Page 29 of What Whispers in the Dark (Promises of the Marked)
No doubt he heard him. Garrik produced a roguish grin, and the bastard remained silent. Silent long enough that Everly jammed her battle boot into his shin, eliciting a soft growl from his stupidly slow and infuriating lips.
Six voices erupted in laughter. Five coming from the most important half-human and High Fae in his existence.
Garrik’s laughter trembled his entire body as the green of his eyes impossibly brightened. That smile remained as he delightedly repeated, “Thalon. House of the Seventh N … I give to you … the honor of announcing her reborn name to the Stars Eternal and Elysian.”
Liquid lined his golden eyes, much the same as her expectant, enraptured violets. By the stars, he could stare at them all day and never cease from marveling at how the purple feathered into a ring of teal.
Pride—overwhelming pride—bloomed in his chest as he finally … finally got to say, “Everlyn.”
The heavens stopped breathing, and he thanked Chamuel that his air remained.
“Everlyn House of the Seventh N. My wife.” Mine. Mine, mine, mine.
“You may now ? —”
Everlyn’s lips crashed against his, drowning out Garrik’s voice—and his following chuckle.
Drowning out the symphony of clapping and cheers and laughter.
The wind and trees and every soaring thing in the skies faded until it was her lips and his and his last letter and name as hers— hers.
Forever for eternity and far after that, Maker of the Skies willing.
Thalon kissed her with a passion the realm had yet to witness from him. He cupped the back of her head and held tight to the curve of her spine. Something flashed—perhaps the Stars Eternal. A blessing from the Celestials and an invitation, an allowance.
His wife pulled from his lips, eyes glowing with a silent question.
“Together,” Thalon said.
“Together,” she repeated.
Everlyn— Unleash Michael, he would never tire of that—nodded her head. And together, their backs rippled. Like flowers in spring, great and mighty pearly-white wings unfurled. Stretching wide in the sunlight.
By the stars, he’d seen hers at the Keep when they trained. When she had knocked him out of the sky because he was too dumb-struck by her stunning face to pay attention to her fist. But he never imagined he’d see them like this.
Apart from war, training, and saving a life, the only other times they could unveil them were on sacred days and places of worship. As sacred as this day.
“Stunning,” Thalon breathed, and he couldn’t help watching the blush scarletting his wife’s cheeks.
“Absolutely stunning, sunshine.” He extended a hand, and as one, they turned to their friends—their family.
He opened his mouth to speak, regarding Aiden throwing rose petals in the air, but it was Garrik who stepped forward, face beaming.
“You are relieved of your duties for the night. Celebrate wherever you please.”
Thalon didn’t need a second to decipher the meaning.
Garrik’s wolfish grin spoke volumes as he twisted a ring on his finger and said no more.
“Shut up,” Thalon growled when Garrik waggled his brows, almost as if pushing Thalon to flee with his bride. He would. Soon.
Garrik barked a laugh, which echoed off the mountain. “I said nothing. ” He paused a moment to prepare for Thalon’s incoming embrace.
Then Thalon’s arms toweled around Garrik’s neck.
Careful of his wings, his High Prince pulled him tight and held on, squeezing him as if the embrace of his brother recharged him and brought him strength.
Garrik said quietly enough for only Thalon to hear, “Try not to leave Airatheldra in ruins.” They pulled apart, and he added with light caution, “Do not fuck in my house.”
“Ah, but you have the comfiest bed.” Thalon punched his arm. “Don’t be selfish.”
One moment, their High Prince peered down at the wrinkles in his tunic where Thalon’s treasonous fist had been … and the next ? —
Two considerable male bodies were rolling in the grass and dirt, staining the white cloak that slipped from Thalon’s body. His wings tucked in tight as he grappled for a hold on Garrik as they both wrestled for purchase.
Garrik’s laugh sprang around the arena as Thalon choked on air because Garrik—that damn bastard—began tickling that spot on his wings. Ticklish — a starsdamn Guardian being ticklish .
