Long Way Home

II

I started noticing that I got stared at more than usual whenever I came to visit father. Apparently, he had proudly told everyone who came to be treated that his daughter now studied in the House of the Wind and worked for the High Lord himself. I was happy to see him happy, but at the same time embarrassed when I was in the spotlight of attention.

In my most recent visit, there were only a few patients to take care of, and none to stay the night in the infirmary room. Father cooked a deliciously smelling vegetable soup with mouth watering garlic bread for dinner. We carried the food along with a bottle of homemade wine to the terrace of our building. We did this often, sitting under the magnificent sky of the City of Starlight. It kind of became our ritual after mother died, where after all the eating and drinking, I'd lie down with my head on father's lap like I used to do as a small child, and he narrated stories of her.

Our family history was a bit strange. My father was a proud, handsome descendant of the Illyrians, but my mother had been a high fae from the Summer Court. I've heard that most of my ancestors' pairing is similar to that.

Your mother, she had this alluring green eyes, the colour which you see in the depths of a still pond, never letting go once you are pulled into. I can still see how the soft wind caressed her pinkish hair against her skin. He loved to describe her, and repeated over and over again the story of how they met.

The story of how she died was only told once, and he never repeated it again. When I had been two years old, mother was pregnant with my sister. There was an internal bleeding which didn't stop, and sadly, both mother and child succumbed to it.

According to one of my neighbours, father was completely devastated after her death. He even stopped selling his services for a while. He didn't talk to anyone and sulked alone, which was completely opposite to his usual extrovert nature. I don't remember any of this, though. Even with sadness in his heart, he never forgot that he had a living daughter and my childhood was full of happy memories.

Well, mostly.

That night, he was telling me the story of how he used to paint my mother's toenails with colour when she was pregnant and couldn't do it herself—his personal favourite which I listened to every time like I was hearing it for the first time—when a shadow flew across the starry sky and landed in front of us.

It was Azriel.

I pushed myself into a sitting position, squinting at the cloth wrapped parcel which he held in both hands. When my father stood up to greet him, he extended it forward.

"Greetings, sir. The High Lord and Lady send their compliments," he then turned to me. "Hello, y/n."

I nodded while father conveyed his thanks and accepted the parcel. Azriel was about to leave right then, but father insisted on him having dinner before he did so. He hesitated, his gaze dropping at our empty dining plates and wine bottle, but eventually agreed. They went down the stairs into the warmth of the kitchen and I followed.

Father was already making cheery conversation, and Azriel joined after a while. They knew some mutual fae and some members of the Illyrian clan, and began having an earnest discussion.

Azriel was ushered to sit while I set the table and father heated up the food. He always made extra portions because someone could unexpectedly stopped by for a chat and had to be welcomed with delicious food every time. While Azriel ate and they talked, I silently listened from a chair nearby. I felt the familiar squeezing ache in my chest as I watched them, because I could tell that Azriel was not humouring my father out of mere politeness and genuinely wanted to converse. He was never like that with me in the few months I've spent in the House.

I felt prickling behind my eyes, and I excused myself to my room before it turned into tears. Once underneath my warm covers, I let the tears fall and fell into a tired slumber.

I was jerked back into consciousness when I heard the sound of my bedroom door being opened. My eyes were swollen shut from all the crying and I had to fight to open them a bit and see who came in.

It was father. He sat on the side of my bed and gently caressed my hair, noticing that I was awake.

"Azriel left just now. We talked for a long time."

I closed my eyes and sighed, trying very hard not to cry again. "Hmm."

"Has he hurt you?" He asked, his voice low.

I blinked open my eyes in confusion. "Who?"

"Azriel."

I scoffed and shook my head. "I don't even know him that well to be hurt, papa."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's why you cried yourself to sleep, huh?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, not answering. He knew everything anyway.

He stood up and fetched a cold compress for my eyes. I felt fresh tears threatening to spill, and pushed the compress deeper onto my eyelids.

"Does he have a mate already?"

"No. It doesn't matter. They'll feel the bond towards each other soon, anyway. The High Lady's sister might be the one."

"I see."

He was silent for a while. The swelling eased down and I could open my eyes wider. When the compress wasn't so cold anymore, I put it on the nightstand and wriggled back to a comfortable position. Father gently patted my head in a rhythm to help me sleep.

"You'll find a deserving mate too, don't worry," he whispered. "A heart has to eventually find its home."

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