“That doesn't mean I don't love you.”
“Brother.” David stood in the doorway, his eyes dark, his shoulders so straight I almost didn't recognise him as my husband.
Jason stood up. “David. Impeccable timing.”
“Yes, perfect, I’d say.” He walked slowly into the room. “I don't know what you think is acceptable, brother, but confessing any feelings toward my wife is crossing the line.”
“Of course.” Jason bowed his head, turned back and smiled softly at me, then left, offering David a scowl as he passed.
“David?” I said, slapping the covers.
He dropped his shoulders, a smile breaking out across his stone mask. “Did you see the look on his face?”
“Yes. That was mean.”
He sprung up on the bed, letting his human weight jiggle it a bit, and wrapped both arms around me, sweeping me into his chest. “I know. But it was funny.”
“I don't think he found it funny.”
“I didn't find it very funny that he was sitting by your bed, confessing his love for you.”
“Oh, come on, David. You know how he feels.”
“Yes,” he said into my brow, kissing me after. “And I know you are too careful of people’s emotions to tell him that’s inappropriate.”
“I do tell him that.”
He kissed my head again. “I'm sure you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I sat up a little, wincing at the dull ache in my hip.
“I mean—” He rolled me onto my back and lifted my top, his face hovering just above my waist. “I don't believe his affections are one-sided.”
My heart stopped. “Why would you think that?”
He smiled down at my skin, tracing a line over it. “Perhaps I know you better than you think.”
“Ouch.” I rolled up a little and looked down. “Why did you pinch me?”
“Did you ever suffer from eczema as a child?”
I frowned, thinking. “Yes. When Mum used certain laundry detergents.”
He nodded. “I might go speak to housekeeping.”
“Why?”
“You have a mild rash coming up.” He lifted my top a little more, showing the red, raised rash on my hip, just below my underwear.
I placed my fingertips to it; it was hot. “Do immortals get eczema?”
He laughed, pulling my top back down. “Guess they do.”
“It’s itchy.”
“It’s only itchy because you know it’s there. It wasn't bothering you a second ago.”
“It hurt a second ago.”
“No.” He sat back on the pillows, his arms behind his head. “That was your bone. Your hip was completely shattered, Ara. You’re still healing.”
“Ouch.” I rubbed my hip. “So, who fixed me up?”
“Arthur, Morgaine and I.”
“What did you do—just pour blood down my throat?”
“We actually administered it intravenously. We had to stitch you up, too. You just kept bleeding everywhere once we got your heart started again.”
“It stopped?”
His chest sunk, his belly no longer moving with his gentle breath. “You were dead, my love. Completely dead. Your soul left your body.”
“Really?” I sat up, crossing my legs under me.
He nodded. “And we learned something new about your kind from that.”
“What?”
“That you can not only die from having your head chopped off and kept off, nor just from having your heart removed, but if your soul leaves your body—even if it’s perfectly intact, you will slowly decompose and become, essentially, dead.”
“Like, until my soul goes back in my body or something?”
“Right. See, if your body is taken apart, your soul cannot re-enter, but, you, my love, have this magic talent where you can choose to leave your body—almost like your soul isn't tethered to this form. But if you stay out too long, you die.”
“And, if I did die from staying out too long, can I ever go back in my body?”
He swallowed. “I'm not sure.”
“Well, how long does it take me to die?”
“Arthur thinks it’s about twenty-four hours or so.”
“So, how do you know my soul left my body?”
“Because we saw it.”
“Huh?”
“You stood right there like some freaky ghost, haunting us.”
I looked at where he pointed to the foot of my bed. “I did?”
“Uh-hu.” He tucked his hand back behind his head. “I actually think you can do it on command. In fact, I think you’ve done it before.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You always disappear from your own head. A part of me wonders if you might actually be gone—maybe you have no recollection of it when you return.”
I looked down at the backs of my hands, then my wrists and up the length of my arms. “I remember a dream I had once—where I felt my soul pull away from my own body, and when I looked back, I was watching myself sleep.”
“Exactly.”
I nodded. “Wow. I might try to do that a little more often.”
“No.” He grabbed my wrist, his eyes wide. “Don't. We weren’t sure you were going to come back.”
“I’ll always come back.” I slid my wrist through his grasp until my hand fell into his. “As long as I have you to come back to.”
His fingers closed around mine. “And what if you didn't? What if, say…Drake killed me—what then?”
“Then I’d kill myself and come after you.”
“What if you had a child to care for—our child?”
I thought about that for a second. “I…”
He smiled, looking off to the wall across the room. “Good thing we don’t have to worry about that, right?”
“Yeah,” I said shakily and laid on his chest, stuttering a little as I noticed my wedding ring—back in place. I wondered if Jason had given it to David—told him he took it off me, or if he just slipped it on when no one was looking. “Sure is,” I finished.
Emily skipped into the throne room and held up her mobile phone.
“What?” I frowned at her.
She pointed dramatically to it, mouthing some word with a round sound between two short mm’s.
“M…m…Mum?” I jumped up off my throne. “Is that Vicki?”
She nodded.