Page 137 of With Wing And Claw

Silas’s answer was harder to make out, his voice lower and quieter.

‘Well, there’s only two of them left, isn’t there?’ Inga again. There was a pinch ofgriefmixed into the blend of her emotion, Naxi realised as she approached, and even if she still did not care, that was intriguing enough to keep her tiptoeing forward. ‘And if we tell Thysandra, I’m sure she’ll agree to—’

The girl stopped talking abruptly.

A surge of alarm peaked in the silence.

It was only then that Naxi remembered that a bright blue dress was not the most inconspicuous attire to sneak around forests in.

Two hasty steps back was all she managed. Then Thysandra’s uncle lunged out from the foliage with much, much more speed than a male of his size had any right to – a slap of golden wings, a shimmer of gemstones in the morning light, and a solid, calloused hand fisted inthe front of Naxi’s dress, all but lifting her off her feet. Silas towered over her in a way that made her feel annoyingly like cowering. Most people towered over her, admittedly, but this male added a whole new dimension to the experience – a height and breadth to him that even most fae could only dream of matching.

His eyes were narrowed in fury.

Then narrowed even more in what was, visibly and tangibly, confusion.

Belatedly, Naxi realised she was no longer crying, but that her cheeks still felt raw and sticky, and her eyes ached with every blink. She wasn’t sure justhowpathetic she looked. The cautious ebbing of the Bargainer’s alarm suggested the situation was dire, though.

She sniffled, because her nose was still a little runny, and squeaked, ‘Hello, Silas.’

‘Anaxia?’ His frown deepened impossibly further. ‘What are you doing here, exactly?’

‘Saying goodbye to the trees,’ she sputtered, considering whether she should be so merciful as to threaten him first or start draining his joy of life immediately. The first, probably. Thysandra would need him around the court. ‘Let go of my dress, or I—’

‘Goodbye?’ he interrupted sharply.

Oh.

Perhaps he hadn’t needed to know that.

‘I … I’m leaving.’ The tears began trickling down again. ‘I … I …’

He blinked, lowering her a few inches. ‘Where the hell is Thysandra?’

‘The statue gallery,’ Naxi whimpered, unable to speak the words without hearing those pleas again, echoing through the ravaged hall behind her. ‘There was an attack, and … and …’

‘Were you away from her side at all, yesterday?’ Silas cut in, fingers tightening around the bunched-up front of her dress. ‘She spent the day in her rooms, yes? Did you leave those rooms at any point?’

She gaped at him. ‘What?’

‘Please.’ As tightly controlled as his expression might be, the straining pressure within him was what Naxi imagined a volcano might feel in the moments before eruption. It was a testament to either hisself-restraint or his fear of her that he wasn’t yet physically shaking her. ‘Just answer the bloody question: did you leave her rooms? Did you visit the Labyrinth?’

‘No!’ She was so bewildered she forgot to cry again. ‘No, I told the Labyrinth I couldn’t be there with the hunt going on – you can go ask it, if you like! It was very grumpy, so I’m sure it remembers all the details! I was with Thysandra all day until she got poisoned, and then again after—’

Silas let go of her dress so suddenly she almost toppled over.

‘Why? What’s going on?’ She inched backwards, trying to peer around his looming posture and the near-endless span of his wings. ‘Did anything happen during the hunt yesterday?’

Without an answer, Silas glanced over his shoulder.

Something went unexpectedly softer inside him with that movement. Or not softer but rathermellower, like that clenching, almost desperate anticipation of thaw after a long frost – a feeling of—

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Naxi barely kept down another miserable whimper. It would be unreasonably petty, wouldn’t it, to torture a man to death just because he had the audacity to start falling in love right before her heartbroken eyes?

‘Yes,’ Inga said from behind that endless expanse of wing and muscle, voice a little choked. ‘Let’s show her.’

Show herwhat?