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Chapter Text

Fenna of Mistward glanced at her bare side in the mirror and scrunched her mouth to one corner. Three months, and it was still there. That jagged bit of flesh, slightly darker than the rest of her. The wound didn’t pull anymore. It had long since stopped reopening when she pushed herself too hard.

  But the scar remained.

  Sighing, Fenna shook her head and walked toward the bed. Picking up her dress, she slipped it over her head, never minding the bits of cat hair that seemed to naturally stick to it. Of course, having the fortress cat sleep with you most nights didn’t help in that situation.

  Laying on the bed closer to her pillows, His Majesty rolled over and stared at her upside down.

  What do you expect me to do about it? It’s not like you can control when and where you shed, either.

  No, in fact, some of those hairs were a bit longer even than his. Sighing again, Fenna plucked off the ones she could see. Working in a kitchen meant that cat hair – or demi-fae hair – was not a good thing to have on you at any time.

  Glancing back at the mirror, Fenna ran a hand over the scar, now covered by dusty rose fabric. She didn’t mind having it. It was a reminder on some days that she had had an adventure, that there were people called the Berellans out there and that they had liberated her fortress from death and worse.

  A reminder that everyone she’d met – Berellans and others – still existed. Some days, that reminder hurt more than helped, but most days it was a comfort.

  Turning away from her reflection, Fenna placed her hands firmly on her hips and peered down at His Majesty. “Well, what do you think?” she asked. “Will I do?”

  He eyed her with what she could have sworn was distaste.

  You’re going to work. In the kitchens. Like you do every day. Does how you look matter?

  No, in fact, it did not. Reaching out, she scooped him off the bed and started for the door. He yowled, but didn’t struggle.

  “Come on. You know you can’t stay here while I’m gone. You’ll be starving later if you do, and I don’t want to find another of your ‘presents’ on my bed.”

  She didn’t know who would appreciate that less – her, or Edwina, who’d have to wash the sheets. It was a question she didn’t find necessary to answer.

“You’re a natural at this, you know?”

  Fenna smiled as Aludra looked up from her task, cheeks flushed the same color as Fenna’s dress.

  “Thanks,” she said, continuing to roll out the dough for kneading. “I’ve never had much experience cooking for a whole fortress full of people, but I always enjoyed it… before.”

  For a moment, the mood in the kitchen turned bleak. As it always did whenever one of them brought up their childhood – their home. Even before the village had been destroyed in the fall, Fenna had sometimes forgotten it was real, as well. Like the scar on her side, Aludra served as a reminder it had been.

  Things became light again, however, when Aludra frowned and smirked. “I’ve only been baking bread for these soldiers for a few months, and you’ve been doing it for years. How is it that your arm is still about the size of my wrist?”

  “Don’t be fooled,” Emrys muttered from where he monitored a steaming pot of rabbit stew. “I don’t know how she does it, but she’s hiding muscles somewhere in there, you mark my words.”

  Aludra laughed, and Fenna smiled contentedly. It pleased her how well her friend had fit into the little kitchen family here at Mistward. Granted, she would have been pleased that she could stay at all. But her ease with Emrys and Luca was an added blessing.

  Speaking of Luca…

  “Fen, did you want the two-leafed variety or the three-leafed one?” Kicking the door shut behind him, Luca entered the kitchen, his basket full of herbs and face seared by a concentrated frown.

  Going to him and peering into the basket, Fenna smirked.

  “You’ve got both, so I don’t see why it should matter,” she said. “Besides, they all taste the same, anyway.”

  “Quantity, Fenna,” Emrys reminded, even as his brow furrowed over his masterpiece of a stew. “Quantity is the key. You’d have to chop up less of the three-leafed variety. Two pinches of three will taste just as strong as five pinches of two.”

  “I can manage, Emrys,” she said, taking the basket from Luca and thanking him before beginning to chop. “How many pinches are you thinking, generally?”

  “For everyone? Ten, probably.”

  Retrieving the proper knife for herb dicing, she nodded. “Ten pinches worth of herbs, coming right up.”

  There was a rhythm to days here, Fenna realized. She hadn’t noticed it all that much before. Well, she’d recognized the rhythm itself, but not that there was one. It had been normal, usual. Even her days back in the village had had a rhythm to them. But when she’d been traveling with the blood-sworn this winter, yes, there had been a rhythm, but it might be interrupted any moment. Life on the road was always changing, unpredictable.

  Life here was steady, sound. She was glad of it.

  “Where’s the oregano?” Emrys muttered, turning around glancing about the kitchen.

  Fluidly setting her knife down and reaching over, Fenna handed the bowl across to him. “Right where you left it.”

  “Ah.” The elderly kitchenmaster shook his head and smiled ruefully. “I blame it on age.”

  Predictable. Constant. Day in and day out.

  “There was a dignitary from Doranelle at Malakai’s office when I stopped there earlier,” Luca said, out of nowhere.

  Fenna’s knife stilled. All right, maybe not so predictable.

  “I thought they might be one of yours, Fenna,” he went on.

  If she did, and they’d left without at least stopping in at the kitchens, she’d march straight after them and kick them back to Doranelle.

  “Male?” she asked.

  Luca snorted. “Obviously. There’s no female blood-sworn at the moment, Fen. You didn’t meet anyone else, did you?”

  “All right, fine. You’re right. Go on. Dark hair?”

  “No. Gold.”

  That was promising. Fenna tried to tamp down her bit of excitement. “What else can you tell me?”

  “If I tell you I noticed his eyes were blue, would you find me disturbingly observant?”

  “Yes,” Emrys muttered.

  “No,” Aludra said.

  “Maybe,” Fenna finished, pinching the last of the herbs into another bowl and handing it to Emrys. She tried to tamp down her disappointment. Not one of hers, as Luca had taken to referring to the blood-sworn. Blue eyes, not dark or golden. Hoping it didn’t show, she turned back to Luca, arms folded over her chest.

  “But to answer your question, that’s not one that I know.” And as such, she’d be perfectly content with them staying as far away from the kitchens as possible.

  “Hmm.” Luca continued washing the dishes as Emrys handed them back. “I wonder what he was doing here, then.”

  “It’s not common for messengers from Doranelle to show up here, is it?” Aludra asked, frowning. Fenna took a moment to admire the dexterity with which she manipulated the bread. All right, Aludra put on muscle easier than she did. The strength her arms were gaining was clear.

  “No,” Emrys said, turning away from the stew – done for now. His frown was back. “Not for a long while. But they’ve been oddly common lately.” His eyes settled on Fenna. “It can’t be coincidence.”

  Fenna didn’t know why he was looking at her. It wasn’t as though she’d asked to be at the center of so much change in the land.

  Hoping to distract herself, Fenna glanced over her shoulder, out the window. Her garden was back to normal again. She’d begun work on it almost as soon as she’d gotten home, and now, in the third month of the year, it was thriving. Even more than most gardens were at this point. The little moonlace bush stood at the back of the patch, commonplace looking in the daylight.

  Fenna smirked. Few saw it at night, she imagined. She was sure she would have gotten more comments if someone had.

  The stew finished, the bread baked, and, like sand trickling through a glass, the soldiers started – predictably – to trickle in. As always, there were offers to help clean up after, and, as always, Emrys turned them down. There had been a time Fenna wished he wouldn’t. But now, with a fourth person in the kitchen, there was more than enough help. Too many more cleaning up might have gotten too crowded.

  But at least two stayed behind anyway, rather than filing into the mess hall with the others.

  The first of the stragglers to duck in, a tall, dark-eyed, lean-muscled young male with obvious Akkadian ancestry, glanced around and then smiled widely as his eyes fell on Aludra.

  “Hi, love,” he said, bending down and pecking her temple before starting to load his plate.

  “How was training?” Aludra asked, pausing in her work for a moment to just watch him.

  Sighing, Reuven scooted around Fenna toward the fresh rolls and said, “Oh, you know. The usual. Drillmaster’s a hard one this week.”

  “Hmm. I seem to recall my mate saying he was on drillmaster duty this week,” Emrys commented dryly.

  Shrugging, Reuven gave another good-natured smile. “Honesty’s gotten me this far, sir. I don’t see why I’d stop now.” He shrugged again and sat down at their table. “Besides, Malakai was busy today. Silenus filled in for him.”

  From what he’d said in previous weeks, Silenus was even worse.

  Fenna eyed Aludra as she went about her business, sneaking glances at Reuven and smiling to herself. Despite having expressed a desire at the beginning to move slow, they were going rather fast, Fenna thought. Then again, such it was, apparently, when you found your mate. And, considering the fact that their scents were beginning to entwine, Fenna had no reason to doubt Reuven had, in fact, guessed properly three months ago.

  He didn’t always eat with them – just every other day. Sometimes he went and joined his friends in the mess hall – and sometimes Aludra went with him. But he was a welcome addition to the kitchen family. Fenna smirked again as he addressed a comment to Emrys with the title “sir.”

  It just went to show how thoroughly Aludra had also been adopted. Malakai was still Malakai to Reuven, but Emrys was a firm sir.

  In private, Fenna and Luca had discussed how unnerving that was. But around the others, they let it slide.

  Malakai joined them a few moments later. He also crossed over and kissed his mate, but his smile was a bit more drawn than Reuven’s.

  Looking into his face, Emrys raised an eyebrow. “Luca says you had a visitor today. Anything concerning?”

  Shaking his head, Malakai glanced at the rest of them. “I’ll tell you all over dinner. Once you’re able to join us, anyway.”

  When every soldier had been through at least once, the rest of them drifted over to the table one by one.

  Fenna ignored the odd catch in her chest as Reuven almost involuntarily wrapped his arm around Aludra’s shoulders and turned to Luca.

  “Why does your girlfriend never join us for dinner?” she asked, elbowing his ribs.

  “I’ve told you. Lilah’s just a little shy of strangers.”

  “So am I,” Aludra put in, a corner of her mouth quirking up.

  Luca eyed her evenly. “Yes, but we’re not strangers anymore. Besides, you work here.”

  “Hmm.” Fenna could press the matter, but decided to leave it lie. She had more important things on her mind than whether Luca’s girlfriend was too proud to eat with the kitchen workers.

  Such as what still had that frown plastered on Malakai’s face.

  “So…?” Emrys asked, stirring his stew and looking as though he didn’t have the slightest intention of eating it until Malakai spoke.

  Sighing, Malakai also eased an arm around his mate and didn’t meet any of their gazes for a moment.

  “We’re apparently hosting someone of importance from Doranelle.”

  Fenna hated how many times her heart had stilled in the past few hours. But, unbidden, it paused again.

  “Who?” she asked.

  Malakai shook his head.

  “They didn’t say. Just to tell Edwina to have our best chamber prepared for them, no matter who she had to kick out.”

  Reuven snorted. “It’s not like Maeve herself is coming, is it?”

  Though he still looked pensive, Malakai at least echoed the snort. “Thank the gods, I think we’ll be able to avoid that visit at least for the rest of our lifetimes. They’re also planning on using my office as long as they’re here.”

  “How long are they going to be here, exactly?” Emrys asked, mentally tallying how much extra food they’d need to prepare. “And how many?”

  “They actually said to prepare two rooms, though the highest priority was the fine one. So at least two people.”

  Emrys frowned into his stew.

  “You should probably eat that,” Malakai commented, voice dry.

  Glaring at him, Emrys shoved it away. “I’m thinking. I can’t think and eat at the same time.”

  “Weird. Eating helps me think,” Luca said, lifting his spoon to his mouth.

  “No one’s shocked by that, love,” Fenna quipped.

  Ceasing to shovel stew in like a starving man, Luca did a passable imitation of Emrys’s glare.

  “You know, Aludra,” he said, not taking his eyes off Fenna, “before you showed up, she was the sweet one. Apparently there can’t be two.”

  That got a laugh out of everyone, even Malakai. But just as quickly, the mood dampened once again.

  “You’d think,” he said, “if it were someone we’d seen before… someone who was a friend, they’d tell us. You’d think, wouldn’t you?”

  Fenna wanted to reassure him that, whoever they were, they couldn’t be bringing too much trouble with them. But, considering the last time anyone from Doranelle had shown up at this fortress, she held her tongue.

  It wasn’t the way things should be, but there was a simple fact to the way things were: Whenever Fae and demi-fae mixed too often in this world, trouble tended to follow. And all too often, the demi-fae were the ones troubled the most.

Chapter Text

“Would you mind some company?”

  Brushing sweaty strands of hair off her forehead, Fenna glanced up from her salvia patch and smiled. Anastacia stood on the wall, Valeria on her hip and Lazaro pulling on her hand. A basket nestled into the crook of her elbow.

  “Not at all. Do you need some herbs?”

  Anastacia shook her head.

  “I was actually wondering if you’d mind watching Lazaro for me. We ran out of material at the shop and Shyah sent me to fetch some more. Lazaro behaves relatively well around the shop, but…” She eyed her son reproachfully. “Get him in the market and he might think differently.”

  Fenna didn’t think it was a bad thing Lazaro was growing a bit more boisterous, and she didn’t think Anastacia did, either. But her friend had a point. Especially since she was on a work errand – Fenna had the afternoon off and could always regrow anything Lazaro unearthed. He could learn to behave in the marketplace on his mother’s own time.

  “I can keep him for an hour or two,” she said, beckoning the boy forward.

  Grinning, he began to clamber over the garden wall but struggled to lift himself up onto it. With the hand he’d just dropped, his mother eased his lower half up into a sitting position.

  “Wait for Fenna,” she said when he began to slide toward the edge.

  Looking as though waiting for her was a horrific inconvenience, the little boy reached for Fenna expectantly.  

  “Thank you,” Anastacia said as Fenna lifted Lazaro down from the wall. “I suppose I should be glad he even feels comfortable misbehaving here.”

  “Well, good signs can have some side effects,” Fenna said, watching him bend down and peer at a cluster of snapdragons. She frowned. “I don’t want to keep you, but… has he started speaking yet?”

  Her lip catching between her teeth, Anastacia shook her head. Lazaro was three now – old enough to have begun speaking at least somewhat. But other than a few basic sounds, he was still largely non-verbal. It wasn’t entirely difficult to communicate with him. He gave every indication that he could understand what adults were saying – in both Akkadian and common.

  But to repeat it was an entirely different story.

  “I should go,” Anastacia said, brushing the conversation off as she always did. “I’ll be back in a half hour, hopefully.”

  “I can keep him longer, you know,” Fenna told her, a corner of her mouth quirking upward.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about,” Anastacia said, nodding toward her son and smiling ruefully. “It’s those snapdragons.” She frowned over the word, then smiled again when Fenna nodded. What little common she’d had left to learn was coming along nicely.

  Once Anastacia had left, Fenna turned back to find Lazaro stroking a delicate blossom. She shook her head. As it turned out, there was little to worry over. This child possessed an innate respect for natural things. She’d thought he might that night with the stag, on their way back to Mistward.

