It didn’t suit him.
The old Anise wanted to ask what had happened to suck the jolly out of him. The sound of his big-bellied laugh had warmed her on many cold nights during their friendship. But the new Anise, the one he’d left in that cage to rot, didn’t give a shit.
“Go away,” she said and tried to close the door.
Caraway shoved his giant boot in the gap, stopping it from closing. He put his big meaty hand on the door and pressed. It seemed effortless, and the marked difference in their body strength drove her nuts. This was why she was going to see the Ice-Witch. This.
Helplessness swam over her and she stood back. Caraway ducked to get under the doorframe, came in, and closed the door behind him. He surveyed the room with trepidation.
“This is where you’ve been staying?”
His gaze landed on the pillow decoy in the bed, tilted to see the blanket and sleeping arrangement beneath, and then caught the dagger still in her hand. When his shrewd gaze lifted to meet hers, it softened.
“I don’t want your pity, Caraway,” she said, pointing the dagger at him, and then the door. “And I told you to go away. So you should respect a lady’s wishes and do just that.”
But he didn’t go. He started poking around the room as though he owned it. He went to the window, opened the curtain, looked outside, and then tested it to see if it opened. Turning, his eyes tracked around the room until they landed on her knapsack, filled and ready for her journey. His brows lifted.
“Where are you going?”
“None of your business.” Anise folded her arms. “Why are you here, Caraway?”
Those brows lowered darkly. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Anise. Why are you running away from me? I thought we were friends.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Friends don’t leave friends to the mercy of evil, twisted people.”
“I didn’t know about that until it was too late.”
“I told you things were getting dire in that town. I told you.” The accusation was a spear of vitriol. The moment the words were out of her mouth, Caraway flinched as though hit.
He sat heavily on the bed. It creaked from his weight and the great sword at his back twisted to accommodate the new position. He put his head in his hands.
“I know,” he said softly. “But I’m not allowed to get involved with—”
Anise held up her hand. “Oh spare me the same rigmarole. I’ve heard the Order’s mantra before. ‘Not mana, not my problem,’ right? You and I both know it goes deeper than that.”
She’d meant deeper in the sense that the world wasn’t painted in shades of gray, but when Caraway shot her hurt, accusatory eyes, she knew he thought she’d meant something else. She stuttered and sighed. The tension in her body melted. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I think you did,” he shot back. “You of all people know what my family thinks of me.”
She worried her lip with her teeth. A band of guilt wrapped around her chest. When they’d been close friends, Caraway had confessed his darkest shame one night while they were both inebriated. His family was peace-loving. He wanted to save the world and had embraced violence. At least if it was in the name of the Well, he had a higher, holy purpose no one could argue with. If he resorted to helping Anise out and doling out his own version of justice to the humans and other fae reprobates who’d kidnapped her, then the lines were blurred and perhaps he really was this lower-than-low person his family accused him of being. He’d be a monster no different to the mana-twisted beasts he hunted.
The real, open regret on his face plucked at Anise’s heart and for the first time, she realized that perhaps those hard lines he’d grown were from her, just another person in his life who’d asked him to make an impossible decision.
She sat down next to him with a heavy sigh and hand-signed an apology. She put a fist to her chest and made a circle motion. Fae don’t voice their thanks or say sorry, for it left them in another’s debt. Only family freely spoke these because it was known that true family would do anything for each other, regardless of debt.
Caraway hand-signed his apology too. “I should have been there to protect you, no matter what. You’re right. Ignoring the plight of others because it isn’t my job isn’t a way to live.”
“I get it,” she soothed. “The Prime doesn’t want you to get involved.”
He gritted his teeth. “But that’s not stopping the Cadre of Twelve. Rush and Thorne have both broken the rules recently. And the Prime’s not reprimanded them.” He scrubbed his face. “What difference does it make if I’m fighting to preserve the integrity of the Well if the world it goes to is turning to shit?”
Her heart reached out to him. It might have only taken him a few decades, and almost losing her, but he was finally getting it.
“It was also unfair of me to throw the burden of my capture at you,” she said. “I know you would have been there if you knew.”
He turned to her, eyes brimming with hope. “Can we go back to being friends?”
Her heart lurched. Her hand slid under the cover on the bed and grasped the paper invitation that had consumed her life for the past year and more. Indecision rocked her. What would he think of her choice?
“What’s that?” he asked, eyes toward where her hand moved.
Alarmed, she looked down. The white letter poked out from beneath the blanket. There was no way he’d let her go without an explanation, so she took a deep breath, and let it out.
“It’s an invitation to see the Ice-Witch.”
Silence.
She closed her eyes and waited for the reprimand she knew was coming. Caraway had always been a come as you are kind of male, but while he’d spoken the words, his actions were louder. He’d only dated high fae. She never saw him with a lesser fae. None like her.
Warm, rough fingers touched her cheek. Her eyes flew open and met his. In them, she saw pity. She knocked his hand away and stood up.
“Don’t judge me, Caraway.”
“I wasn’t.”
She looked sideways at him. “You weren’t?”
“No. But visiting the Ice-Witch for any reason won’t have a happy ending. You know this.”
Bitter pain and failure swirled in her gut. He had no idea what it was like to be sub-par. To be teased your whole life, first by cruel kids, then by even meaner adults. That last customer at the Birdcage hadn’t been a one-off. Fae like her treated Anise differently all the time. It was the tail.
She’d considered cutting it off once, just to be rid of it. But then there was the discoloration on her face. The darker nose. The black-rimmed eyes. The bigger than normal wolfish ears.
“You know the reason I’m visiting her,” she said to him. “And you know the hurt I feel is bone-deep. I’ll do anything to be rid of it.”
“What are you asking the witch for?” he asked softly.
“I want the ability to shift. To protect myself.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“You can’t be there all the time. It’s not your job.”
He growled, eyes flashing possessively. “It should be. I should never have let you be taken.”