“We’re so different.” Brella’s words were barely a whisper. “I shouldn’t have thought . . .”

“Thought what?”

“Nothing.”

It was just a moment. Only seconds squished together, a blip in time that could have so easily been arbitrary, except that Brella had molded those seconds like liquid steel into a piercing blade. The disappointment in her eyes. The dismissal as she turned away. It was a moment that scraped and scarred.

Perhaps the moment was the blade that finally pried off the last of her armor. Perhaps, under her armor there was nothing.

“Brella, I—”

“I should go see what Vel’s up to. You can get off this bed yourself, right?”

“Brella—”

“Scratch.” She held up a hand. “Give me a moment, all right? Just . . . a little time.”

She left Scratch alone in the bed, her parting gift something sad and small in the shape of a smile.

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Nana grinned across the dining table, which had either recently materialized in the middle of the living room or had been there the entire time. It was laden with dozens of small bowls, each housing some sort of aromatic, vibrantly colored dish. A basket of freshly baked flat bread released curling steam up toward the low buttressed ceiling. At the center of the table, garlanded in greens like a woodland noblewoman, lay a whole grilled fish.

“I’ve figured it out,” the goat woman announced. “How to keep yourselves safe out there, I mean.”

Vel paused, a bite of food halfway towards his open mouth. “Are we meant to guess?”

“Blood bonds.” Nana grinned. Her plate was entirely empty. “You’re doing them tonight.”

Brella pushed a piece of fish around her plate. “That’s what I thought.”

“Why do you look so morose, Umbrella? A blood bond is a joyous occasion.”

“I am joyous,” she drawled. “You’re just not familiar enough with human emotion.”

“Oh.” Nana furrowed her brow. “Of course. My mistake.”

“And James?” A bit of something bright green clung to Vel’s upper lip. “Will he be up for it?”

“Of course! He’s been awake for hours. The other one’s up, too, but he’s rather sulky.”

Scratch perked up. “He is? Can I go see him?”

“The sulky one? I can’t imagine why. Oh, you mean James. Not yet, Scratch child. We are not through with dinner.” Nana pushed a bowl of something red and chunky in Scratch’s direction. “Do you not appreciate the Tangled Lakes food I made for you?”

“I, uh . . . Tangled Lakes?”

“Of course, child. I smelled the water on you the moment you crossed my threshold. Now eat up, there’s a dear.”

Scratch sheepishly surveyed the food. She didn’t recognize a single dish.

“Oh, goodness.” Nana wrung her hands. “You don’t know any of these, do you?”