  Shoving away other memories that came with that thought, Fenna went to him and lifted him off the ground again.

  “Do you want to learn some more plants today, little one?”

  He nodded eagerly.

  Fenna had added a new section of the garden recently – plants with healing properties. Tyron had, of course, had a plot of his own to grow such things, though he’d take an extra sprig of lavender or two from the gardens if he ran out. But he’d come up to her a month after she’d gotten home and asked her to implement them into her garden.

  “I just haven’t the time to tend them like I should and… well, things grow better in your garden, Fenna,” he’d said. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  She hadn’t minded. Contributing more to the hospital wing here was something she’d been looking to do for a long while. She’d always had an interest in the herbal part of healing but didn’t think she had the stomach for the rest of it.

  Not to mention the magic.

  Gritting her teeth, Fenna set Lazaro down beside her and shoved away yet more memories – and the phantom warm sting in her side. She pointed to the bell-shaped purple blossoms.

  “Do you know what this one is called?”

  If he did, he wouldn’t answer, of course. But he shook his head no, and she smiled at him again.

  “Well, that’s perfectly all right. This one is called salvia. It stops inflamm – “ She frowned, searching for a simpler word. “It stops swelling and fevers. It’s also got some pain-killing properties, but not enough to be entirely useful in that area. No, for that…” She pointed to another row. “We’ve got lavender. So if you’ve ever got a headache or a sore ankle, tell your mama to bring you down to the kitchen and have Fenna brew you some lavender tea, all right?”

  A breeze wafted past, and Lazaro sniffed at the lavender on it, then pointed to Fenna, grinning.

  She smiled back. “Ah, yes. That’s familiar, isn’t it?”

  Another garden, another life came back to her. Fenna sighed. She really needed to stop dredging up memories today. Lifting him to her hip, she moved around to the next row.

  “This is called hibiscus,” she said. “Now this isn’t something that grows commonly here on this continent – you’d have to find it on the Southern Continent naturally. But it goes for a pretty high price on the other continents. So I grow it here. It’s less expensive that way.”

  He seemed to be growing bored of the herbs. Not that she blamed him – and she honestly didn’t know how much he retained from visit to visit. He was only three, after all. But he pointed to the moonlace bush, and she caught a knowing gleam in his eye. That was his favorite one to hear about.

  And not helpful in her quest to avoid memories.

  “That comes from the Southern Continent, too,” she said, poking him in the stomach. “You’d think you’d know that by now.”

  He giggled, likely more from the gesture than anything else.

  “People plant it over the graves of their loved ones who’ve passed on,” she said. “And yes, it still glows in the dark. One of these days when you’re older and can stay up later, I’ll show you.”

  They walked around the garden for a few moments longer, and Fenna went over whatever plant he pointed to. He had more of an interest in the pretty ones, she noted. Good. She liked them better, too. A watermelon may feed your body, but a beautifully wild rosebush could feed your soul. Or a beautifully kept one. She had some of each in this garden.

  Lazaro looked her in the eyes and touched her forehead. Fenna sighed. That was his sign that he wanted to see her magic in action, developed in all the hours of his mother questioning her. She half-smirked at him.

  “All right. For you, since you’ve been so patient with me.”

  Extending her hand toward the earth, palm up, she drew it upward. Tiny white flowers grew along the path.

  He pointed to them, nodding at her.

  “Those are called…” Fenna’s voice faltered. When she spoke again, it was flat with irritation. “Spring lilies.”

  Only the last time she’d grown them, it had been the onset of winter.

  And certainly not a small child who appreciated them.

  “All right. That’s enough lessons for one day,” she said, setting him down. “You can go play now. Just don’t eat anything.”

  Lazaro ran off toward the salvia blooms, and Fenna fully expected to find purple petals scattered everywhere. It was a good thing regrowing herbs that reached a foot high at most was a relatively simple thing. She didn’t mind it. Children were meant to explore. It was just fortunate it wouldn’t require much of her magic to fix.

  Keeping a close eye on him, Fenna placed a hand on her side, feeling the bumpy flesh under her dress, and glanced briefly over her shoulder. Toward the east.

  Toward Doranelle.

  She could never be sure with her memories, but sometimes she couldn’t separate them from dreams. And though, all things considered, it had been a relatively short amount of time, she relied on that scar to prove to her what memories could not.

  It had happened. All of it.

  She’d never labored under the delusion that she’d forget the blood-sworn, any of them. Traveling with living legends for a month wasn’t exactly a forgettable experience. But she hadn’t expected to miss them quite as much as she did.

  Some of them, anyway. She supposed saying she missed Lorcan Salvaterre and Prince Rowan Whitethorn was a bit of a stretch. But the others… oh, yes.

  There were days that phantom warm sting in her side hurt more than the wound itself had.

  It had been real. All of it. They had been real.

  The Berellans were real, as well. With such a large society as they had, Fenna wondered how they maintained the myth as well as they did. She hadn’t thought to ask – she’d had other things on her mind. Vaughan probably did. But the last time Fenna had seen him was when they’d departed the Berellan capital city and left him behind, so she couldn’t very well ask him, could she? She wondered how his wounds fared.

  This was absurd. Memories were going to get her nowhere. They never had in the past.

  And, one way or another, her true memories rested with someone else. Whether that was in the Berellan capital or somewhere else, she’d no idea.

  “Prrrowww.”

  Fenna didn’t so much as flinch when His Majesty hopped up on the wall beside her.

  “Afternoon.”

  Hearing her speak, Lazaro looked up and his face erupted in a grin. He’d been vaguely respectful of the plants thus far, but in his eagerness to get at the cat, he crushed several spring lilies underfoot.

  Restraining her cringe, Fenna instead held the toddler back as His Majesty hissed and backed away. Lazaro loved the cat. It didn’t mean the cat returned the affection.

  “Oh, stop your fussing,” she snipped at His Majesty. “I’ve got a hold on him.” She glanced down at Lazaro and said firmly, “I can get him to calm down. But you must be gentle when you pet him. Do you understand?”

  The boy nodded solemnly, eyes trained on the cat. As if to demonstrate his obedience, he patted Fenna’s arm, fingers barely touching her.

  Fenna didn’t like compelling animals unless safety was on the line. The experience with the stag in the woods had been an instance of security, just as much as anything else. Someday, Lazaro might understand that. But for now, her magic was merely an entertainment to him. A fascination.

  She could, however, calm His Majesty down one very, very specific way. Choosing a folk song of Wendlyn with bittersweet lyrics but a lighthearted tone, she sang. And the cat pranced.

  She didn’t know why he reacted the way he did, but he did. And she wasn’t going to question it. The child found the dancing cat delightful. Fenna continued until she got to the last bit of the song

Someday the timing will all come together
Mishaps will turn into sunny Decembers
The lovers will be able
To find their willow

  Fenna paused for a moment, not sure why her heart twinged the way it did.

I wouldn’t leave you
I would hold you
When the last day comes
What if you need me
Would you hold me
On our last day
The last day

  She fell into humming the melody as His Majesty stretched out beside and Lazaro reached out gingerly, stroking the cat’s brown fur.

  “You’re a miracle worker, Fen.”

  Jumping, Fenna turned to find Luca coming to sit on the wall beside her.

  “Magic and miracles are two entirely different things, Luca,” she said. “I only deal in one of them.”

  He waved her off.

  “You seem… distracted today,” he said. “Anything in particular wrong?”

  She loved him, the brother of her heart. But he liked concrete answers when something was wrong, and while he would listen to her wax poetic about emotions she wasn’t even sure how to name, he wouldn’t understand it. But he’d try.

  And when it came to memories – lost or held – Fenna needed someone who could understand, or who wouldn’t want to try if they couldn’t. The latter usually listened better.

  “Malakai says the Doranelle dignitary is coming today,” she said, sliding her arms around Lazaro, who’d forgotten the cat as soon as Luca had appeared. He clung to her, tiny head resting against her shoulder, face buried in her neck, as though hiding.

  Fenna’s heart twisted. If only she could convince him this male was not like the others he had known. But it would be pointless. Mother’s sake, he was still scared of Emrys.

  Luca’s narrowed eyes said he didn’t believe that was what was on her mind, not for a minute. But he’d let it slide.

  “Though when, of course, is up in the air,” he said. “The high and mightys like to drop in, don’t they?”

  “Well, Emrys and Malakai have already vacated their room,” Fenna said, lifting His Majesty into her lap and trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. “There’s not much else we can do to prepare, is there?”

  Luca shook his head. “Bitterness isn’t a good look on you, Fen.”

  She knew it wasn’t. But she found herself unable to help it today. As fortress commander, Malakai was afforded certain privileges. One of those was he and his mate got relatively decent quarters.

  An unfortunate drawback was that those quarters could also pass as the best Mistward had to offer. In truth, they were on par with a few other rooms, but they all belonged to families. Emrys and Malakai had relocated temporarily.

  Considering the fact that they’d said “kick out whoever you have to,” Fenna doubted the dignitary would ever even know whose rooms they had.

  “Maybe you’ll know whoever it is,” Luca said.

  Fenna shook her head. “It’s not likely.”

  That much was true. Even the less personable of the blood-sworn wouldn’t demand the best rooms no matter what the cost. She’d seen that when Rowan and Fenrys had stayed during their patrol. No, it likely wasn’t any of the blood-sworn.

  So, who? And why? The question continued to niggle at her.

  “They’ll apparently be here a few months,” Luca went on. “You think Emrys and Malakai will be in a room meant for one that whole time.”

  “More than likely,” Fenna said, kicking at a leaf by her foot. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Lazaro. “Lazaro! Don’t eat that, please.”

  For all the polite words, she’d apparently been firm enough. He left the rather poisonous buttercups behind and turned to begin dismantling a daisy.

  “All I know is, I hope they aren’t planning on eating with the soldiers,” Luca said. “Can you imagine how tense that would be? A lone Fae, sitting at a single table, surrounded by a bunch of trembling – “

  “Fenna!”

  Both of them whirled at the strident sound of Malakai’s voice. Fenna frowned. He hadn’t looked exactly pleased in the past few days, but this was possible the most strained he’d been yet. Crossing to them, he gave Luca a cursory glance before turning back to her.

  “You need to come. Immediately,” he said.

  Casting a glance at Lazaro, Fenna said, “Can it wait a moment?”

  Following her gaze, the set of Malakai’s jaw said he understood, even if his words didn’t. “It can’t. Not this time.”

  Fenna glanced over at Luca. He nodded.

  “I’ll watch him,” he said. “I’ll try to keep him from eating anything poisonous. Emrys and Aludra are fine for a bit longer.”

  Fenna nodded gratefully, turning to the boy.

  “Lazaro,” she called. “Luca’s going to watch you until your mother gets back. You like Luca, don’t you?”

  Looking from Fenna to Luca and back, the toddler apparently decided that was an acceptable turn of events and went back to decimating Fenna’s daffodils.

  Setting His Majesty aside – away from Luca, of course – and pushing up off the wall, Fenna followed Malakai.

  “What’s this about?” she asked. For him to call her away from watching Lazaro, it must be serious.

  “The party from Doranelle is here,” he said, jaw still taut.

  Taking two steps for every one of his, Fenna frowned. All right. What did that have to do with her? Perhaps it was someone she knew. The thought wasn’t exactly comforting – not with the look on Malakai’s face.

  “And you need me to… show them the fortress?” After all, she had done that rather successfully the first time Rowan had shown up.

  He shook his head. “Believe me, if it were up to me, you’d be left out of it. But… she apparently requires an attendant while she’s here and asked for you personally.”

  That was also unexpected. Fenna nodded.

  “Why me?”

  “I’ve no idea. No idea how she knows you, either.”

  There was something in the way he said “she”… Fenna’s frown deepened.

  “She’ll need me for the whole few months?”

  He shook his head again. “No, just the first few days. She’ll be leaving after that.”

  “But I thought – “

  “Fenna,” he said. “Trust me. Don’t ask questions. You will be better off – we’ll all be better off.”

  She knew she asked lots of questions. But Malakai, of everyone she knew, had never told her to stop before. A coil of fear writhed in Fenna’s gut.

  “Malakai. Who is it?”

  His jaw simply tightened, and he remained silent.

  They reached the training compound. Crossed to his office. Malakai positioned himself squarely in front of Fenna and set his door on the handle before turning back to her and leaning down.

  “It’s not likely that she’ll try… anything on you,” he muttered. “But if she does, tell me. I will not hesitate to do something about it, for good or ill.”

  Wondering what on earth that meant, Fenna swallowed and nodded. He was being oddly cryptic. It wasn’t a good “look” on him, as Luca would have said.

  Stepping in the door in front of her, Malakai inclined his head to whoever now occupied his desk.

  “Majesty,” he muttered.

  Fenna didn’t even have time to register that his tone made the word sound like the worst profanity ever uttered. Her mouth went dry.

  Seated at Malakai’s desk, long, pale fingers drumming on the scarred wood and looking as though she owned the place, sat a female Fenna had never seen but would know anywhere, even if Malakai hadn’t just spoken her title.

  Maeve, Queen of the Fae, smiled at her, and for all the world, it reminded Fenna of a viper.

  “So,” she said. “This is our little diplomat.”

Chapter Text

Fenna stood, frozen, in the doorway. The Queen of the Fae stared back.

  Maeve seemed amused. Her spider’s smile remained on her face as she beckoned Fenna forward with long, elegant fingers.

  “Come closer, child,” she said. “I won’t bite.”

  For many, many reasons, Fenna doubted that. But she took a few steps further into the room, still keeping a good distance between herself and the desk.

  Maeve’s dark eyebrows arched perfectly.

  “Far enough, then,” she said.

  Only then did Fenna notice the other presence in the room. A dark-haired, dark-eyed male with a shrewd gaze who resembled… She blinked.

  He looked exactly like Fenrys.

  Catching her looking, the male frowned at her. What are you looking at?

  “I suppose you can hear me just as well from there as you could if you were closer.” Maeve looked to Malakai, who had been standing off to the side, a veritable rock, eyes narrowed. “There are things I wish to discuss without your resident watch dog, however.”

  Fenna bit back the urge to ask the queen about her watchdog. If he was who she thought he was, that description might be a bit too literal.

  Malakai stiffened. His eyes flicked from Fenna to the queen. But what else could he do? Fenna nodded at him, signaling to go. She didn’t know what Maeve’s common punishment for defiance was, but she was willing to bet it wasn’t good.

  Even stiffer than before, Malakai inclined his head and stepped outside.

  Maeve smirked.

  “Of course, he’s standing just outside the door,” she said. At Fenna’s widened eyes, her smile grew. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I haven’t lived as long as I have without picking up a few…extra senses.” Her violet eyes rested on the oak door. “It would seem you command the loyalty of everyone who comes into contact with you. Including my blood-sworn.”

