February

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth. – Oscar Wilde

…

The second time they met the conversation in the hothouse flowed more freely, despite an inauspicious start.

Eric arrived tense and angry, but not at her. She was weary, tired from the demands of her vocation and frustrated by the adjustments she had to make to live in the human world again.

They did not discuss their problems.

Instead, in that warm pool of candlelight, night blooms silently scenting the darkness around them, Rory asked Eric how much of this western continent he had visited. The Americas were new to her and she listened to him attentively. Then he asked her which places she had known in the Old World, remembering she had been in Bohemia at some point.

She, like most fae, had wandered the wild places, away from centres of human population. He, like most vampires, fed off them, literally. But they shared stories of the places they had in common, and gradually, naturally, like a river meandering towards the ocean and deeper waters, they came to share more.

"…across the shoulder, deep enough that I could not heal in time for the summer. I was forced to stay behind with the women and old men, angry to miss the raiding."

She laughed. "Did they have you wash clothes and clean and cook?"

His eyes crinkled in amusement, matching his tone. "A chief's son? Oh no, not even Aude could humble me into that. But she did put an end to my foul mood within a week."

Rory took the bait. "How? How was the might warrior humbled?"

"She told me if I didn't do something about my unruly sons she would teach them to wield a sword herself and have them gut me in my sleep," he said with relish, grinning at the memory.

"Sons? How many?"

His eyes were far away then and she held her breath until he spoke. "Two. They were seven and six summers that year. Old enough to learn, eager to fight. They were excited. Boisterous. I had to be stern with them." He smiled to himself. "Especially when their sister demanded to learn too. I had to remind my sons that our people were proud of their strong women, women who could take up a sword and defend themselves."

No twitch or tension around his eyes, nothing on his face betrayed more than faint amusement, but Rory's demon blood had given her the ability to detect emotions and she sensed the flicker of pain from him when he mentioned his daughter. She held herself still for a long moment. Then she asked softly, "What was her name?"

"Inga," he answered, his voice deepening. He smiled slightly, his eyes dark and distant, seeing memories many centuries old. "The time with my children that summer was an unexpected gift. Especially with Inga. Even at four she was fierce, determined. She took such joy in everything around her. She was bold, adventurous. I will never forget her spirit, but her face ..." He trailed off and then added quietly, "Perhaps that is a blessing."

After a moment he glanced at Rory, all signs of loss hidden behind a mask of indifference.

Rory was staring into her half-drained glass, swirling the dark wine slowly. After a pause, she raised her face and he was startled to see the glitter of a tear on her cheek. He wasn't fond of tears, even ones he couldn't smell, and he didn't want her pity for what Ocella took from him. He tensed, but before he could react further, she gathered her composure and asked, "Have you ever been to the Emerald Isle, to Kerry in the south?"

He shook his head, confused by her sudden change of tack.

"It is a beautiful region. It was sparsely populated when I was born there in the last decade of the fifteenth century. I spent my childhood hidden away in its mountains, with my mother Aideen."

"Hidden?"

"Yes. In a secluded valley. Neither my father's people nor my mother's approved of their union."

"Ah."

She made as if to shoo a fly. "Neither of them could be dissuaded by mere disapproval. They were far too deeply in love. But they felt it prudent not to flaunt my existence while I was still a child. My mother could not enter the dae realm, but Memnon, my father, had … business there that kept him away for months at a time. So Aideen chose to settle us out of harm's way, off the beaten path. It was a mostly solitary existence, but I didn't suffer for it. It was idyllic. I loved the mountains, the wildness there. I spent much of my childhood roaming the hills making friends of the foxes and the birds."

"You have a gift with animals."

"Yes. It is common in my mother's line; she is of the Crannruadh clan."

"Cran-roo-agh." He stumbled to replicate the Gaelic, and hazarded a guess at its meaning. "Red … tree?"

