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“Women have died in childbirth since the dawn of time. Human or Fae, it makes no difference. The child can never be held accountable.”
Kingfisher held out his hand and pulled me to my feet, making a derisive sound when he saw the cut I’d inflicted upon myself. “Baby.”
He pointed at me with the corner of his slice of toast. “You could eviscerate a man with that expression. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
“Oh, fuck you, Fisher.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” I whispered. “That’s what they tell me. But I don’t know. Aside from the relentless chatter in my head, personally, I think I’m doing just fine.”
Fisher would need a sizable space to house his fucking ego, after all.
“Fuck me,” Carrion muttered. “Fucking fuck me.”
“Be unrelenting and unmerciful in the face of the wicked dead,”
“And if you should find soul sundered from flesh, order a drink for us at the first tavern you come across in the afterlife. We’ll settle the tab when we get there.”
And sometimes, that’s just how things were supposed to be. There were moments that were gifts, meant to be cherished only for as long as you could remember them.