  Fenna hoped her pulse wasn’t visible in her throat.

  “Are you always this quiet?” Maeve’s gaze swept from the door to Fenna now, looking amused again. “I wish to hear your voice, girl. Speak. Tell me – were my soldiers satisfactory to your needs this winter?”

  There was almost something… suggestive in the way she said it. Fenna frowned but nodded. Then, realizing she hadn’t fulfilled the other part of Maeve’s command, she cleared her throat.

  “More than satisfactory, your Majesty.”

  “Hmm,” was all Maeve said to that. She rose, and Fenna forced her knees to stop knocking. The male’s face remained impassive.

  “Don’t mistake my words. None of them speak of you. They’re far too smart for that.” Coming around the desk, Maeve’s eyes managed to narrow without even the slightest wrinkling of her brow. “Which tells me all I need to know, of course. You bewitched them this winter.”

  Fenna willed her voice to sound steady. “How do you mean, Majesty?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t pretend to know. But the fact that they say nothing means that they fear for you. Fear what I might use you for, if they knew of their attachment to you.” That smirk grew. “Of course, I presume you might be more useful in that area with some than others.” Reaching out, Maeve grasped Fenna’s chin and tilted upward, studying her face. “Pretty enough, aren’t you?”

  She had no idea what the Fae queen meant, but she was also fairly certain she was going to lose her mind if she didn’t let go.

  “I’m still not sure to what you’re referring,” Fenna said, glancing pointedly at Maeve’s thin, pale hand.

  Unexpectedly, Maeve actually removed it and walked back behind the desk. Her sentinel’s shoulders seemed to relax.

  “What I mean is of little consequence. I’ve no intention of dragging you away from your fortress again any time soon, child. And my purpose for being here has…” Her brow did wrinkle this time, even as the amused look didn’t leave her face. She seemed to search for the right words. “…Little to do with you.”

  All right. There had to be a double meaning in that somewhere. But Fenna had the feeling trying to ferret it out now and distracting herself from the dark female in front of her was a bad idea. She needed to focus. Remember every word.

  Words mattered with Maeve, if she remembered Gavriel’s words correctly. Even if you weren’t blood-sworn to her, listening carefully was a good move.

  “My reasons for being here are of no concern to you,” Maeve went on. “But they are sensitive enough that I could bring none of my usual retinue.”

  “And what of him?” Fenna nodded toward the male, whose eyes only narrowed.

  Maeve’s smirk turned positively wicked. “Connall is not my usual retinue,” she said, confirming Fenna’s suspicions as to his identity. “In fact, I think he welcomed the opportunity to get out of Doranelle. Didn’t you?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Connall, who simply swept a derisive glance over the office.

  “This hardly seems worth it, Majesty.” 

  Fenna’s teeth ground. His twin hadn’t exactly been impressed with Mistward, but he hadn’t been rude about it. Intentionally, anyway.

  “As I said,” Maeve went on, “my purpose in being here is sensitive. And I assure you, Connall doesn’t bite.” Her sharp canines flashed. “Unless I tell him to.”

  Fenna had never before wished for the normal Fae fangs, but she thought now that having them might put her on an equal playing field. Or almost. It would likely take a lot to put her on an equal playing field with Maeve.

  “Which brings me to my purpose in summoning you. Until I leave, I find myself in need of an attendant. And you seem as though you’ll do quite nicely.”

  Swallowing, Fenna held the Fae Queen’s gaze. “And what sort of… duties do you envision for me, Majesty?”

  Again, Maeve seemed amused.

  “Fear not. Nothing similar to… certain things you may have heard.” Her mouth quirked half-up as her eyes, once again, flicked in Connall’s direction. “You are not my type, child. I’m thinking more of a… companion. If you will. Eyes and ears for me around the fortress. Someone who can give me an idea of how this particular facet of my kingdom feels about my rule.”

  Fenna could tell her that without any “attending” whatsoever. But something told her flattery and lies were best to her advantage in this situation – distasteful though they may be.

  “It will, of course, deprive whoever normally supervises you of your… talents… for a while.” Those perfect black brows arched once again. “But it will only be for a few days. I’m sure they’ll live with it.”

  As though they had any choice. Fenna nodded.

  “What – what will you be needing first?”

  Maeve flicked her eyes at the door. “Bring your glaring friend back in.”

  Wondering why Malakai was suddenly needed now, Fenna went to the door and rapped on it.

  Malakai ducked back inside, eyes searching her face first before looking back to Maeve.

  “I require a guard outside my door at all times,” Maeve said. “Starting now. No more than two soldiers should be necessary. Switch them whenever you like, but preferably when I won’t see. It’s too troublesome to keep track of who is coming and when, and from where. I trust,” her expression didn’t change, but her tone took on an entirely different meaning, “that there will be no tampering with… the safety of my stay here?”

  Wisely, Malakai shook his head. “Of course not, Majesty.”

  “Good. Especially since I will be keeping Fenna at my side at all times,” Maeve said, standing once again and crossing to take Fenna’s arm. The gesture was casual enough, but Fenna grit her teeth against the force of the queen’s grip. “Between her and Connall, I trust said guards won’t try anything. Accidents happen, you understand.”

  His jaw so tight it might snap, Malakai nodded again. “Understood.”

  “Come, Fenna,” Maeve said. “I assume you know where my chambers will be, since you seem so close to the commander here.”

  Following the Fae Queen out the door, Connall at their heels, Fenna’s head spun. She wasn’t certain how she’d survive a few days of serving Maeve. She had no idea how the blood-sworn made it through centuries of it.

The first night passed without incident. In an oddly considerate gesture, Maeve had had a pallet brought in for Fenna to sleep at the foot of her bed. It wasn’t a bed, certainly, but it was better than the hard, cold floor. Fenna wasn’t fooled, however.

  She hadn’t slept a second.

  The whole morning, Maeve had proven full of questions. About Mistward, mostly. If Fenna felt she could answer them honestly, she did. If not, she developed the ability to lie very well, very quickly. It hadn’t ever been a talent she’d possessed before, but she’d never felt like the fate of her home could depend on it, either.

  She’d had questions of her own, of course. When she’d felt Maeve was in a good enough mood to answer them.

  “Are you… concerned with the fortress’s upkeep, Majesty?” she’d asked.

  Maeve’s eyes had narrowed, and Fenna thought she’d better stick to false statements and leave pointed questions alone.

  “My purpose here is far more sensitive than anything so trivial as building fortifications,” the queen had replied, and Fenna had decided firmly against any more inquiries.

  After a morning of nothing but questions about Mistward, however, she wasn’t so sure how much longer she could keep spewing believable falsehood after believable falsehood. She’d been informed Maeve’s visit ended the next morning, and she thought she might swear a vow against anything but the truth for a good long while.

  Or take a vow of silence, thus having a convenient excuse against answering pointed, dangerous questions.

  Now, mid-afternoon, the shuffling of feet as the guards changed rang even inside the room. Which, Fenna noted, they hadn’t left in twenty-four hours. Maeve glared distastefully at the door.

  “Are all the walls so thin?” she growled.

  Fenna resisted the urge to remind her that she’d ousted Emrys and Malakai from this room, therefore one might think she’d be grateful. Something told her no one had ever reminded the Fae Queen to be grateful for anything.

  Just until tomorrow, just until tomorrow, just hold out until tomorrow…

  The door opened, and Fenna glanced up to find Luca slipping in, a pair of tea trays balanced in his arms. Fenna flinched as they tottered precariously. Aludra had better balance, therefore might have been the better choice, but Emrys so far had only sent himself or Luca to deliver meals. It had only been this morning Fenna had figured out why.

  Maeve likely didn’t know there was a human at Mistward. And it was best she didn’t find out.

  Keeping his eyes downcast – with the exception of a brief glance at Fenna, Luca righted himself and set the trays on the small, round table at which Maeve and Fenna sat. “Majesty,” he muttered in acknowledgement.

  Maeve didn’t give him anything resembling the same courtesy, and Fenna bit her tongue – again. She wondered if Maeve had any idea this boy was trying to get into Doranelle. Trying to prove himself worthy of her precious city. Somehow, she doubted it.

  And doubted Maeve would care, even if he did gain entrance.

  Connall, leaning against the wall behind Maeve, gave Luca a cursory nod, but that was about it. Any time anyone other than Fenna had come into the room, he’d seemed to be doing his best not to look at them. Not to acknowledge them beyond what was necessary. Fenna remembered the questions Fenrys had had for her when he’d first come to Mistward this fall. What does a demi-fae do? What’s living in a fortress full of them like? Questions voiced ignorantly, but not maliciously. Not with malicious intent, anyway.

  She got the impression Connall was too smart to ask any of them, but wondered whether that same ignorance took a different form in him. Either way, she’d avoided speaking to him about as much as he avoided speaking to anyone else.

  Fenna eyed Maeve – discreetly, of course. It seemed so odd, the Queen of the Fae sitting at a wooden table in a fortress. She belonged in a throne room. Not the throne room Fenna imagined she’d have in Doranelle, however. No, something was thoroughly off about the queen. A Fae Queen should belong in an ethereal setting with harp music in the background and soft light from the setting sun. Maeve, however, would be more at home on a throne made of obsidian, and a throne room made from the same –

  “Tell me, Fenna,” Maeve said. “Which of my blood-sworn did you find the most handsome?”

  Luca, still bent over the table, made a noise that might have been choking. And truthfully, Fenna was tempted to do the same. She blinked.

  “I beg your pardon?” After a moment, she added, “Majesty.”

  A subtle movement caught her eye, and she glanced surreptitiously at Connall. His head was barely moving, but there was definitely warning in the gesture.

  This situation continued to get odder and odder.

  “We’ve spent all morning discussing this fortress.” Maeve’s black brows arched again, not a single hair of them bushed out of place. “I think it’s time we moved onto a different topic, don’t you? Something of interest to us both.”

  The Queen of the Fae seemed to want to discuss males, in a very female-to-female sort of way, over tea. In front of one of said males’ twin brother. And Fenna found it thoroughly unnerving.

  Luca’s eyes found hers, even as he backed away, and Fenna resisted the urge to throw a teacup at him. His expression shone with curiosity, as though he wished to know, too.

  She would repay him for that later. Maybe install some rose bushes in his room. All over his room. While he was sleeping. Thorny ones.

  “So, tell me,” Maeve went on, leaning forward again, “which of my blood-sworn do you find the most handsome?”

  A pair of gold eyes flashed in Fenna’s mind. She dismissed it.

  “Objectively, your Majesty,” she said, keeping her eyes trained anywhere but at Luca, “most likely Fenrys.” Thinking she might want to offer up an option who wasn’t Maeve’s lover, she added, “Or Prince Rowan.”

  “Objectively?” Maeve snorted. The indelicate sound was odd, coming from her. “Don’t lie to me, child. I will know it.”

  “Yes, don’t lie to Her Majesty, Fenna,” Luca added from where he stood at the door.

  If Maeve didn’t kill him first, Fenna wouldn’t just plant those thorny rose bushes in his room. She’d throttle him with the stems.

  The Queen turned to him, expression bland.

  “Ah. You’re still here.”

  Luca cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I am thoroughly incensed that Fenna would dare to lie to you, Majesty.”

  “Hmm.” Maeve’s mouth set in a firm line, but she didn’t command him to leave. Instead, she turned back to Fenna. “You heard him.”

  Behind the queen, Connall looked as though he might be ill.

  She hadn’t been lying. She presumed there was a reason the twins had ensnared Maeve’s attention. And while his features were…harsher than Fenna might prefer, Rowan was certainly one of the better-looking ones.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to cast the net a bit wider. Just to be more convincing.

  She glanced behind Maeve and couldn’t decide whether she hoped Connall would forgive her. “This one you’ve brought with you isn’t bad.”

  The queen smirked, but contrary to the irritation Fenna expected, Connall seemed offended. All right. He was more than not bad, but she couldn’t very well offer an honest opinion in front of him, could she? Maeve would know she was simply playing a role then.

  Hoping her voice wasn’t excessively high-pitched, Fenna said, “And I suppose… Lord Gavriel had a quality some might consider appealing.”

  Now Luca snorted. Fenna forced her features into neutrality.

  Do. Not. Glare.

  “Hmm,” Maeve said again. “Hardly complementary, but very well.” There was a glint in her violet eyes Fenna didn’t like. “I can’t but agree with you. I myself have found whatever quality you refer to… appealing in the past.”

  Fenna would interpret that when she wasn’t a mere two feet away from the queen’s neck.

  It was likely a good thing Maeve’s gaze was trained on her, however, because the look Connall gave the queen now might have incinerated her on the spot, were he a Firebringer.

  “And poor Lorcan and Vaughan don’t even make it onto your list of approbation,” Maeve commented, examining one perfectly round nail before waving Luca off. Grinning wildly, he ducked back out.

  If she survived the next twenty-four hours as well as she had the last, Fenna knew she’d have a time of it living down her analysis of which of the blood-sworn was prettiest.

  “I agree with you on all counts, actually.” Maeve sipped her tea elegantly and didn’t seem to notice Fenna wouldn’t touch hers. Not that she thought it would be poisoned, but it was always best to make certain. “Gavriel may be… appealing, but Rowan and Fenrys are the best looking of the ones you spent your winter with.” A decidedly unsettling smile appeared on her face. “And of course, Connall certainly isn’t bad.” She glanced over her shoulder now and that unsettling smile turned seductive.

  She didn’t know much of the queen’s relationship with Fenrys and Connall, but she knew enough to be glad her hands were in her lap so Maeve couldn’t see them twisting.

  “And of course, Rowan being my… well, my nephew of sorts, I couldn’t very well speak from experience regarding him.”

  Fenna felt her cheeks heating – with anger or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure.

  “And… is that a capacity all the blood-sworn are expected to serve in?” she asked, tentatively.

  Maeve shrugged, looking amused again. “Well, not all of them.” And from the looks of it, she wasn’t about to specify just which weren’t required to warm her bed when she so chose.

  Glancing over at Fenna, she laughed. It was a sound neither pleasant nor unpleasant but leaning toward the former. “I’ve shocked you. Haven’t I?”

  Before Fenna could deny it, the queen moved on. “Were you able to see any of their magic during your time?”

  Having spent an entire month with them, Fenna thought the answer would be obvious. But, once again, she had to be careful with this question. Especially with this question.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You speak as though you’re unsure.”

  “Not at all.” Her voice was stronger this time. “Those of them that have magic, anyway. I saw some of each.”

  “Hmm. In which contexts?”

  Well, she couldn’t very well tell her that Fenrys had shown her his magic before they’d even left – nor that he’d expended his limited well in showing off for her while he did it. Touching on him last felt dangerous, but she’d come up with an answer while she spoke of the others.

