Chapter Twenty-Two
Mike went home, but the Horsemen stayed the night at Pride Palace. I was pretty sure they were moving in; temporarily, of course. I didn't mind. In fact, I was glad that Azrael had friends to keep him company while he was under house arrest. Also, those particular friends had enough stored-up magic to watch over my husband. Which meant that Azrael was safe enough for me to feel comfortable with popping over to Faerie to see my sons.
I let Kirill, Trevor, and Odin know that I was leaving, but didn't bother Azrael. He was downstairs in the Common Room with the Intare and the Horsemen, and I didn't want to intrude. I kissed Lesya goodbye and used my Ring of Remembrance—handed down to me by my faerie father—to travel through time and space to the Faerie Realm. In particular; the moment after I'd last left it.
The last time I'd left Faerie, I'd departed from the nursery. I reappeared in the same place I'd left from; standing in front of the bedroom window. My twin sons—who looked nothing alike, even though they had once been the same baby—clapped in appreciation of my trick. Their father, however, showed his approval in other ways. Arach smiled as he pulled me into an embrace then kissed me thoroughly as our boys groaned.
Although the boys would be three-years-old soon, they looked much older. Rian and Brevyn had dragon-sidhe magic running through them; Rian from Arach, and Brevyn from a piece of my faerie mother's soul which now resides in him. The dragon magic had sped up their growth. Brevyn had received his dragon magic later than Rian, but he had caught up this year. Rian had stopped growing so rapidly when he reached the approximate size of an eight-year-old human child. Brevyn had stopped his acceleration at about the same size, and now my boys were showing a normal human growth. This was a huge relief to me. I had mourned the loss of all of those baby years. Though, I have to admit it was nice to get past the diaper phase fast.
So, the nursery wasn't really a nursery anymore; it had become a children's bedroom. The scratching post that had once dominated one corner was gone; replaced by a bookshelf. The cradles were gone too—I cried the day we removed them—and two small beds had been brought in. My rocking chair was also gone, as was the changing table, and the armoire now had a matching one beside it. There were toys for older children littering the floor, and a window seat where my rocker used to be.
It was a punch in my gut every time I returned to this. The changes had come so quickly that when I was gone from Faerie for long periods, I tended to forget about them. Coming home to see my three-year-olds the size and maturity of eight-year-olds, standing in their “little boy” room, was tough.
But our connection—the one we'd formed when they were still in the womb—made everything easier. And then there was the fact that I loved them more than breathing. Even when they were being sassy.
“Get a job,” Rian whined as his father and I continued to bask in our reunion.
“It's 'get a room,' stupid,” Brevyn smacked his brother in the arm.
“Whatever.” Rian rolled his bright, dragon eyes.
It was so odd to hear Brevyn talking in fully formed sentences. He'd taken longer to get there than Rian, but now that he had, he was showing a sharpness of wit that was a little daunting.
“Mommy, can you please tell Rian that I'm right?” Brevyn asked.
Arach groaned as he released me. “He definitely takes after you.”
“And Rian is a mini-you, but they both have pieces of their mother and father in them,” I chided Arach. Then I looked at Brevyn and Rian. “Brevyn is right; the saying is 'get a room,' but I don't want either of you using it again. Because you know what happens when you disrespect Mommy and Daddy?”
“We get spanked,” Rian said with a grim expression.
“Right,” Arach said. “So; no wise-head remarks.”
“It's wise-ass, honey,” I whispered to him. “But don't use that word around them.”
“But wisdom comes from the head, not the buttocks,” Arach reasoned.
“That's my point.” I nodded.
Arach just frowned.
“Because you're saying something smart, but you're also being a butt about it,” Brevyn explained to his father.
Arach and I looked at Brevyn with wide eyes.
“Is that correct?” Arach asked me.
“That's probably the best definition I've ever heard,” I huffed.
“Thank you, Mommy,” Brevyn said proudly.
For a moment, Ull peered out of Brevyn's eyes, and my stomach clenched as my eyes watered. I had placed my friend's soul into my son before he was born, and then he had been split in two. Brevyn had gotten all of Ull's soul. Ull was living a new life as a prince of Fire now, and he wouldn't come into his past life memories till much later; if ever. I intended to tell him, of course, but that would also be much later. Until then, the memories stayed buried, but the wisdom of Ull's long life often peeped through; the wisdom and several other qualities that Ull had possessed. Sometimes, it was his humor, and sometimes his kindness, but there were often moments like this one, when I was painfully aware that my son was more than my child. He had an ancient soul and powerful magic that we still didn't fully understand.
“Mommy?” Brevyn asked in concern.
“I'm just so proud of you; you're a very smart boy,” I whispered.
“Thank you,” he said as his chest puffed out.
“But remember to temper that wisdom with your equally abundant kindness,” I added, and Brevyn deflated. “Was it really worth the pride of being right when you had to
