”

“Ye cannae help bein’ contrary, can ye?”

I laughed. “I’ll…work on it.”

“We’ll all appreciate it.”

With my wave of emotions played out, I sighed and wiped my face. “It’s pretty hard to take you seriously,” I said.

He gasped and pretended to be offended. “How so?”

“Not too intimidating in your stocking feet.”

Bridie had insisted we remove our shoes so our movements wouldn’t make the cakes fall. He lifted his feet off the ground and wiggled his toes. There was a small hole starting at the tip of his big toe, which we both noticed, then laughed ourselves silly.

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Griffon stood in the doorway wearing his sweater again. His hands rested on his hips, his brows raised at the sight of Archer’s arm lying casually around my shoulders.

A beep came from behind him, and Archer and I flew off the sofa. More worried about the cakes than him, we pushed Griffon out of the way and trod carefully back to the kitchen.

Archer opened the oven door and I pulled the perfectly fluffy cakes out like I was handling newborns. I placed them on the cooling racks as I’d been instructed and held my breath to see if they would fall. After a minute, I finally exhaled, as did Archer, and we laughed again.

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