  “We came across a group of skinwalkers, Majesty,” she said. “Obviously Lorcan’s power was the only thing we had on hand that could kill them.”

  “Obviously.”

  “At one point, we came across a group of the enemy” – Maeve’s brow lifted at Fenna’s word choice, but she said nothing – “so large that Prince Rowan had to choke their air supplies off, or we would have been overrun. And, of course, you’d know Vaughan was injured along the way. So I naturally had a chance to see Lord Gavriel’s healing magic.”

  Unbidden, the scar at her side twinged.

  “Hmm. And did Fenrys tell you about his and Connall’s abilities, or did he lump himself to the category of those who didn’t have magic? That’s unlike him.”

  Now it was Connall’s turn to snort. “An understatement.” It was one of the few times Fenna had heard him speak.

  She could try to lie here. It would be risky if she didn’t do it successfully, but Fenna decided to have a go anyway. “Fenrys has magic?” She looked quickly at Connall. “And you, too, of course?”

  As the dark-haired male’s eyes found hers, Fenna got the impression he knew exactly what she was about here.

  “Oh, yes.” Fenna resisted the urge to sigh in relief – especially as Maeve could very well just be playing along. “A very rare kind. Tell me, Fenna of Mistward, have you ever heard of someone who could jump from place to place in an instant, without anyone having seen them move?”

  Ignorance was still her best ploy. Fenna shook her head.

  “Yes, both he and Connall have it. Not an entirely rare thing, for twins to share the same magical ability. Especially twins who are carranam.”

  I don’t know any of this, I don’t know any of this, I don’t know any of this.

  Pursing her lips, Fenna nodded. “That’s fascinating. And I can think of several times he could have used it. He might have saved us some time.”

  “Yes, well. As it is, he has a very small well. They both do. Shame, isn’t it? If it wouldn’t have killed him, he could have just transported you all to the Berellan capital city and had done with it.” Another tilt of her mouth. “A shame none of you will be returning there any time soon.”

  There was another double meaning in that. It was too obvious of a statement to be anything otherwise. But Fenna would interpret it later – if she could. Along with deciphering just why, if Maeve’s relationship with the blood-sworn was as she claimed it to be, Connall had also slept on a pallet on the other side of Maeve’s bed.

  “Did you grow up here at Mistward?”

  Maeve’s violet eyes were sparking with something like conceit over the rim of her teacup. She’d had enough by now that Fenna thought drinking was safe. Besides, she needed something to do. Something that would make her appear casual as she answered this question.

  “No, Majesty. My village was destroyed in the rogue attacks.”

  “I see. And you lived there your whole life?”

  Fenna trusted so few with this information. She wasn’t about to tell the Queen of the Fae, who kept her here as leverage, asked her awkward questions about the blood-sworn and then hinted at horrible things that made Fenna want to vomit and choke her at the same time.

  So, she broke every unspoken law and looked Maeve right in the eyes.

  “My whole life.”

  “Mmm.” Fenna hid her wince. Maeve’s smirk informed her she trusted that answer about as far as the distance between them. But, mercifully, the Fae Queen didn’t press.

  “You’re full of mysteries, Fenna of Mistward. But then, someone who uses a place as their surname, rather than a family name…” She rapped those elegant fingers on the table. “Mystery tends to accompany such a decision, don’t you think?”

  Uncertain, Fenna’s eyes slid to Connall once more. All this talking of his magic – of Fenrys’s magic – had made her uncomfortable. She wondered if Fenrys had told him anything. After all, if she and Fenrys were compatible for the carranam bond, she and Connall would have to be, as well.

  That was only confirmed when he nodded, just slightly, and gave an equally subtle jerk of his chin at Maeve.

  I know.

  Remaining silent, Fenna set her now-cold tea down and prayed to every god she could think of that the next day would come – swiftly.  

Chapter Text

He’d slept in worse quarters. Too recently for comfort, in fact.

  But, as he lay on top of the sheets, on a bed that gave squalor a new meaning, listening to the sea and thinking he might just be able to see the stars through those cracks in the ceiling, Gavriel found himself more than a little irritated.

  Coming here had been a complete waste of time. And it was what he got for not going back to Doranelle first. But before he’d left on that suicide run, Lorcan had mentioned something about Rowan being on the coast. Inspecting the fleet. Last Gavriel had checked, they’d done their annual inspection at summer’s end. But he hadn’t had any reason to not trust Lorcan.

  Now he was sitting there, trying to figure out why the commander had lied to him. Or whether it had even been a lie at all, or a mistake.

  Running a hand over his face, Gavriel sighed. Sleep was eluding him. Then again, sleep had eluded him for about a month. From the very moment Maeve had given him the assignment. It had been punishment, that much was obvious, for the interference he’d run on their “adventure” with the Berellans, as the queen called it.

  He knew the Berellans could very well have won on their own. If Maeve was angry with him for that deliberate message he’d sent, she might have at least just given an execution order.

  Just killed him. No one else.

  But no, she’d had to send a message of her own.

  And, just as she’d intended, everything had fallen apart within minutes.

It wasn’t necessarily uncommon for Maeve to summon him to the throne room and have Lorcan present. That detail wasn’t what tipped Gavriel off to something being horribly wrong.

  It was that Lorcan’s jaw was twitching, as though he were trying to clench it tighter and found it had nothing more to give.

  Maeve was staring at him.

  Three centuries of serving her, and Gavriel had finally allowed himself to admit how irritating this was. To himself, of course. Not even any of the others. He had no doubt Lorcan was likely thinking the same thing.

  It was irritating on a good day. On a bad day, it was downright terrifying. Knowing Maeve, this could be anything from a new assignment to an execution order.

  Finally, she spoke.

  “It seems many things are changing in my lands,” she said, voice low. “Of course, the newfound peace is not something to be questioned. But in light of everything else, I have a feeling it will not last. Yet for the first time in centuries, our people are on something resembling speaking terms with the Berellans.” She glanced back at Lorcan, then down to Gavriel again. “The pair of you are, anyway. But something yet remains to trouble me.”

  She was peering down at him like he was a fly caught in her web. Gavriel wondered just which web it was this time.

    The coil of trepidation in his gut turned into a knot.

  “From what the four of you have told me of your… adventure with the Berellans,” Maeve said, using the term she’d come to employ for their stretching of the blood oath, “you were instrumental in their victory over the Javaidian sect.” She raised an eyebrow. “Ironic, if you ask me.”

  It wasn’t often Maeve brought up his lineage. When she did, it never boded well.

  “Therefore, it seems ungrateful that, when saved by a representative of Doranelle, they refuse to form an alliance with us. What were the words this… Chancellor Greynar used? ‘Will not come to their aid.’ Not grateful at all, wouldn’t you say?”

  He hated when she did this. Getting to the point, however awful, would be far less agonizing. Likely, that was why she did it.

  Maeve’s spider’s smile grew.

  “Therefore, my mission for you is simple. One presumes there are outlying Berellan settlements, yes?”

  Gavriel didn’t respond. He didn’t have any response for what he knew was coming - and raged against.

  “You are to lead a contingent of our soldiers against the Berellan settlements. And remind them,” her voice changed from its smooth, caressing tone, to one as brittle and hard as rock, “that they would do well to remember with whom they are dealing.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “Who knows? Perhaps you will accomplish what your father could not.”

  Still unable to speak around the tangle of horror in his throat, Gavriel looked at Lorcan. There was nothing in his features that indicated his thoughts on the matter, but his eyes, hard as dark steel, said something entirely different.

  We will discuss it.

  “I will have Berellan submission,” Maeve went on, “if we have to burn down every single Berellan village to do it.”

He’d waited just around the corner from the throne room door. Blocked every single thought from his mind until Lorcan left. Hoped the commander would come his way, and not turn in the opposite direction.

  Naturally, of course, Lorcan didn’t disappoint.

  If he was at all shocked by Gavriel’s very near presence, he didn’t show it. Just jerked his head imperceptibly for Gavriel to follow. They walked in silence until they reached Lorcan’s quarters. As soon as the door shut behind him, however, Gavriel had words.

  “How am I getting around it?”

  Lorcan stared at him. Fighting the panic that rose despite years of carrying out equally horrifying orders on Maeve’s behalf, Gavriel held that stare.

  “You’re telling me you haven’t got some convoluted plan for me to follow that involves not slaughtering an innocent Berellan settlement?”

  Completely silent still, Lorcan looked out the window.

  “Well, she didn’t tell you to use Javaidian tactics, at least,” he said. “That’s a start.”

  “Lorcan.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Think harder.”

  “It’ll be easier without you breathing down my neck. Maybe you could do some thinking of your own, while we’re at it?”

  Gavriel went to a chair – one of the few furnishings Lorcan possessed – and sat in it, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised. They hadn’t expected Maeve to be pleased with their staying to fight with the Berellans in the first place, much less his setting aside the mantle of Fae to take up the Berellan one. The demi-fae one. The… well, anything that wasn’t specifically Fae one.

  “She said lead a contingent against the Berellan settlements,” Gavriel thought aloud.

  Lorcan’s back was stiff.

  “She didn’t say anything about succeeding.”

  If nothing else, that seemed to get the commander’s attention. He whirled.

  “You’re not going to fall on your sword over this, Gavriel,” he growled. “It’s not worth it.”

  Not worth it? Undoing his efforts toward obliterating the stain of his father’s legacy from the earth – and from himself – wasn’t worth it? If he was going to fall on his sword for anything, this seemed like a worthy enough cause.

  “If I do this, it won’t just be me who suffers,” Gavriel pointed out grimly. “We’ll all be suspect – you, Rowan, Vaughan, Fenrys, Fenna. What tenuous alliance the six of us have with the Berellans will be shot. Of all of us, we can guess why Maeve chose me for this task.”

  Knowing what he had to say next was best left silent, his brow furrowed.

  I’d rather go out throwing that message right back at her than destroying what we built this winter.

  Lorcan’s glare deepened.

  Have you considered that perhaps her intent in this was making sure you didn’t come back? That she tailored this end specifically for you?

  That being the case, Gavriel was no longer entirely certain going into this with a martyr’s perspective was his best move. Nor the most significant one.

  Lorcan shook his head and looked back out the window.

  “When you get there,” he said, “put up just enough of a fight so you can technically say you led an attack ‘against’ a settlement. Minimal losses on both sides will be the goal, but a few may not be avoidable.” He glanced over his shoulder, as though trying to guess just where Gavriel had space enough for more tattoos. Gavriel wondered, too, his jaw set.

  Maeve knew exactly where to wound him, didn’t she?

  “As I said. A small fight, then surrender. It shouldn’t be too unbelievable. They are Berellans.”

  A fact which made the idea Maeve’s overall goal was his death all the more likely.

  “Just in case this does go south,” Gavriel commented, “it might be a good idea to let the others know. Like I said, the implication will be on all of us.”

  Lorcan nodded. “I’ll let Vaughan and Fenrys know.”

  “What about Rowan?”

  There was only the briefest hesitation before Lorcan answered. “He’s at the coast, inspecting the fleet,” he said. “He won’t be back for a long while, and we can’t send a messenger for something that’s not urgent.” No, and this wasn’t urgent. Not unless Rowan were to run into a group of revenge-hungry Berellans on his way back from the coast. Considering his route would take him through the western territories, that was unlikely.

  Gavriel considered before voicing his next thought. “What about Mistward?”

  He’d already risked saying her name once. For whatever reason, the word “Fenna” seemed to generate an inherent repulsion response in Lorcan. “Mistward” seemed like a safe alternative.

  Lorcan didn’t move. Not an inch. “You’re honestly telling me you think any grudge against us will reflect on her? The Berellans adored her.”

  That was fair enough. And well deserved. It wasn’t so much diplomatic relations with Mistward that concerned Gavriel as something entirely different. Something that he wasn’t at liberty to tell Lorcan.

  Would doing this cost Fenna any chance at getting her memories back, should the chancellor even find them in the first place?

  Unbidden, Gavriel found his fists clenching. There was nothing in the blood oath that said if he did, by some miracle, make it back alive, he couldn’t slip some fast-acting but non-lethal substance into Maeve’s tea, was there?

  No. There wasn’t. But he also wouldn’t do it. Dying in battle against the Berellans would be quicker than any death poisoning the queen would get him.

  He wasn’t going to take the time to contemplate that, in all his centuries of serving her, he’d never considering assassinating Maeve before. He was almost certain he was the only one of his comrades who hadn’t. Maybe Rowan.

  Yet the idea of what this venture might cost them all – the loss of life, both Fae and Berellan, the standing between the blood-sworn and their longtime enemies, Fenna’s memories – all of it brought him to that edge.

  “Get in. Fight for a few minutes. Surrender,” Lorcan repeated. “And then, hopefully, get back to Doranelle, having fulfilled your obligation and decided it’s a horrible idea to try and take on a rutting race of over-powered demi-fae. I’ll work on Maeve in the meanwhile.”

  Gavriel nodded. And once again considered his next request before voicing it.

  “Again, if this goes south,” he said, “you’ll send word to Mistward?”

  To a very specific person there.

  Lorcan turned and stared at him. Gavriel didn’t flinch as the commander’s glare deepened.

  “You know if you don’t, I’ll just ask Vaughan.”

  No response.

  “Maybe you should ask Vaughan,” Lorcan growled. “Now get some rest. You’ve got a journey ahead of you.”

  Restraining an exasperated sigh, Gavriel left. He glanced over his shoulder as he left to find Lorcan still staring out the window, arms crossed.

  Yes, I’d rather come back alive, too.

  If Lorcan thought he’d missed the way he avoided discussing anything to do with Fenna, he underestimated Gavriel’s ability to observe. An ability Lorcan had honed in him centuries ago. Not that any of them talked of her openly. But there were times when they were behind closed doors, away from Maeve’s eyes and ears.

  Inevitably, the subject was always changed.

  Gavriel had fought beside Lorcan long enough to know when he was hiding something. Again unbidden, a recent memory rose to mind. A memory of Lorcan acting as though he were working around a gag order.

  A gag order that tugged on him when they had been close to Fenna’s village.

  Why this mattered to him when he was about to head out on what was likely a suicide mission, he didn’t know.

  Either way, he needed to find Vaughan.

He’d found Vaughan and gotten a much more satisfactory answer out of him than Lorcan. Namely, that he’d go to Mistward himself if he needed to. Either way, Vaughan would see to it that Fenna knew.

  Maybe she’d be better off if she didn’t. Maybe she’d be better off never hearing from any of them again. He’d thought so, when he and Fenrys had left her a few months ago. But if he were going to die, Gavriel would rather her have heard from Vaughan or Lorcan or any of the others than through hearsay.

  Well, he hadn’t died. And despite Maeve’s probable execution order, he was about the only one who’d been on that campaign who could say that.

