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“There’s every way,” Fisher rumbled, his eyes darkening. “I’d know the smell of you anywhere. On anyone. I’d know it blind and in the dark. Across a fucking sea. I’d be able to scent you—”
“Because she is moonlight. The mist that shrouds the mountains.
The bite of electricity in the air before a storm. The smoke that rolls across a battlefield before the killing starts. You have no idea what she is. What she could be. You should call her Majesty.”
He smiled sadly. “I always know where you are, Little Osha.”
“I don’t know. You look constipated.”
That’s what Oshellith means in Old Fae, Saeris. Most Sacred.”
❤️