Garrik rolled onto his back, his entire body shaking with laughter as he held Thalon in a headlock on top of him. “ Me ? Selfish ? I’m deeply insulted.”
“I couldn’t tell,” Thalon choked out as Garrik released his hold and slipped to the ground on his knees beside him.
The quick roll of green eyes staring down at them could have summoned a mighty wind. Jade shook her head and mumbled, “Faelings,” while Thalon jumped to his feet and pulled Garrik to his.
A voice that could stop the realm from turning singsonged along the males’ heavy breaths as footsteps approached. “Husband.”
Thalon turned to catch Eldacar hugging Everlyn, then Jade wrapped her arms around her, brandishing a smile over that usually unamused face.
With one final, theatrical spinning hug from Aiden, catching her cloak and wings in the wind and fluttering the feathers, his bride stepped beside him, facing the edge of the cliff and the wide-open sea-filled horizon.
With nothing more than a quick spin of an emerald-inlaid ring on his tattooed finger—a key to Airatheldra that he normally kept secured in his chambers—Thalon called on his powers, and a whirling storm of lightning and thunderclouds erupted at the cliff’s edge, waiting for them to pass through.
Before the portal swallowed them entirely, Thalon called out, “See you in a few weeks.”
Garrik answered, “See you tomorrow.”
In Garrik’s tent, Thalon pleaded for that memory to remain for more than one reason.
They had returned from a month away in Airatheldra when it had only been a night in Elysian.
None of them knew that in five short days, at Magnelis’s ascension celebration, Garrik would be taken.
That he, Jade, Aiden, Eldacar, and Everlyn, would return from Illmataria months later to Garrik suffering in a dungeon.
Thalon pulled away, sitting upright on the bed. His gaze fell to the scar on Garrik’s neck. It wasn’t long before he trailed his eyes down the wrinkled fabric of his tunic. Down his arms to his smooth wrists … knowing what Garrik’s magic concealed.
Then another memory. It swept in like a hurricane wind, and he was helpless to defend against it.
“Are you out of your minds ?” Everlyn growled, slamming her hand to the table and drawing the attention of twelve Ravens. The tavern candles burned low, casting the place in harrowing light. Her voice lowered as she curled her palms into fists.
Sitting, her purple cloak pooled on the floor beneath her chair. “ Unleash Michael, husband . You are sworn to the High King.” She spoke to Thalon, then swiped her gaze to Aiden and Jade. “You two are not to encourage his reckless heroics.”
Thalon said nothing as Jade’s lip curled back. A look of death that inspired thoughts of corpses on a battlefield from none other than her blade. “He’s been down there for ten months. Ten !”
Reclining in his chair and chewing on a toothpick, Aiden winked at a female Raven, who seemed a little too interested in the seething females around him.
He plucked the twig out and dropped his elbows to the table, regarding the firestorm about to rage, and warned, “Might want to keep it down, loves.” He gestured with his toothpick to the table behind Thalon. “Wandering eyes make for stormy tides.”
Jade ignored him and quietly snapped at Thalon’s wife, “I smell his blood every fucking day. We’re getting him out tonight.”
They didn’t.
They hadn’t gotten him out. Not that night. Not the three decades after. Not ever.
The Garrik that escaped the dungeons was not a creature born of that world. He was Made. Made for Magnelis. Controlled and imprisoned until he walked into Thalon’s Raven tent and unveiled himself as returned as the shattered pieces they left him to hold together.
Thalon tenderly brushed the sweat-soaked hair from Garrik’s forehead and whispered, “How do we save him, Everlyn?” With severed hope, Thalon removed his hand and dropped his chin to his chest, listening to the sound of Garrik’s breathing.
Wind drifted through the tent doors as if in answer. A warmth that carried from the crackling fire outside. Thalon angled his head when it didn’t stop, angled his head to watch the doors rustle open to frame a face.
Her white hair flowed in the breeze. Some strands tickled her drawn face. Those blue eyes were dark as she spoke to someone—he guessed Jade.
Brows pinched, he watched as that question charged through him. How do we save him?
Again, wind. Again, those doors fluttered wider.
And he knew.