Mala signed quickly, and Renata lifted one hand, signing back while still holding Brooke with her other arm.
“No,” Brooke said, clearly understanding the silent conversation. “She’s from Los Angeles. She was only visiting in Istanbul when Damien met her. She’s not Turkish.”
Renata said, “I was thinking Persian, actually. Welcome to Sarihöfn, Ava.”
“Thanks.” She lowered her staff and stepped forward. “Your name is Renata?”
“Yes.” Renata eyed Mala. “Are they done for today?”
Mala shrugged, then signed something that seemed to indicate Brooke could go, because Renata turned and started toward the door with the girl still curled under one arm.
“I’ll see you later, Ava.”
“Bye!” Brooke called.
Ava lifted her hand in a wave, then started toward the bench where she’d left her jacket, only to be stopped by a staff across the belly. Groaning, she lifted her eyes to Mala.
“Let me guess. I’m not done yet.”
The corner of Mala’s mouth lifted, and Ava didn’t need to understand signing to read her expression.
Not even close.
She wanted nothing more than a bath and a bed by the time she finally made it back to the cottage. Mala had drilled her for another three hours after Renata had shown up and taken off with Brooke. Luckily, Ava was picking up some signs from Mala and communication was starting to get better. And so, despite her reservations, were her attacks. Mala was a patient teacher and seemed to understand instinctively where and how Ava was struggling. By the end of the session, she was parrying with a fair amount of success instead of simply fending off blows. And, if she’d read Mala’s signs correctly, the next week they were going to add daggers.
Ava liked daggers.
“Wash up,” Damien called from the kitchen. “I’m fixing tea and I’ll make you a snack.”
“Thanks, mom.”
“Then we’re going to a sing. There will be a dinner before at the house.” He glanced at her. “I’ll get you an ice pack, too. Do you need two?”
“A sing? What’s a sing?” She tried to sort through the barrage of information. “And yes. I probably need two.”
“I’ll get three. There’s hot water for your shower, but don’t take too long. I don’t want to be late.”
“What’s a sing, Damien?”
“It’s a ceremony. With singing.” Damien walked over and patted her head. “Hence, it’s called a sing.”
“You’re the only person I know who uses ‘hence’ in everyday conversation.”
“Aren’t you fortunate that you know me, then?” He waved toward the door, unusually chipper. “Go. I’ll get the tea going.”
“Why are you so happy?” Then it dawned on her. “Oh, this ‘sing’ is going to be at the main house, isn’t it? Sari’s house?”
“Yes.” A smile teased up the corner of his lip.
“And it’s like a party?”
“It is.”
“And you’re invited?”
“I am.”
“Ahhhhh.” Ava was smiling.
“What?”
“Damien’s making progress,” she sang.
“That’s enough.” He shoved her shoulder. “Go clean up. I don’t want to be late.”
“Mr. Cranky is gonna get some,” she sang some more, then ducked in her room after the kitchen towel smacked the back of her head. Ava slammed the door and yelled, “Maybe you won’t be Mr. Cranky after tonight!”
“You are childish and you stink. Take a shower, Ava.”
She gathered her things and went to the small bathroom, still smiling. Ignoring the tug in her heart. Ignoring the quick twist of pain at the thought of her friend’s happiness. Damien was a good friend. A good man. He deserved his happiness, even if she’d lost her own.
“I will not abandon you. I will not leave you. Ever.”
But you did leave me.
Would her heart ever stop bleeding?
She heard Damien banging cupboards in the kitchen, no doubt looking for the tea, which he could never seem to find. Maybe he would go to this party tonight and Sari would talk to him without scorn in her voice. Maybe they would make up. She could hope. The world didn’t stop just because she’d lost Malachi.
With that thought, Ava stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash away her tears.
Ava didn’t know quite what to expect from the party that night. She tried to imagine, but she kept coming up blank. Her lessons with Orsala had been minimal. The old woman had focused on teaching Ava the magic to block the soul voices from her mind. It was a simple spell, designed for a child to be able to master. Orsala had helped Ava create a door in her mind, and for the first time in her life, that door was slammed shut.
It had been a revelation. Salvation. At first, the voices stopped all together, but the door cracked open after an hour or so as voices tried to push through a familiar hall. The next time she spoke the words, the door stayed closed a little longer. Then a little longer. The first day that she heard little to no voices at all, Ava had shown up at Orsala’s door, almost weeping with relief.
Since then, the spell had become a mantra. The voices never disappeared entirely around other people—Orsala said they weren’t meant to—but a quick recitation of the words was enough to shut the door so the whispers were only murmurs that came from a great distance. Her tension headaches disappeared. Her agitation lessened. Now when Damien took her hand and squeezed it, she felt happy and content. There wasn’t the desperate relief she’d once needed just to get through the day.
And for that she was grateful. Because though the weeks with Malachi had been a profound blessing, Ava knew she would probably never take another mate. Orsala had told her she might eventually find another partner. It was more than acceptable for Irin and Irina who had lost a mate to find love again. But Ava had a hard time imagining settling for anything less than what she and Malachi had once had, even if it had been brief. It was more than love. He was her soul mate. She didn’t want another.
And if she looked forward to sleep a little more than normal, well, that was understandable. There was comfort in dreaming of him, even if the waking reality tore her heart.
“Are you sure this shirt is acceptable?” Damien tugged at a brown shirt that brought out the color of his dark eyes. Ava had suggested it instead of the dull black button-down he’d been about to put on. They were walking to the main house, and Damien was as nervous as a teenager on his first date.
“Yes. Stop fussing.”
“I feel like I should have shaved.”
Ava rolled her eyes. “Will you stop? The beard looks good. She likes it. Trust me.”
“How do you know?”
“Do you seriously not pick up on the ‘I want to lick you’ looks that woman sends your way every time you’re in the room?”
“I…” Damien blinked rapidly. “No. Mostly I’m trying to not irritate her.”
“You need to irritate her more, not less.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever.”
“Sari’s a busy girl, and she’s filed you away under ‘things I’ll deal with later.’ You need to make her deal with you now. I’d suggest pissing her off. Like you said, she hates you the same way she loves you. The love is there, Damien. You guys just have to sort out your shit.”
He halted, forcing Ava to stop next to him when he held on to her arm. “I tried to rush her once. I tried to push past her grief before she was ready. And it caused more harm than good. I don’t want to do that again. I can be patient for her.”