She nodded, gesturing to her long red hair glinting in the candlelight. "The same as my mother. Red hair is also common in our clan. We are Talamh fae."

"Tah-lav?" he repeated questioningly.

"We are not fae of the sky or the water, but of the solid ground. Talamh means land." She added lightly, "Or dirt as the sky fae would have it."

Eric's lip curled as he remembered Niall's attitude to her. She shrugged dismissively.

Not wanting to get side-tracked into a discussion of fae superiority complexes and inter-clan relationships he asked, "How did you avoid discovery by humans?"

"We stuck to dealing with a few locals, ones who understood our ways, the ways of the 'fair folk' as they called us. My mother's skills as an herbalist won us enough respect for them to trade goods with us and protect us as best they could. And of course my mother used a little fae glamour to blind the curious to what we were. The place was a backwater, we weren't troubled." She sighed wistfully. "I was very happy there. The best times were when my father returned to us. He never failed to bring me some trinket or gift. I was rather spoilt." She side-eyed Eric. "I bet Inga was the same."

"Yes. Once I bought her back a silver comb worth more than anything I'd ever given my wife. Aude was furious with me for that."

Rory laughed. It was an easy, carefree sound. Eric liked the light it brought to her eyes and found himself grinning at her.

She smiled back. "Your daughter had that advantage at least: a wise mother. Aideen spoilt me just as much as Memnon did." A shadow passed across her face with his name.

Eric's grin faded. She looked down at her lap, but he'd seen the way her eyes shone.

She swallowed and said quietly, "Memnon died three years ago. We were close." She wiped away a tear. "I miss my father deeply. Hearing you talk of Inga …"

"Ah. Fresh wounds are easily torn open." Eric's knot of offended pride relaxed. She hadn't pitied him, his loss merely evoked hers. He imagined Inga's grief when he never returned and felt a rush of sympathy for the healer. He didn't supress it as he usually did, knowing it would be more eloquent than words.

Rory felt it as he'd intended and her green eyes softened with gratitude. "Thank you," she said softly, stretching over to rest her hand briefly on his arm. After a moment, she continued. "Memnon's death is partly why I have returned to the human realm: I couldn't rely on my eldest half-brother for protection in Dae. Tarok and I have never been close. His younger brother Erdal is willing but lacks sufficient influence. I am lucky the fae are at peace and it is relatively safe for me here again."

Eric's curiosity spiked. "Relatively?"

"There is a reason I don't use my real name in this realm. The fae do not forget blood feuds."

He raised an eyebrow. "If you need a few fae removing …" He licked his lips playfully.

She shook her head with a smirk. "No, thank you. And don't think to cancel out your debt that way. You'd have far too much fun."

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling. "Worth a try. Are you in the habit of starting blood feuds? Not that I am averse to troublesome females, but ..."

"You want to know how much trouble I could get you in."

He nodded, smirking at the innuendo.

Rory rolled her eyes at him playfully, and then became serious. "It is my blood they would spill. It will not affect you."

Eric found he did not like the idea she might be killed before he'd worked her out. He offered her seriousness in return. "Do you need protection?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Why would you offer? Your debt dies with me. You would be free of it. I might start thinking you don't want rid of me if you're not careful, Mr Northman."

He grinned, playing along. "Ah, but a fae healer willing to work on vampire is a most valuable asset, Miss Kingfisher. I would hate to lose my connection to you."

"Yes, I'm sure it is adding to your notoriety amongst your kind."

"And the story behind your own notoriety?" He asked it lightly, not really expecting her to answer but unable to resist the question.

She glanced towards the moon. "I'm afraid that is a story for another night. A toast?" She raised her glass and he accepted, mirroring her actions with his goblet of blood. "To family lost but still in our hearts."

For a blink she thought Eric might refuse the toast, but instead his eyes darkened and he whispered something in Norse and then more strongly in English, "To Inga."

"To Memnon."

They drank together, both honouring a treasured father-daughter bond.