  He could feel his gaze darken, glaring at the cracks in the ceiling. Well, not the only one.

  Rolling over, Gavriel faced the tiny window. His old friends the stars were little help tonight.

  He hadn’t reported back to Doranelle since he’d been released. Briefly, he wondered if the Berellans had sent word of his release to Maeve or if they figured to let him return on his own. It probably would have been something to consider. But in the wake of everything that had happened… he’d needed to find Rowan.

  Needed to ink on his skin what had happened. And there was quite a bit of it to write down.

  Still, maybe he should find some way to get word to Vaughan before Vaughan got word to anyone else.

  He sighed. He might as well get a head start. It had taken him three weeks to get here, it would take him two to get back to Doranelle – if he took the western road. Which, considering recent events, was probably a good idea.

  And he certainly wasn’t going to be sleeping any time soon.

  Standing, Gavriel slipped on the weapons he’d discarded – all of them but the knife he made a habit of sleeping with – and left the last bit of his room fee on the dilapidated, probably rotting side table. Crossing to the window, he squeezed his shoulders through and climbed the twenty feet to the ground.

  As soon as he reached the edge of the city, he’d shift. Having to be alone with his thoughts was always better as the Lion than the male.

Chapter Text

Fenna sat in the same wooden chair she’d occupied for the last few hours, knees drawn up to her chest, and wondered how long she could avoid making eye contact with Connall. Maeve had left them to their own devices rather unexpectedly. Said she’d send for Connall when she needed him and, when she did, Fenna was to be set free.

  Why she suddenly didn’t require either of them present was beyond Fenna.

  All she knew was, while she normally didn’t mind silence, it was stretching on too long.

  Clearing her throat, she asked, “So… you’re Fenrys’s brother?”

  Connall, seated across the table, snorted and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

  “Ah. My favorite title. Right after ‘Maeve’s whore.’”

  Fenna was surprised her teeth weren’t nubs in her gums by now.

  “He certainly seems to like you better than you do him, then.”

  Something like remorse flickered across Connall’s face, and he shook his head. “Never mind. Yes. Fenrys is my brother. My twin.” His eyebrows rose just slightly as he eyed her.

  Well, now seemed just as good a time as any.

  “He’s told you.”

  Connall nodded. “Truth be told, he won’t shut up about you. When it’s just us, anyway. Even he wouldn’t bring it up with Maeve around – and any time he tries with the others, they’ll just shoot him down.” He glared at nothing in particular. “Trust me. That’s better for you.”

  “I know.” Fenna cast her eyes at the door. “Answer me something. If you’re Maeve’s…”

  He eyed her evenly.

  “Why are you sleeping on the floor, too?”

  Shrugging, he looked away. “I’m not here to be her lover. I’m here to be her bodyguard. It’s not a job she often gives me – only when no one else is available.”

  “And no one else was?”

  He shook his head. “Rowan’s running some errand for her, Fenrys is off on some mission to distract him from the fact that he’s not running the errand instead of Rowan, Lorcan and Vaughan are patrolling, and Gavriel…” His brow furrowed as his dark eyes slid to Fenna once more. “Well, let’s just say Gavriel is in the field.”

  “Doing… what?”

  Connall laughed darkly. “Trust me. You, of all people, would rather not know.”

  “Why ‘me of all people’?” Fenna found herself glaring. Carranam compatibility or not, this male hardly knew her.

  And he was ignoring her now, staring at the ceiling again.

  “What exactly do you do in a place like this?” he asked. “You don’t seem like the spartan type.”

  For a soldier’s garrison, Mistward wasn’t exactly spartan, Fenna wanted to protest. But considering what he was probably used to, she said nothing.

  “I work in the kitchens, when I’m not called away to serve the Queen of the Fae.” Her mouth tipped upward. “Which has happened more often than I thought it would.”

  “What about when you’re not working? Tell me about the typical demi-fae existence.”

  Now it was her turn to stare at him evenly. “Are you just asking because you’re bored?”

  His brow quirked. Does it matter if I am?

  “Fine. The ‘typical demi-fae existence,’” – she didn’t bother to hide the bite in her voice – “in Mistward, at least, probably looks a lot like the typical Fae existence. Just less pampered.” Her arms folded in challenge.

  For whatever reason, his amusement didn’t grate on her as much as Maeve’s did. “And just what is it you imagine ‘pampered’ to look like?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me, what would you be doing if you were back in Doranelle and had the day to yourself?”

  His eyes widened, and Fenna bit the inside of her lower lip. She’d said worse to members of the blood-sworn before, but she’d never been around this one. Perhaps her ease with the others would serve her ill in the long run.

  But slowly, a smile curved his mouth.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I think I like you, Fenna of Mistward.”

  In spite of herself, Fenna smiled, as well.

  “If you reword the question a bit, I might consider liking you a bit better, Connall of Doranelle.”

  He shrugged again. “If you insist. What do you do when you’re not working?”

  “I garden. I read… what we have in the library, anyway. And I – “

  A plaintive mrowrrr sounded from the hallway. Fenna restrained a wince.

  “I have a cat.”

  That got his attention. “You’ve got a cat?”

  A groan followed by a muffled curse sounded from behind the door again. This time, Fenna didn’t bother hiding her cringe.

  “Yes. And he’s not very friendly.”

  “What cat is?”

  “Fenna!” Narcisa’s voice called from outside. Fenna grinned. She didn’t know her friend was on guard duty. “Get your beast, would you? He won’t stop charging our feet.”

  “You could just open the door, you know,” Fenna called.

  Fenna couldn’t make out what Narcisa was muttering through the oak doors, but she figured she’d elect to ignore it even if she did hear it. After a moment, the door barely cracked open and His Majesty shot through.

  Connall gave an amused laugh. “That’s a cat?”

  She glared at him and went to His Majesty, lifting him and bringing him to the table, where he plopped down on her lap and glared at Connall reproachfully.

  “Yes, it’s a cat,” she said imperiously. “What else would he be?”

  “A dust mop?”

  “Do you know what a dust mop looks like?”

  He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

  “I prefer sleeker breeds,” he said instead. “They’re more…” His brow wrinkled as he stared right back at His Majesty. “Dignified looking.”

  “You’re a cat person?” Fenna asked, shifting His Majesty in her arms so he was facing away from Connall. Maybe they’d get through this visit without a member of the blood-sworn being mauled by the fortress mouser.

  “Do I strike you as a dog person?”

  “Do you always answer a question with another question?”

  “Were you this sassy with my brother?”

  Fenna shrugged. “When he deserved it.”

  “Fine, then. Is it the wolf factor that makes you think I wouldn’t be a cat person?”

  “Maybe.”

  He snorted. “Please. Just because Fenrys is a dog person, doesn’t mean a thing. I like animals that don’t grovel when you snap at them. Animals who know exactly what they’re doing when they push something breakable off a table and won’t apologize for it.”

  Fenna blinked. She certainly didn’t hate dogs, but nor did she have that strong of an opinion as to why she preferred cats. At least Connall was proving to be an interesting conversation partner. And he was talking about things other than her magic. Which, from someone who would apparently understand it better than anyone else, was something of a relief.

  “Animal form means nothing,” Connall went on. “Fenrys and Gavriel are complete coincidence in that area.”

  Fenna practically choked on her response before deciding it was better left unsaid. Not that she’d doubted Gavriel was a cat person, for much the same reason she assumed Connall would prefer dogs. But having it confirmed was… what? Nice? Comforting?

  Why should it be either of those things? The fact that this was likely the last she’d see of any of the blood-sworn still stood.

  “So what’s your cat called?”

  Fenna scratched between His Majesty’s ears. “Well, he’s not technically my cat. He’s the fortress cat. We don’t have an official name for him, but I started calling him Your Majesty a few years ago and it stuck.”

  “Your Majesty?” Connall asked, that dark brow arched in nearly as perfect of a half circle as Maeve’s had been.

  The cat shifted around again, hearing his name. He peered at Connall for a moment before jumping off Fenna’s lap and coming to sit in front of the male.

  Connall turned that raised brow on him. “Do you have a problem?”

  Her eyes flicked back and forth from cat to male. His Majesty could sense other forms, Fenna was certain of it. And considering the good scratching he’d given Fenrys before, keeping a close eye on him would likely be –

  His Majesty leaped, and Fenna couldn’t contain her gasp. She was halfway out of her chair before realizing the cat had simply switched venues. Now, he coiled up in Connall’s lap and was eying her like she was the infringer here.

  Connall smirked. “What did I tell you?”

  Conceding the point, Fenna sat back down.

  “I’ve got a cat. Back in Doranelle,” Connall said, scratching His Majesty in the exact spot Fenna had been. “His name certainly isn’t as grand as ‘Your Majesty,’ but I think ________ is decent enough.”

   Fenna nodded. “You probably put more thought into it than I did with this one.”

  “Fenrys would probably tell you I put too much thought into it. But then, what does he know? He can’t even keep all my cat’s names straight.” He peered down at His Majesty thoughtfully. “I’ve had a few.”

  Considering the life span of a cat, and the life span of a Fae, Fenna shouldn’t have been surprised. But she was sad.

  “You said you read what you have in the library,” he said. “What do you have?”

  Fenna shrugged. “History, botanical indexes, some music.”

  He frowned. “Nothing fictional?”

  Shaking her head, Fenna eyed a knot in the table. “I’ve never read a book that you could call a story,” she said. “Well, unless you count history.” She smirked, glancing up at him. “But, from experience, history books tend to paint a larger than life image than reality.”

  Connall raised his eyes to the ceiling again. “I won’t ask which legends you’ve read about the others. I mean, did Lorcan kill the last dragon? Yes. Yes, he did. Did he do it after taking a ride on its back and send it crashing to the earth? Of course not. Not even Lorcan could survive that.”

  Fenna laughed softly. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Do you… have any desire to read anything other than solid fact?”

  She thought about it. “I think so. I enjoy stories when Emrys tells them.”

  “Emrys?”

  “Our kitchenmaster. The commander’s mate. They’ve more or less adopted me.”

  “Hmm.” A corner of his mouth quirked upward. “If you like oral storytelling, you’d probably love the theater. I don’t guess you’ve ever been?”

  “What would give you that impression?” Fenna answered drily. “Mistward is the pinnacle of culture.”

  He scoffed but didn’t comment. “Part of me wishes you could see Doranelle. I think you’d take one look at our library and faint.”

  He didn’t say it the way Gavriel or Vaughan might have. She and Vaughan had had a similar conversation about the Doranelle library, one that had made her long to walk in it. The library and the gardens were about the only reason she might wish to go to Doranelle.

  But when Vaughan had voiced a similar sentiment, that wish had never overridden his care for her safety.

  When Connall said it, she got the feeling the part of him that overruled the desire was the part that remembered who and what she was. Which was not a pureblood. And therefore unworthy of entrance to the waterfall city.

  They’d been getting along rather well thus far, though. She decided not to put a damper on that.

  “Just as long as you wouldn’t take me to any taverns,” she said, a corner of her mouth quirking up before she wished she’d bit her tongue. She was demi-fae. She likely wouldn’t be allowed in any taverns, much less the library or the theater.

  Connall, however, didn’t seem to catch on. He rolled his eyes again, and the gesture looked so routine Fenna wondered how often Fenrys saw it.

  “Trust me. I wouldn’t take you near a tavern, in any city, on any continent. I certainly wouldn’t let you get drunk if I did.”

  She’d wondered how much Fenrys had told him. Debated telling him the whole story herself. She got the feeling Connall would find her complete horror at waking up in Gavriel’s bed the next morning and her utter relief when Rowan had reassured her nothing happened hilarious.

  But she didn’t have time. The door opened and Narcisa poked her head in.

  Nodding at Connall, she said, “The Queen’s business is finished. You can meet her in the commander’s office. The messenger said to be ready to depart.”

  Connall snorted. “Because I’m traveling so heavy-laden in the first place,” he said.

  Fenna rose. “Well, give the others my best when you get back. I miss them.”

  He peered up at her for a moment before saying, “For what it’s worth, I’m fairly certain they all miss you, too. Well, maybe not Rowan and Lorcan. But the others.”

  Something warmed inside her. Fenna smiled at him. “Thank you, for telling me.”

  She reached down to grab His Majesty. To her surprise, the cat yowled at her and swiped at her arm.

  Fenna hissed and pulled it back, staring at the sliver of blood trickling from her forearm down to her wrist. She frowned reproachfully at the cat.

  “What was that about?”

  Standing, Connall displaced His Majesty, and the cat sat on the floor, peering up at them. Wordlessly, Connall reached out a hand over the scratch. Fenna’s eyes widened as a familiar-feeling warm sting flooded her arm.

  The blood remained, but the wicked red scratch was gone. She stared up at him.

  “You’ve got healing magic?”

  He nodded. “I’m good at it, too,” he said. Fenna heard what was left unspoken.

  I like it better than the other kind.

  Fenna stared at the once-again unmarred skin. Something didn’t make sense.

  “Does… does every healer’s magic have a different feel to it?”

  Connall stared down at her, frowning. “No. Why? Have you not experienced a wide range of healing magic?”

  She shook her head. “Not… not until this winter.”

  His eyes widened. “Wait. You’re telling me Gavriel was the first time you’ve ever been healed, by magic?”

  Now she wasn’t entirely certain what all Gavriel had told him about the journey, not to mention Fenrys. “Yes,” she said simply.

  “What about here at the fortress?”

  “We don’t have a healer with magic here.”

  Connall suddenly looked as though he’d remembered how much he longed to get back into civilization.

  “Well, I’ll relate your message to the others. And, for the record, I hope you get to read an actual book one day.”

  With that, he disappeared through the door.

  His Majesty trotted after him for a few steps, then returned and rubbed against Fenna’s legs, thoroughly devoted to her once again.

  Narcisa was studying her thoroughly.

  “Do you charm every member of the blood-sworn you come into contact with?”

Fenna had gone straight to the kitchens afterward, but Emrys informed her she looked dead tired and insisted she sleep for a bit. As planned, she’d woken up in time to help with the evening meal. Luca had mercifully refrained from peppering her with questions. Aludra had simply looked glad she was still alive. And Emrys had been remarkably quiet, as well.

  “Has Malakai… told you anything?” Fenna had whispered as they worked alongside each other.

  Emrys shook his head. “Only what he knows. Which isn’t much.”

  After dinner, they’d barely begun cleaning up when the door swung open. Fenna might have assumed it was Malakai coming back to help out, but she froze when she caught the scent on the breeze.

  Pine and snow.

  Trying not to whirl, she still didn’t bother concealing her shock as she beheld the familiar figure of Prince Rowan Whitethorn standing in the doorway.

