For all she claimed to share with his father, Gabriel knew she had not been exposed to the truth. Whatever she had learned, either from his mother or from Corona, was likely only half-truth. In those last months his father had been mad and spoke in riddles, a murderous thing that Gabriel feared. He saw parts of the dead man in his children; each time Ezekiel shot his bow, and each time Talitha showed more of her talent. Heaven help them if that madness came, for it had turned his father into something terrible.
She seemed pleased with the thought of taking his name, and Gabriel was glad for it. Anything to keep her content. It was the least he could do, after everything she suffered, and everything she continued to suffer for her own pride. “It’s very pretty,” he told her genuinely, appreciating the craftsmanship she had put into it. Having once been capable of such things himself, seeing artistry always satisfied him. “We can hang it up here. I’m coming home as soon as Enkiel allows it,” he added, grimacing at the thought of his shoulder. “Not really a fan of that open space. Scintilla was a lot of open space, and that never felt safe."
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