Page 26 of Tempting the Fae Lord
They’re dead yet moving. Unseeing yet lurching unerringly toward me.
“The dead are risen,” says the fae sorceress. “In an unlimited supply. But my bone caller can halt them in their tracks. All you need to do is open the gate.”
Like hell I will.
Chapter Eight
Gale
Back in the fortress,I head straight to Eulayla’s room, hoping she’s still awake. A soft knock and her friendly “Come in” confirm that she is.
Her space is a lovely reflection of her. Soft, warm quilts, cozy furniture, soothing colors, and the sweet, floral scent of her favorite soap, the kind Marissa makes for her each winter solstice. And the art on her walls reveals the feisty streak we all love, full of bright, multicolored depictions from her favorite storybooks: dragons, princes, demons, and sprites.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, my dear?” She’s folding freshly washed cloths.
There’s no use in pitter-pattering around the point with Eulie, so I enter and get straight to it. “Why can’t we call him Ezra? Why must we always say ‘the Gatekeeper’?”
She pauses, studies me, then sets down her laundry. “Because that’s how he prefers it, and we do as he says.”
“But why does he prefer it? And for that matter, why must we do as he says?”
Eulie points to the cushioned, wooden rocker by her bed. “Sit.”
I do.
So does she, on her bed, facing me. “Because he is our benefactor, and we are his grateful wards.”
“Pfft. He stole us. Tell me again why we’re grateful?”
Her expression grows stern. “Every bite you’ve had to eat? Provided by him. The roof that keeps you sheltered? His. The clothes on your back, the shoes on your feet, even the ribbon in your hair.” She gestures at me with a waving flourish. “All his doing.”
“We might have had all those things without him, if he’d left us alone.”
“And we might have starved to death before our molars had a chance to grow in. There’s no telling and no reason to fret over every ‘what if’ you can think of.”
“Not every ‘what if.’ Just the big one.”
“What’s gotten into you, Gale? I’ve never known you to be ungrateful.”
I slouch. “Ezra is a good name. Ezra feels like someone I could be friends with.”And perhaps more than friends with.“Ezra feels like an equal. But ‘the Gatekeeper’ feels like a warden.” Impersonal. Isolated. Untouchable. “It feels separate. I don’t want to feel separate.”
“It’s not your choice to make.”
She’s right about that, but I don’t have to like it. “Maybe I’d feel differently if I understood why.”
“You could ask him. He likes you. But you must be prepared to accept his answer. Or his right not to answer at all.”
She’s right about that too. I rise and press a kiss to her cheek. “Sorry to bother you with it.”
“You’re no bother. Now, put it out of your mind for tonight and get some rest, hmm?”
“I will,” I lie. I will do neither of those things anytime soon.
Instead, I wait up for him on an uncomfortable wooden bench in the front hall. Hours go by minute by slow minute, but I can’t sleep, not when there will be a new baby to greet and perhaps a new story of the switch from the Gatekeeper to listen to.
That, and I owe him an apology.
I hadn’t realized using his name would offend him so much. As the hours pass, the guilt compounds. The thought of him being upset with me unsettles my stomach.