  Emrys and Luca both inclined their heads respectfully. Though she couldn’t know who he was, Aludra followed their lead, and Reuven, though he stepped a bit closer to her, did as well. Only Fenna remained looking Rowan straight on.

  He glanced at the others, then at her. Nodded curtly. And Fenna would take that as a good sign. If he expected deference from her purely based on rank, after everything that had happened this winter, he had another thing coming.

  “Prince Rowan,” Emrys said. “An unexpected honor, having your presence at our fortress… again.”

  Oh, if anyone asked where she got the backbone to sass the blood-sworn, Fenna would point them no further than the elderly kitchenmaster at her side.

  Rowan’s look said he didn’t believe Emrys for a second, either. His gaze settled on Aludra. Fenna’s heart began pounding. Reuven was now openly staring at Rowan, one hand on the small of Aludra’s back.

  Apparently deference stopped when it came to one’s mate.

  But Rowan simply said, “You’re new.”

  Aludra blinked, then lowered her gaze again. “Yes, your – ah – Prince Rowan,” she said, finally finding the proper title.

  “Don’t bother showing up for morning shift for the next few months,” Rowan said. “They’ll only need you for afternoon and evening.”

  Face wan, Aludra just nodded. “Yes, Prince.”

  “Why?” Reuven asked, stare hard.

  Rowan held his gaze. “I’ve brought a replacement for her. Temporarily, of course.” He glanced around at the rest of them. “No one is being banished from the fortress. You can lose the murderous faces.”

  “A replacement?” Emrys asked, eyes still lowered but voice no less defiant.

  “A temporary one. Someone my queen has taken an interest in who wishes to gain entrance to Doranelle. She’ll work in the kitchens until she meets my approval.”

  Maeve had… sent one of the blood-sworn to train someone personally? Fenna blinked.

  “And you and your mate can have your room back,” Rowan said, turning to go. “I’ll take the one I had last time I was here.”

  The door slammed shut behind him. Luca was staring at it as it shook on its hinges.

  “Abrupt fellow, isn’t he?”

  Without thought, Fenna set her towel aside and ran out the door. She found Rowan rounding a corner in the corridor, passing out of sight.

  Hurrying to catch up, Fenna called, “Wait!”

  Coming around the bend, she found Rowan waiting, back toward her, posture stiff.

  She didn’t know why she’d run after him. Why she couldn’t just be like the others and accept that he was here again and, for whatever reason, it wasn’t their place to know any more.

  Maybe because he’d saved her life a few months ago. Not mention that she had also saved his.

  “Yes?” His voice was sharp, short. Fenna glanced at his knuckles, clenched on his arm, and found them bloody.

  “What are you really doing here, Rowan?” Again, she didn’t add.

  He barely turned enough to look her in the eye. “Just what I said. Training a demi-fae for entrance to Doranelle.”

  “Why you?”

  He turned fully now, eyes cruelly amused. “Would you rather I be Gavriel or Fenrys?”

  Answering truthfully would not win her any points.

  “I mean, why any of you. Why is this person so important Maeve would come herself, and leave you here after she went?”

  Rowan opened his mouth to respond, probably something sarcastic and biting, then peered at her. Peered into her eyes. His brow furrowed beyond its usual glare.

  “Yes?” She tried to mimic his earlier tone.

  The intrigue in his gaze cleared, leaving only the glower.

  “You’ll see,” was all he said before turning back around.

  “How are the others?” she asked. He wasn’t getting away that easily, and while Connall had given her a practical assessment, he’d said nothing of how they fared.

  “Well enough.”

  He stalked off down the hallway, and Fenna found herself glaring after him.

  Well. It was good to see him again, too.

Chapter Text

Fenna slipped into the kitchens the next morning half-hoping she’d run into Rowan, half-hoping she wouldn’t. If she did, she’d be able to ply him for more details.

  However, if she did and he was as forthcoming as he’d been the night before, she’d be unable to refrain from using those long-unchecked grapevines on him. And something told her, history or no, strangling a member of the blood-sworn was still a bad idea.

  But her way here had proved Rowan-less. The part of her that hadn’t wanted to run into him was relieved.

  Luca was there, so the kitchens without Aludra weren’t necessarily quiet. But they were different. In such a short time, Fenna had gotten used to having her here. Even with Luca, conversation was stilted. Fenna didn’t think she’d said more than four words, and those had been, “Pass me that bowl.”

  Her brain was still scrabbling. Why was Rowan here? Who was this new kitchen worker he’d be bringing with him?

  The question was answered soon enough. The fire had no sooner finished heating up the kitchen than the door creaked open, ushering in the early morning chill with it. Fortunately, the heat killed the chill in seconds.

  Still, Fenna couldn’t prevent the shiver that skittered down her back.

  Pausing in her work, Fenna turned, crossing her arms and leaning against the washbasin as she surveyed the new arrivals.

  As promised, Rowan stood a few feet inside the doorway, glaring, solid, and silent. Luca’s usual prattling ceased as he, too, seemed to realize they weren’t alone. Rowan was nothing new. Fenna’s gaze settled on the girl standing just slightly behind him.

  She looked… like hell.

  Fenna blinked at the black eye and bruises up and down one side of the female’s face. With golden hair and blue eyes, not to mention the other features Fenna could see, she’d be pretty once that bruising went down. Remembering Rowan’s bloody knuckles from last night, Fenna frowned. He’d hit her?  

  It wasn’t just the obvious battle scars that had prompted Fenna’s observation, however. There was a hollow, gutted look in her eyes. One that Fenna imagined had been there long before whatever had happened last night.

  What sort of hollow creature was this that Maeve had taken a personal interest in?

  Rowan didn’t mince words. Jerking his head at the girl, he waited until she stepped forward just slightly, loathing for him lining her every pore. He turned to Emrys.

  “Your new scullery maid for the morning shift. After breakfast, I have her for the rest of the day.”

  He glanced back at the girl, who hadn’t glanced at any of them. Not once. Her eyes were either trained on the ground or glaring at Rowan. Now, however, her shoulders seemed to deflate.

  “Elentiya,” she said, though Fenna hadn’t heard anyone ask for her name. “My name is Elentiya.”

  Every word sounded as though it were forced out of her, careening its way upward until she spat it out among the rest of them.

  She raised her eyes, taking in first Emrys, then Luca, then finally turned to Fenna.

  And froze.

  Not that she’d been moving very much to begin with. But something from within seemed to stop her right where she stood, making her entire body rigid. She stared. Blinked a few times. Swallowed visibly.

  And then looked away.

  Well, that had been… odd. Fenna frowned as Emrys stepped forward.

  Bowing stiffly – probably more for the girl’s sake than anything else – he said, “So good of you to find us additional help, Prince.” If Fenna wasn’t mistaken, he’d put some emphasis on the word “additional.” She restrained a snort. Pretending Elentiya was here for their convenience was another thing likely done for her sake. If the girl knew Rowan had been in here last night, she didn’t say anything, either.

  Though maybe that was due to her still looking as though she’d been hit in the head with a mace.

  Emrys was looking her over.

  “Ever work in a kitchen?”

  Her eyes seemed to clear. Looking at Emrys as though seeing him for the first time, she said, “What?”

  Luca coughed, but no one else flinched as the girl’s brow furrowed. And stayed that way. It would seem Rowan had brought a kindred spirit. If his probably punching her hadn’t ruined that.

  “Ever work in a kitchen?” Emrys repeated, his tone exactly as it had been before.

  After a moment, Elentiya shook her head. “No.”

  Fenna eyed her arms. Though they were covered with a loose-fitting white shirt, they seemed to be well-muscled enough. Not to mention her legs, which had the look of being naturally slender, but bulkier than they might have been due to strengthening. Raising a brow, Fenna wondered just what this girl could have done with her life if she hadn’t been working in a kitchen.

  Emrys, however, moved on, no-nonsense as always.

  “Well, I hope you’re a fast learner and quick on your feet,” he said, glancing pointedly at Rowan.

  “I’ll do my best.” It was the longest sentence she’d strung together thus far. Even her voice sounded hollow.

  Seeming to catch on to Emrys’s glare, Rowan stepped out, wordlessly. Fenna watched him leave, then turned back to this mysterious new kitchen worker. “Scullery maid,” Rowan had called her. How royal of him. There was no such position at Mistward, but then again, how should he know that?

  Emrys glanced inexplicably in Fenna’s direction before turning back to Elentiya.

  “I’m Emrys,” he said, turning back to the ovens and pulling the bread out. Fenna blinked. No warmth or smile there. Perhaps it was irritation that she’d replaced Aludra, but… Emrys knew how to read people. Even from their first entrance into his life. As he settled the steaming bread onto the counter, Fenna swallowed against the heavenly aroma and eyed Elentiya.

  He was always no-nonsense, but if Emrys was being this cold, there had to be a reason there. Something he’d seen in Elentiya that indicated such a reaction would be unhelpful. Fenna determined she would respond accordingly.

  As far as she could, anyway.

  “And this is Luca.” Emrys pointed, and Luca, heedless of what Fenna had just noticed, flashed her a wide grin. “And Fenna.”

  Elentiya had taken a few steps further into the kitchen, and as her head swiveled to look at Fenna again, it was Fenna’s turn to freeze.

  Her eyes weren’t just blue.

  They were turquoise. Turquoise with a ring of gold around the pupil.

  Just like Fenna’s.

  Her whole life, she had never met anyone with the same eye color as she. Close ones, yes, but none with that ring of gold. Fenna looked the girl up and down again but could find no other resemblance. She didn’t even have the pointed demi-fae ears – though Fenna knew of her heritage already. Still, she would have no trouble fitting into some human village. An advantage Fenna knew she did not possess.

  All of this changed little. Emrys had responded distantly, so Fenna would do the same. Yet, she couldn’t keep herself from saying, “Glad to have you with us,” along with a blank nod.

  Elentiya returned the nod, but quickly turned back to Emrys. Good. Maybe she just had better sight than Fenna and had noticed the eyes earlier. Maybe that was why she’d frozen first.

  “You will share a good deal of the… scullery work with them, I’m afraid,” Emrys went on.

  “Oh, it’s absolutely miserable,” Luca said, his choked up voice reminding Fenna of the onions he chopped, “but you’ll get used to it. Though maybe not the waking up before dawn part.” At a combined glare from Emrys and Fenna, he amended, “At least the company’s good.”

  Elentiya gave him something resembling a friendly nod. Fenna shook her head.

  “And at least there’s coffee for the waking up before dawn part,” she added. “Don’t worry. Emrys takes care of us.”

  Still nothing but that restrained, narrowed gaze. Warily, she seemed to survey the kitchen, eyes falling on the window and Fenna’s garden beyond. Fenna wondered if this girl appreciated flowers. Something made her doubt it. Fenna sniffed and turned back to her task.

  A beat passed before Elentiya said, “Already mangled and ruined, so you won’t find me weeping over broken nails.”

  Fenna glanced over her shoulder to find Emrys studying Elentiya’s hands. He shook his head. “Mother keep me. What happened?”

  But Fenna knew that tone. He was well aware of whatever had… holy gods. Those hands were mangled. Once again, Fenna wondered just what Elentiya had done before she’d come to Mistward.

  Elentiya simply held the kitchenmaster’s gaze. “Adarlan will do that to a person.”

  Luca’s knife thudded to the table, and the dishes gave a clatter as Fenna let a bowl slip out of her hand. Emrys turned to look at her, but Elentiya didn’t flinch. Muttering an apology, Fenna went to rearrange the ruined stacks of bowls.

  “Give me whatever work you want. Any work.”

  It sounded more like a challenge than anything else, but Fenna kept her mouth shut.

  For another moment, Emrys was silent, then clicked his tongue. “Just finish the onions. Luca, you mind the bread. I’ve got to get started on the casseroles. Fenna, when you’ve cleaned up over there, you can help me with that.”

  Fenna finished up and went to help Emrys. Most of her task involved transporting the chopped vegetables from Elentiya to Emrys. After the onions were finished, she brought over carrots, mushrooms, scallions, and potatoes. Always potatoes. They were essential in most casseroles, and despite the different varieties Emrys was serving this morning, each one needed a decent amount of the starchy root.

  Every time she turned away, however, she could feel Elentiya’s eyes on her. Could feel the coldness of that stare. The wariness there. And it never failed to unnerve her.

  After one trip from Elentiya and back, Emrys looked up from what he was doing.

  “You’re sure you’ve never worked in a kitchen before?”

  The girl’s gaze was just as cold and emotionless as it had always been – except when she was looking at Fenna.

  “Never.”

  “Hmm.” He raised an eyebrow and stared into the pot. “Well, you’ve got a good slice, regardless.”

  Elentiya said nothing and went back to chopping the potatoes, but Fenna made a point of looking the next time. He was right. Her cuts were even better than Fenna’s.

  She found herself studying the newcomer. She looked familiar, besides just her eyes. But Fenna couldn’t place her. They hadn’t come from the same village – though if they had and she’d been on the run since its destruction, that would certainly explain the hollowed-out demeanor. But that wasn’t it. Besides, she’d already said she was from Adarlan, and she spoke with no accent Fenna had heard recently, so it must be true. Fenna had never been anywhere else, and this girl definitely wasn’t a Berellan. So she let it pass.

  Still, this would be just the sort of thing to come back and haunt her when she was trying to sleep, wouldn’t it be?

  Breakfast came and went, much as it always did. The only real difference was that Aludra came through the line with Reuven, rather than watching as it went by. The pair of them eyed Elentiya curiously, but her focus on the task at hand didn’t exactly invite introductions.

  Reuven leaned forward across the counter.

  “Malakai’s going to be late today,” he said. Glancing over his shoulder at Elentiya, he said, “We figured maybe to just let him come in and eat today, and have breakfast in the mess hall with the others. She looks like she might get overwhelmed by too many people.”

  Emrys nodded. Fenna didn’t know if “overwhelmed” was the word, but wisdom was wisdom, no matter why it was.

  As soon as everyone cleared out, Fenna rested her arms on the counter and let out a sigh.

  “It was a madhouse this morning,” she muttered.

  “Casseroles are always a hit,” Emrys replied, stretching his back against his fists.

  Elentiya was silent, as always, and Fenna risked a glance over at her. She was eyeing the food as though she’d never seen food before.

  Luca had also noticed, and he shot her a grin.

  “Go ahead,” he said, starting to take the cauldron off the fire. Emrys went to assist, but Fenna put a hand on his arm and stepped forward, taking the other end and hauling it off, along with Luca. “You’ll be at those dishes for a while. You might as well eat now,” Luca called as they settled it beside the now-dirty stacks of bowls, plates, and pots.

  Elentiya helped herself while the rest of them continued to clean up. Fenna ignored her for a good long while, but after all was done, followed Emrys and Luca’s gaze. Her eyes widened.

