A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [43]
Lily smiled, her thin lips twisting. She always knew his thoughts. “He’s a good boy when he isn’t being needy,” she reminded Mace. “I’ll let him stay at Crem’s until the end of the week. Horsing around some before the festival ends should calm him down.”
“Are you sure?” Mace asked. Not that he wanted the boy hanging around. In an ideal world there wouldn’t be any human men, and Mace looked forward to the day when Jayden left home—likely after the girls departed as well—which would leave just him and Lily.
She studied him again, and Mace wasn’t entirely sure what she was thinking. She was being contemplative in the way that always made him . . . he wouldn’t say nervous, but alert. Lily had a practical but devious mind, and much as he cared for her, he couldn’t always anticipate what she would do.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Good.” He went to pour her tea. “Very quiet.”
“Which means no one died.” When he quirked an eyebrow at her, she laughed. “Don’t look at me. I know how you battle sylphs are. Nothing but instinct.”
As if that weren’t a good thing. As if it didn’t keep them all safe. He poured her tea, added a dollop of honey, and brought it to the table.
“Thank you,” she told him, and took a sip. She savored it for a moment, holding the steaming cup between her gnarled hands.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said at last. “I see everyone getting ready for the Winter Festival and this year it seems almost sad.” She set the cup down, leaning her cheek against one hand while her elbow braced on the table. It wasn’t a position that Mace had ever seen her take before. “I don’t know as many people as I used to. So many of them aren’t with us anymore, and I know I’m not going to live forever.”
He opened his mouth.
“Don’t even think about arguing with me about this.” Mace’s mouth clapped shut. Lily lifted her cup to taste her tea again and set it down with a sigh. “I think I’ve done you sweet creatures a bit of a disservice.”
Mace raised his eyebrows, not having any idea what she was referring to.
“With demanding right at the start that you be bound to women past their childbearing years,” she explained.
Ah, that was it. There were younger women with battle sylphs in the Valley now, but when Mace was first linked to Lily, when there were only a handful of battle sylphs, Lily herself had been about the average age for a master, and she’d been in her sixties. She’d been concerned at the time that the younger women would come to regret the decision, since no battle sylph could give them children and would definitely object to sharing their masters with a human husband. Not all women wanted husbands or children, but Lily hadn’t had the time then to seriously consider the ramifications. From the look on her face, she’d done so since.
“I didn’t realize back then how long you creatures live,” Lily admitted, “and I’ve seen how you react when your masters die.”
Actually, we turn into wrecks, Mace thought, with no desire to experience it himself. Sylphs’ souls were bound to their masters, and if love was involved, they were in danger of shattering when they lost them. Many recovered and went on, of course. But others, those who’d been lucky or unlucky enough to forge a truly deep soul tie to their masters, they never got over it. Mace cared for Lily, loving her and regretting nothing about being with her, but they both knew that soul tie wasn’t there. They’d been good for each other, but he’d survive her death in the end.
Lily studied his face, nodding in satisfaction as she saw that. Still, she wasn’t done.
“I don’t want you handed off to whoever just happens to be around after I go,” she continued. She lowered her other hand and gripped her teacup with both. “I don’t care how typical a reaction that seems to be; I don’t like it. You’re not some sort of prize cow to be given to its next owner.”
“What are you suggesting?” Mace asked.
“That you be open to having a second master now,” she told him.
He blinked.
She glared at him. “You should have a choice, and so should she. Put some thought into it, instead