Page 91 of Ulune's Daughter

“Cait don’t have surnames,” I tell her as I tuck my phone away. “That’s a human convention. In the sense that all Cait are descended from B’sst, you can call me Lawson B’sstmen. In the sense that all Cait are led by, and therefore sons of, our leader, you can call me Lawson Cathmoir. Neither would have any meaning to another Cait.”

“Oh. Sorry, I don’t know much about the Cait. That’s different from the high fae.”

“They use their Houses as surnames. Cait don’t have houses or clans or other affiliations. We are all simply Cait.”

Kellan smiles. “One big family.”

“Yes. When you’re free, and without pressuring you, I’d like you to meet my family.”

Her lips tremble and she folds them together. “Even after hearing what a complete hash I’ve made with my own?”

“Especially after hearing that. You need a family that treasures you. My family is many things, not all of them good, but we love and support each other. If your birth family doesn’t cherish you, let me introduce you to a family that will.”

“Thank you, that’s generous.” She traces her fingertips down the part of my jaw not covered by the mask. “I will call.”

I catch her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her fingertips, which are still cold from the water. “I will answer. Drive safely.”

She goes up on her toes for a final kiss. I linger, enjoying this taste of her, different from when I taste her in her sleep, but finally release her and help her into her car.

She waves before she drives away.

I wait a half-hour, until I’m sure the breeze will not betray me to my Air-witch, before stepping into the Fae Ways to follow her back to Bevington.

* * *

She calls,but not to give me a time and place. She hasn’t had “the talk” with Rhodes yet. According to Luca, he’s hiding, aware he’s damaged any possible relationship with my mate, unaware of how to fix his gaffe.

Am I gloating? Perhaps. Presumptuous human, to tell me how to handle my own mate. Does he think, just because they slept together, that he knows her better than I do? No one knows what Kellan needs better than I.

Instead, Kellan talks to me. Sometimes for so many hours that I worry she’ll realize that I’m her cat when Whitey fails to appear during these conversations. But she never mentions her missing cat to me, nor admonishes Whitey for being inattentive.

I’d like to think that’s because she finds our conversations so diverting she doesn’t notice the cat’s absence, but the truth is that my mate is so focused on her exhibit opening that a bomb could go off on campus and as long as the museum was untouched, I don’t think she’d notice.

I know, of course, about the V.I.P. reception from my twin talking about it incessantly. After Kellan describes the gown she’s bought for it—or more truthfully, the lingerie she’s bought to wear under it—I decide that I have to attend, invitation or no.

I wear a ridiculous penguin suit to fit in with the crowd of V.I.P.s. The starched points of the shirt collar dig into my chin; the jacket and waistcoat bind my ribs. I’d rip all the seams if I tried to fight in this straitjacket, but I understand it’s required for these mortal ceremonies. I just hope my mate doesn’t want to host these too often.

My hair is as blue as it was the day of the autumn equinox, so my mate will recognize me. I’ve had Larissa file my teeth and claws again so I’m not so recognizably Cait. The waistcoat and lapels of the suit are black leather and a matching mask in the style of the Magi of the Mists covers my face from cheeks to hairline. Luca provided me with the design. It’s bold and fierce, with white fangs framing my mouth and heavy lids shading my eyes. I like the aesthetic of these lost people very much.

I wind my way through the exhibit toward my mate, who is holding court near three huge totems. The achievements of these people are impressive, particularly for humans, although they do have a fae look about them. I’m sure Luca has already looked for a connection to the known fae courts of the time, but I make a mental note to ask him about it.

I pass my twin as I view the exhibit. Luca’s stationed near the museum’s door, taking invitations and greeting the V.I.P.s. It’s good for him to make connections, since I imagine one day he’ll want to curate a similar exhibit. Perhaps even as our mate’s co-discoverer. Luca’s hair is bright green, his eyes are ghostly white, and he’s wearing an orange kilt over tight black leggings. He looks like a student or one of the noisy human singers. He looks nothing like me.

What do I look like? A fae prince? A fool? It doesn’t matter, so long as my mate sees me. Since our night at the Mother’s fires, I’m no longer content to be invisible to her.

Even standing in a crowd of professors, alumni, and others I don’t recognize, my mate’s eyes find me as soon as I enter the open area in the middle of the exhibit’s spiral. A smile curves her pale lips. She’s not one of the women wearing a red slash across their mouths like they’ve just finished a raw meal. Her face is nearly bare of makeup. She’s rimmed those blue-flame eyes with black and twisted her hair up into a pile with tendrils spiraling down to frame her cheeks.

She’s resplendent in a purple gown that shows off her strong shoulders and long legs. Slits in the beaded skirt ride up her thighs, giving me tantalizing hints of what I know are black silk stockings and a strapless basque with suspenders. I wish she’d bought the lingerie to wear for me, but it’s a pleasure to see her in something so beautiful regardless.

My mate will never believe in her own beauty. Her adornment is utilitarian. Her bearing is academic. She values beautiful things—they are all around us in her fascinating exhibit—but only for the aesthetic expression of the knowledge they represent. My bewildering, beguiling mate. My midnight queen.

I bow to her.

She makes her excuses to the man she’s speaking to, who I recognize as the Holly King’s lover and vassal, picks up two glasses of champagne, and crosses the floor to me.

“I didn’t send you the time and place,” she says, offering me a glass.

I take it and lift it to her. “I’m impatient. And I wanted to witness your triumph.”

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