  The female was shoveling the food down, as though she’d never eaten before and didn’t know when she would again. Fenna’s own stomach growled, and she glared down at it.

  She may have been many things in her life, but at least she’d never been hungry. Not like that.

  Elentiya finished downing the cup of milk in front of her and finally noticed their staring. She wiped her mouth, avoiding their gaze. If she’d been a blusher, Fenna thought her cheeks might be red, but nothing about this female suggested she’d blushed in years.

  “Gods above,” Emrys murmured. “When was the last time you ate?”

  Hesitating a moment before responding, Elentiya set her fork down. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Fenna asked before she could stop herself. “Everyone loves Emrys’s food, but no one’s eaten with that much enthusiasm in years. Seems like you could use it.”

  Emrys eyed Elentiya measuringly. “Eat all you like,” he said. “There’s nothing more satisfying to a cook than seeing someone enjoy his food.”

  Elentiya glared into her plate and said nothing.

  The rest of them filled their own plates and sat down around the table. Leaving space for Malakai beside Emrys, Fenna found herself seated beside Elentiya. She barely heard Emrys and Luca’s conversation. She was more focused on the woman beside her.

  Where had she seen her before? Every time she looked, Fenna became more and more certain she had. But racking her brains yielded nothing. She still couldn’t convince her this was someone from her childhood, and she couldn’t imagine she’d have forgotten anyone she met this past winter. Besides, as she’d told herself earlier, the female wasn’t Berellan. She was the most human-looking person here.

  “What do you think, Fen?”

  Shaking herself, Fenna glanced up at Luca, her head tilted to the side.

  “Sorry, what did you say?”

  Eyes shooting between Elentiya and Fenna, Luca smirked.

  “Do you think the Beltane festival will be salvageable if it rains?”

  Shrugging, Fenna took a casual bite of her eggs. “Oh, I don’t know. An entire festival devoted to fire? Ruined by rain? Doesn’t really seem plausible to me.”

  He gave her a withering stare. “Sarcasm isn’t the lowest form of wit, you know, Fen. It’s not wit at all.”

  “Until you use it,” Emrys put in, sipping his tea.

  Luca’s glare turned to Emrys, but only for a moment. Elentiya seemed to have snagged his attention.

  “So you’re either very important or very unlucky.”

  She looked up from where she’d been starting to rise, staring evenly at him. Inexplicably, Fenna found herself rallying her magic, and talked herself down.

  “To have Rowan training to you enter Doranelle,” Luca went on.

  Noting Emrys’s interest in the conversation, Fenna eased her hold on her magic and watched for Elentiya’s response.

  “That is what you’re training for, right?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re all here?” As was typical, the words came out flat and stilted.

  “Most of us.” Luca eyed Fenna across the table and went back to prattling. “But I’ve got years before I learn whether I meet their qualifications.”

  Elentiya stiffened. Abruptly, she turned to Emrys. “How long have you been training?”

  Snorting, Emrys replied, “Oh, I was about twenty when I came here, and worked for them for about… ten years, and was never worthy enough. Too ordinary. Then I decided I’d rather have a home here and my own kitchen than be looked down upon in Doranelle for the rest of my days. It didn’t hurt that my mate felt the same way. You’ll meet him soon enough. He’s always popping in to steal food for himself and his men.”

  Ignoring his chuckle and Luca’s grin, Elentiya turned to Fenna. She seemed cautious as she asked, “And you?”

  Fenna held her stare. “I have no interest in entering Doranelle. I came here to belong.” After a moment, she looked into those eyes and said, “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll give it up, too.”

  A hard, flinty look entered her gaze, and Elentiya turned back to eyeing the males.

  “So you’re all… half-breeds?”

  Fenna stifled a growl. Not even the blood-sworn had called her that, and they were possibly the most elite people in Doranelle beside Maeve herself. Where had Elentiya come to call demi-fae that?

  Then again, she had come from Adarlan. That was one question answered.

  Luca’s stiffened form eased as he smiled. “Only the pure-blooded Fae call us that. We prefer demi-fae. But yes, most of us were born to mortal mothers, with the fathers unaware they’d sired us. The gifted ones usually get snatched away to Doranelle, but for us common offspring, the humans still aren’t comfortable with us, so… like Fenna said, we go here, we come to Mistward. Or to the other border outposts. Few enough get permission to go to Doranelle that most just come here to live among their own kind.” He shot Fenna a grin before his eyes settled on Elentiya’s round ears. “Looks like you’ve got more human in you than Fae.”

  “Because I’m not half.” Her tone didn’t invite further questions.

  “Can you shift?”

  “Luca,” Fenna muttered.

  “Can you?” Whether it was a good or bad thing that Elentiya was responding, Fenna couldn’t tell.

  “Oh, no. None of us can. If we could, we’d probably be in Doranelle with the other ‘gifted’ offspring that Maeve likes to collect.”

  “Careful, Luca,” Emrys growled.

  “Maeve doesn’t deny it. Why should he?” Fenna said, unsurprised by the bitterness in her own voice.

  “There are a few people here who have another form, or magic. Like Fenna. They’re here because they want to be.”

  Elentiya eyed Fenna cautiously. “And what is your… gift?”

  “My magic?” Fenna wasn’t sure she wanted to tell her. But she’d been asked. “I grow things. It’s attached to the earth, I think, so I can grow whatever I wish. Sometimes I can compel animals to do what I want.” She eyed Luca pointedly. “It’s not something I like to advertise, though.”

  He didn’t look the slightest bit chastened.

  “Is it true that magic is completely gone on your continent?” he went on. “There always was supposed to be more of it over there, anyway.”

  There were times Luca knew when to shut up. Apparently now was not one of them. Fenna tried to communicate the idea of silence to him with her eyes alone. It wasn’t working. Elentiya nodded tightly, and he opened his mouth to say more. But, as Fenna predicted, she wasn’t in the mood for answering questions.

  “No one with rare abilities? Other than… Fenna?” All right. What was that hesitation over her name?

  Luca pondered. “We did have a female wonder in with raw magic two years ago – she could do anything she wanted, summon any element, and she was here a week before Maeve called her to Doranelle and we never heard from her again.”

  Fenna remembered that female – she’d been her age. Sixteen. A shudder ran up her spine again, wondering what had happened to her in Doranelle. She didn’t have to cast her imagination too far. Not after this winter.

  “A shame – she was so pretty, too. But it’s the same here as it is everywhere else: a few people with elemental powers that are really only fun for farmers.”

  Nailing him with a stare, Fenna said icily, “Or kitchen workers.”

  Luca’s eyes widened. “Right. Or kitchen girls.”

  Emrys was shaking his head. “Only fun for farmers. You should pray the gods don’t strike you with lightning for speaking like that.” Luca’s groan was predictable, but Emrys was not done. “Those powers were gifts given to us by them long ago – gifts we need to survive – that were passed down through the generations. Of course they’d be aligned with the elements, and of course most of them would be watered down after so long.”

  Most of them. Fenna didn’t miss the way he glanced at her when he said it.

  “So, what’s your magic, then?” Luca asked, leaning back in his chair and looking to Elentiya. “Obviously you must have some. Else Maeve wouldn’t have taken such an interest in you.”

  Elentiya ignored him and focused on Emrys. “What do you know about Rowan? How old is he?”

  Emrys shrugged. “Rowan has been around as long as I’ve been here, and the oldest of those here then had known him their whole lives. So I’d say he’s very old.”

  “And mean as an adder,” Luca put in.

  Shooting him a warning stare, Emrys went on, “He sometimes shows up with the others like him – very rarely. But they keep to themselves. Except in rare instances. For information on them, you might want to talk to Fenna.”

  Fenna choked on her tea.

  Unashamed of himself, Emrys went on. “She spent a month or so traveling with them this winter. Saved the fortress in the process.” He raised grey eyebrows at her.

  Fenna shrugged. “Rowan remains a mystery to me. I could tell you more about others of the blood-sworn, but I know about as much as Emrys.”

  He peered at her, but addressed Elentiya. “I’ll admit that you’re probably in for a good heap of difficulty.”

  “He’s a stone-cold killer and a sadist is what he means,” Luca said. “The meanest of the blood-sworn, they say.”

  “That is… well, not entirely false,” Fenna said. Not sure why she was so quick to jump to Rowan’s defense, she added, “But he’s not a sadist, Luca. Don’t throw that word around when you mean it and it’s not true.”

  “I can handle him.” Elentiya’s words were barely audible.

  “We’re not allowed to learn the Old Language until we enter Doranelle,” Luca went on, ignoring them both, “but I heard his tattoo is a list of all the people he’s slaughtered.”

  “Hush,” Emrys said.

  “It’s not like he doesn’t act like it!” Luca protested.

  Fenna remembered her journey this winter. Remembered Fenrys’s suggestion that Rowan enjoyed Sollemere. Remembered the haunted, haggard look in Rowan’s eyes even as he slammed Fenrys into a tree.

  And clenched her fists under the table. Luca would continue to believe what he would about Rowan. And he might be right. But Fenna didn’t think a sadist would have looked like that when reminded of his past deeds.

  She didn’t think a sadist would have taken a blade for a demi-fae.

  Luca was still eyeing Elentiya, unperturbed as always. “Maybe you should consider whether Doranelle is worth it. It’s not so bad living here.”

  Fenna couldn’t restrain her scoff. “Says the male who’s training to get there.”

  Luca shrugged. “I don’t have to be trained by Rowan.”

  Elentiya met his gaze unflinchingly. “I can handle him.” Getting up, movements jerking and halted, she went to start on the dishes.

  Luca opened his mouth to respond, but Emrys laid a hand on his arm. “Let her run her own course,” he said. For once, Luca listened.

  Emrys saw Fenna’s finished meal and gestured pointedly to Elentiya. “Help her, would you?” he whispered. “That pile of dishes is huge. Luca and I can handle the rest.”

  Fenna nodded, taking her own plate over to the stack and picking up a towel. “You’ll wash, I’ll dry?” she suggested.

  Elentiya eyed her through a narrow gaze. “I don’t need help,” she said.

  “You ever washed dishes before?”

  The other female held her gaze steadily, then went back to scrubbing. But she hadn’t completely banished Fenna. And Fenna had been here longer. When she handed Fenna the finished dish, Fenna bit back a satisfied smirk. Whatever she’d done to earn those mangled hands, stubbornness apparently would still best her.

  As they worked, Fenna cast glances over at her. Where had she seen her before? If she’d been in Adarlan all this time… It made no sense.

  It took about ten minutes for it to hit her. And when it did, she dropped the bowl she held into the soapy water.

  Elentiya flinched as the water splashed into both of their faces.

  “Sorry,” Fenna muttered, but Elentiya was already going back to work. Fenna tried to do the same, but she couldn’t stop glancing over at her. Not now that she’d put her finger on it. The face was older, more care-worn, but she couldn’t be anyone else.

  She’d been dreaming the scene so long, Fenna had never expected to actually meet the girl she always saw running through the woods. But here she was, washing dishes next to her as though she were just any other person.

Chapter Text

Fenna could see exhaustion already lining Elentiya’s body when they finished with the dishes. She almost pitied her. No, she did pity her. She was going to Rowan immediately after all of this.

  If dishes exhausted her, Fenna could only imagine what she would look like after he was through with her.

  Resolution to behave as Emrys did or no, Fenna needed to extend her some hope. Wondering what would break through that wall of hollowness, maybe spark some hope in those eyes, she combed her mind. Remembering her recent conversation with another of the blood-sworn, Fenna felt a corner of her mouth quirk upward.

  “Do you know how to read?”

  Elentiya stiffened but nodded.

  “Do you… like reading?”

  “How is that relevant?”

  Fenna frowned. “To what? This is the conversation.”

  After a moment, in which Elentiya looked as though she hated the very requirement of answering this question, she finally responded, “I do.” Another moment. “I did.”

  That was proving indecipherable. What exactly had stopped her from loving it, Fenna didn’t know, and didn’t think it was important. If she had loved reading once, she could love it again. She only hoped Elentiya didn’t mind history and legend.

  “Well, should you decide to like it again while you’re here, and should you have time in between working and training with Rowan, we do have a library. It’s not very big, but… I think some of the volumes are interesting.”

  Elentiya didn’t say anything.

  “And I don’t know how you feel about gardening, but I find it therapeutic. I could always use some help in the garden.” Fenna nodded out the window. “If your hands aren’t dirty enough after training with Rowan.”

  “What do you know about him?” Elentiya asked.

  All right. Apparently the olive branch was not accepted.

  “There’s not much more to tell. Emrys is right, you’re probably in for a lot of difficulty.” She debated saying the next bit. “But I don’t think Luca’s right, either. He’s not a complete sadist.”

  “You would say something like that.”

  Fenna’s brow furrowed. “How do you know I’d say something like that?”

  Elentiya blinked. “You seem far too innocent to recognize a true sadist,” she said. “I’ve only spent a week with him, but I can already tell he has the traits.”

  Her response was nearly smooth enough to be believable. Nearly. But it still niggled at Fenna. Forcing down her instinct to defend him, she sighed and managed a smile.

  “Well, either way,” Fenna said again, “if you’re not too tired, feel free to come lend a hand. Or to use the library.”

  Again, the other girl was silent.

  The door opened, hinges creaking. Fenna turned to see Rowan entering, glare even darker than before. She glanced over at Elentiya, whose jaw was set, her furrowed brow matching Rowan’s.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Elentiya set the dish she’d been working on down and made her way toward the door, eyes downcast. There was nothing submissive about it, however. Fenna read the defiance practically radiating off of her. If Elentiya was in for a time of it, Fenna wondered just how much Rowan was in for it, as well.

  His eyes met hers briefly before he turned to go. Fenna hoped her displeasure was conveyed. She imagined beating recruits wasn’t necessarily uncommon in Doranelle, but it didn’t change the fact that Rowan was huge. While Elentiya wasn’t small, she was certainly smaller than he was.

  Rowan’s brow raised. Fenna crossed her arms. She may not be able to read exactly what he was saying, as she could Fenrys, but she was projecting if she comes into the kitchens tomorrow morning as bloodied up as she was today you and I will have words with all her strength.

  Brow lowering again, Rowan stalked out after his charge.

  Finding Luca eyeing her, Fenna shrugged. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just I think that may be the most facial expression I’ve ever seen him show in one sitting.”

  Shaking her head, Fenna turned back to the last of the dishes, hers to complete alone.

  “Why’d you have to bring up my magic, anyway?”

  “She asked!”

  “After you brought it up.”

  “Would you have preferred me to not bring it up at all?”

  He’d sold it a little short, Fenna thought. But then again, so had she. Perhaps she was just lucky it hadn’t been Fenrys here. Luca at least understood which parts of her magic were her favorites. Though he likely considered them to be the more boring kinds. His favorite part wasn’t even magic, really. Just a weird quirk of His Majesty’s.

