Page 20 of Crown of Wings and Whispers

“Done.”

I was touched by the way Archer moved to stand on my other side, choosing to lend me a little support instead of taking advantage of all the women vying for his attention.

Griffon turned to introduce me to his stalkers. I forgot their names instantly and on purpose. “Ladies, this is Lucy Morgan, my better half.”

Lots of gasping followed, from more than just the three women in front of us. I gave Archer credit for hiding his own surprise, and I tried to do the same.

His better half? I didn’t know exactly what he’d meant by it, or if it was just some message he intended for the crowd. The fact that he’d called me Lucy made me feel as if he were talking about someone else, and my only reassurance was the gentle squeeze of my hand.

Feathers was pissed, which made me feel mean and happy at the same time. Her friends shifted closer to Archer. And though it wasn’t my place, I decided to remind them why they were there by asking, “Were you friends of Daphne’s?”

“For ages,” Feathers said, flipping her “r” like a true Scot. “I dinnae recall seein’ ye before…”

“Different circles. She’s American,” Archer said, without any hint of disparagement.

Feathers couldn’t manage the same. “American?” She sneered. “Then the lack of nobility—”

“Letitia.” Griffon’s tone made her take a step back. “You mustn’t speak of things you do not understand.”

A murmur rattled through the crowd and all eyes turned to the top of the stairs. The three of us turned. Bridie stood at the top step, smiling politely down on our heads, like a queen waiting for her escort. Her collar stood much taller than mine and every inch of her black gown sparkled and swirled like the galaxies on Daphne’s fingernails had done. Stars in an inky universe, outdone only by the white diamonds that covered her neck and cascaded to her cleavage.

Daphne would have approved.

Archer bounded up the steps, stood next to his stepmother, and offered his arm. Her guests clapped for her as they descended, and I wondered if that happened only at wakes for Fae. Or maybe the lack of a body laid out in the parlor made it a less solemn occasion than normal.

A few steps shy of the bottom, Bridie stopped to thank everyone for accepting her invitation and mentioned how happy Daphne would have been to see them. Judging by some grimaces, I suspected the last bit was a lie.

“Archer has agreed to sing for us,” Bridie said, and the crowd oohed and aahed like it was a big treat. He helped her down the last steps, turned, and went back up a few so everyone could see him. Without any sort of accompaniment, he started to sing. My natural reaction was to be embarrassed for anyone in his position, but as soon as he opened his mouth, I was captivated.

His voice was deep, unhurried, the texture both odd and beautiful. I felt the lower notes of the dirge rumble in my bones. His Scottish accent made me think of my friends and the sad fact that I might never see them again. Combined with the words, I was a melting chocolate mess.

Before my bones I let them lie

Before my spirit I let fly

Long, I bid ye, dinnae cry

For I’m a’ goin’, gone

A shroudfor warmth be all I need

A grave but deeper than for seed

For stone or tomb I’d call it greed

For I’m a’ goin’, gone

The wasteof life will not be mine, imagined that I haunt yer days

Ye mustn’t lose a drop of time on me

Look not for signs that I yet bide, turn not yer thoughts back to my face

Ye mustn’t toast a drop of wine to me…

At this point, Archer lost control of his composure, but only briefly. While the crowd fell apart in sympathy for him, he sucked in a couple of deep breaths and continued the song, his voice louder and stronger than before.

Ye’ll proveyer love with just a tear

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