The Brightest Fell (October Daye, #11)

by Seanan McGuire

When I had first returned from the pond, I would have sworn I was never going to have a home to call my own again. I would live somewhere, because everyone has to live somewhere, but that place wouldn’t be my home. There’s more to home than just walls that don’t fall down and a roof that doesn’t leak. There’s commitment, and comfort, and the knowledge that even if you have to leave today, you can come home tomorrow, because home will wait. Home waits. Somewhere between Quentin showing up on my doorstep with a message from Sylvester and today—somewhere in all the years and miles between us and that moment—I had found my own way home. He was a large part of what had helped to get me there. Quentin would have to leave eventually, going back to Toronto to finish learning how to be High King of the Westlands. That didn’t matter. He would always have a home in California, with me, because without him, I might not have been able to find my way.