  “If you two are finished squabbling,” Emrys said, “we’ll get started on the noon meal. Fenna, the cauldron.”

  Luca came over to help her lug the now-clean iron behemoth over to the fire, and the discussion was finished – for the moment.

Fenna hadn’t seen Elentiya at the noon meal, or dinner, or any time since. Rowan had been suspiciously missing, as well, for that matter. Did either of them ever eat? Judging from the way Elentiya had shoveled her food down, not that often.

  She hadn’t expected Elentiya to show up in the library tonight, either. But she couldn’t help casting a glance around as she slipped inside, regardless. If the girl was going to stay here until she could make it into Doranelle, she might as well make friends. And Fenna had a pretty good group.

  Narcisa had been completely delighted when she’d discovered Fenna’s new friend – the “foundling,” as she referred to Anastacia privately – was an eager learner. On the other hand, she’d been horrified to learn that the “other foundling” – her title for Aludra – hadn’t ever learned to read.

  So the four of them had taken to meeting in the library on Tuesday nights. One of them would assist Aludra in learning to read, and the other two would find something to read themselves. Occasionally, they’d call interesting tidbits they’d picked up on to each other. Narcisa’s favorite people to inform Fenna about were, naturally, the blood-sworn.

  Fenna had learned some things she hadn’t known yet this way. And some things she would rather not have known.

  It was one of those she was interested in today.

  Squeezing Anastacia’s shoulder as she walked past her, Fenna asked, “The children went down all right?”

  Anastacia nodded. “Shyah’s with them now.”

  Good of her employer, really, to watch the children this one night. She couldn’t do much during work hours – when the task of watching Lazaro occasionally fell to Fenna – but both of Anastacia’s children liked her. And trusted her. It wasn’t difficult. Shyah was possibly the best surrogate grandmother anyone could find – not to mention the best tailor in Mistward and eager to take on an apprentice. Besides, Fenna had heard snippets of her past, and figured she would have quite a bit in common with Anastacia in general. Shyah had been one of the ones to get out of Doranelle. One of the rare.

  Fenna crossed to the back shelf, the only sound in the room her soft footsteps, and Aludra and Narcisa speaking quietly as they worked on the next bit of reading.

  “What are you looking for tonight, Fen?” Narcisa called.

  Halting, Fenna debated whether she was going to tell the truth here. Deciding she might, if not for who currently resided in Mistward, she shrugged.

  “Just some battles. Military history and whatnot.”

  She looked back to find Narcisa’s brow arched. “Interesting. Have I converted you?”

  Fenna smirked. “Not nearly. Just a passing fancy.”

  The tomes were organized chronologically, by first event chronicled. Fenna went back to a century and a half ago. Her eyes widened. How had she never seen this before?

  An entire volume on a single battle.

  Sellemere.

  Hoping it wouldn’t be too entirely obvious to her friends what she was reading, Fenna wrapped her arms around the book, holding it to her chest as she made her way to a chair. Fortunately, they were all wrapped up in their own tasks. Showing the title as little as possible, Fenna laid it open in her lap and began to read.

  The battle of Sollemere, while a massacre, might have been even more so if not for a last minute warning sent to the city. The lands had been so peaceful in recent years, not many heeded it. But the third of the city who did would prove to be the wiser.

  Fenna frowned. Last-minute warning? She’d never heard of this.

  Commander Lorcan Salvaterre and Prince Rowan Whitethorn moved on the city and slaughtered every male, female, and child living inside. Rather than taking any of the spoils, they then burned it to the ground.

  Fenna skipped past the rest of the summary. She knew all of this. Thumbing back to the table of contents, she searched for anything that might tell her about that last-minute warning. Finding a section that looked promising, she read on.

  No one knows who sent the alarm. In fact, its anonymity was what made it less credible to the contingent of the city who chose to remain. It is suspected that the sender was someone high up in the Fae army, but the sender is still a mystery.

  Someone fairly high up in the Fae army? Fenna frowned. She wondered… but no. Lorcan may not be quite as indifferent and cold as he seemed to be, but she didn’t think he’d be that stupid. What if Maeve had found out?

  And, while she still held to her opinion that Rowan was not a sadist, she also didn’t think he was… smart enough to think of that way through the blood oath. As much as she hated to say it. Hadn’t Lorcan been the one to come up with the strategy keeping them in the Berellan army?

  No. If it had been either of them, it would have been Lorcan. And Lorcan was smarter than that, wasn’t he?

  Odd, that such a move seemed too stupid for Lorcan and too smart for Rowan. And Fenna had never once had cause to doubt the younger male’s intelligence. Deciding to research a bit more of Rowan’s role in the battle, so she’d have some basis for her “not-a-sadist” argument the next time it came up, she moved back to the table of contents.

  Key Players. That was also promising.

  Though Salvaterre was and remains Maeve’s commander to this day, arguably Rowan Whitethorn was the most decisive factor in the battle. The very first strike was his, cutting off the airpipes of every soldier in the city, leaving the civilians defenseless.

  Fenna swallowed. All right. That seemed somewhat sadistic.

  Though the first strike was done from outside the city walls, Whitethorn also led the armies inside. By the time Salvaterre’s legions arrived, most of the slaughter had been finished already. It is said that inside the city were the last living Lunarians, but that is mostly hearsay. The Lunarian race was obliterated centuries before – though if the rumors were true, it would make sense why Maeve targeted a seemingly random city.

  Lunarians. Fenna frowned again. What did she know of the Lunarians? Not much. It sounded familiar, however.

  None of this was getting her anywhere in her mission to prove Rowan not a sadist. And the “he was acting under an order – under the blood oath” defense wouldn’t get her anywhere. She hadn’t even tried it. The blood oath was still breakable.

  Granted, the breaker would die. And one might argue that the death of one blood-sworn might be pointless, since Maeve would likely just appoint another and move on.

  Something told her that, while Rowan may not value his own life all that highly, he also wasn’t going to be suicidal on principle. Still, Luca wouldn’t see it that way. Neither would Elentiya.

  Truth be told, neither did Fenna.

  Her search might very well be pointless. But something else in the table of contents caught her eye – What Stood Out About the Battle of Sollemere. All right. That was a last ditch effort. Fenna flipped there.

  Despite its scope and brutality, the battle of Sollemere wasn’t the most cruel slaughter ever wreaked by the Fae, as it has often been made out to be. The burning of the city negated any pillaging, and the commanders explicitly forbid rape or torture in their instructions to their troops. While there were select cases of these, they were few, and most who partook in them were ferreted out and executed.

  According to legend, Salvaterre personally executed the dissenters, but this story is likely just that – legend. Not only is the typical Fae execution for disobeying orders very specific and requiring of more than just one individual to carry it out, but this level of personal vengeance is not consistent with what is known of Salvaterre’s character.

  On the other hand, neither is an order against excessive brutality. Even the most learned historians are forced to admit – who can really say?

  Slamming the book shut, Fenna winced and looked around to see if any of the others had noticed. They hadn’t.

  Well, her mission to exonerate Rowan had been more useful in exonerating Lorcan. And while she wasn’t exactly opposed to that – she was sure Lorcan’s sadism or lack thereof would come up eventually – she also hadn’t accomplished her goal. Which made her want to grow a few thornbushes. Spitting ones, like the ones Fenrys had remained convinced she could grow. And aim the spines right at Rowan’s head.

  Not only was there nothing historically to prove her point about him, but there also happened to be nothing personally. Considering his bloody knuckles and Elentiya’s black eye.

  No explanation for why he’d take a knife for her.

  “Fenna? You all right over there?”

  Well, now they’d noticed. All three of her friends eyed her warily. Narcisa had voiced the question, but it was written over all of their faces.

  Deciding to respond to Narcisa, she asked, “What do you think defines a person – their history? Their personality? Or their current actions?” Not that any of those would be beneficial to Rowan at the moment.

  Narcisa shrugged. “Current actions,” she said. “Though I don’t think history is entirely discountable.”

  “You don’t leave room for people to change, then?” Aludra asked, leaning back in her own chair and folding her arms. “No room for growth?”

  “I did just say not entirely discountable. That means some of it isn’t. And I was referring more in the holding-them-accountable basis, a judgment of what they’ve done, not who they are.”

  “I think you have to see the reason behind it,” Anastacia spoke up, voice barely audible. “Why did they do the thing?” As the others turned to look at her, she gave a wry smile. “I mean, I didn’t excel in my previous profession because I enjoyed it. And that’s certainly not why I started doing it either. But that’s why my clients came to me. For enjoyment, distraction. Those don’t seem like good enough reasons to use someone, do you think?”

  Narcisa turned back toward Fenna. “Why do you ask?”

  Rowan’s case still wasn’t helped. And Fenna wasn’t even sure why she was arguing it. Standing and taking the book back to the shelf, Fenna shook her head. “No reason.”

  Not for the first time, she wished she could ask someone who knew Rowan. No, that wasn’t specific enough. She wished she could ask Gavriel. He’d at least give her a decent answer, and an honest one. And she could be honest about why she was asking.

  But the odds that she’d ever get to ask Gavriel about it were about as high as Maeve suddenly deciding Luca was ready to enter Doranelle tomorrow. Sighing and ignoring the twinge in her chest, Fenna picked a volume she could pretend she was reading for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

This was the longest he’d remained in lion form in years.

  There were some who chose to stay in their animal form for extended periods of time. Usually that wasn’t the greatest indicator of their mental state. Gavriel was starting to understand why, however. One’s instincts were honed this way. Thoughts quieted.

  The feelings that came with those thoughts still tended to prod their way in, regardless.

  A week back toward Doranelle, and he finally decided to shift back for the night. Instinct and feeling without thought were not a good combination for an extended period of time. Finding a suitable cave and holing up there, the lion vanished and the male remained.

  As expected, the flood of thought came rushing back in.

  Though no pain accompanied it, Gavriel still rubbed at his temples, trying to ease the tempest. Normally, this wasn’t a problem with shifting back. It depended on how long one had been in their other form – and, of course, their mental well-being.

  None of this was a good sign.

  Pulling the flint box out of his meager supplies, he set about making a fire.

  Sleep was going to continue to elude him. That was fine. He’d slept just fine this last week, and if one waking night was the cost of this form, he wasn’t going to question it. He’d gone on less sleep before.

  Once again, more recently than he would have liked.

  Just as the fire flared to life, a form appeared in the cave mouth, casting its shadow on the walls.

  Tensing, Gavriel’s hand went to the sword at his side.

  This far away from Doranelle, the wolf not ten feet away from him definitely wasn’t Maeve’s.

  “Go on,” he growled at it. “There’s nothing for you here.”

  Looking more curious than anything else, the wolf took a few steps into the cave.

  Gavriel had a good idea of how to scare it off permanently. So much for having shifted back. Another flash of light and the lion was back.

  He let out a scream, echoing off the walls of the cave. The wolf froze, studied him for a moment, trying to decide if this was a fight it could win. Apparently deciding against it, it took off, claws skidding on the stone floor.

  Shifting back again, Gavriel squeezed his eyes shut against the swimming in his head. After a moment, the turbulence of it all went away, if not the discomfort. Sitting on the cave side of the fire, he lowered his head into his hands and sighed.

  Despite the exhaustion tugging at him from the swift shift back and forth, he knew now he definitely wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Where there was one wolf, there were probably more. And even if there weren’t, the lone wolves were usually bolder. It might be back.

  He should just stay in lion form. But he’d shoved everything off for long enough. He needed to deal with it – again.

  If there even was a way of dealing with it. What he needed was to find Rowan. How was he supposed to do that if no one else even knew where Rowan was? Or if they weren’t telling him, for whatever reason.

  Mind turning over the endless possibilities, Gavriel leaned his head against the cave wall and stared at the ceiling. Forfeiting the stars again tonight was the price for, if not real safety, then the illusion of it.

Cairn was here.

  Upon inspecting the troops he’d been given before leaving Doranelle, every instinct in Gavriel had rebelled at the sight of the male. Even now, on the cusp of battle, he wanted him anywhere but here.

  No doubt intentional on Maeve’s part. Having someone like Cairn in this campaign would ensure that at least one soldier would wreak as much destruction as possible. And calculated destruction. If he’d meant to carry this thing through to completion, Gavriel wouldn’t be able to expect much efficiency from Cairn, but he’d certainly be able to expect focus.

  On what the male chose to focus on, of course. Or rather, who.

  Gavriel repressed a shudder and made another vow to not let the battle get too far out of hand before surrendering.

  Even now, in the officer’s tent, the younger male was standing across from him, surrounded by older, much more capable, at least slightly less sadistic soldiers. Gavriel had no idea why, exactly, Cairn had been called back from the far, far distant post he’d been banished to a hundred years ago. That had been a good place for him. As Gavriel recalled, it was a frozen, barren wasteland with the nearest possible victim being a fellow soldier. Someone who would be missed if they didn’t show up the next day.

  Which had been good for the population as a whole. Until he started murdering soldiers.

  However, now that Cairn had been released – and not only released, but given a rutting commission – Gavriel was fairly certain it would cease to be good for the population as a whole rather quickly. In fact, he thought it would turn out to be very, very bad.

  If there were any Berellans who could at all possibly be overtaken by a Fae, Cairn would find them. The male could smell weakness like a shark at a shipwreck.

  And the look he was giving Gavriel now suggested he knew about this winter. And wasn’t impressed.

  Steeling himself, Gavriel eyed the others in the tent. This was going to be difficult enough. He’d avoid looking at Cairn. Lying being its own form of vulnerability, he wouldn’t be surprised if Cairn already sensed he was planning on pulling back.

  From the looks on the other officers’ faces, Gavriel got the feeling they hoped he was planning on pulling back. He didn’t blame them.

  “The village is hemmed in by fortifying walls,” he said. “Obviously we can expect a garrison somewhere inside. My presumption” – he eyed the two officers closest to Cairn – “is that’s where you come in.” Firebringers – not nearly as strong as the one he’d faced this winter, but together, they’d be formidable. “After the walls are taken down, we’ll have our water wielders move in and put the fires out. After that, we move in to take the town.”

  “Do we focus on the soldiers, or the civilians?”

  Strategically, both. With Berellans, however, the answer Gavriel wanted to give was also the more expedient.

  “The soldiers,” he said. At least that part of this ruse had been easy. Now for the part Lorcan would kill him for later – if he didn’t die first.

  “My regiment will move first,” he said. Bending over the table, he moved the piece representing his troops forward, then, as he explained the rest of the plan, the other pieces followed with it.

  “We’ll overrun them quickly this way,” he finished. A full-frontal assault on an overpowered race of demi-fae. He wasn’t about to say “easily.” That might ruin the whole effect, but he’d almost convinced himself this might be over quickly if he planned on carrying the whole thing out.

  Unfortunately, one of his officers didn’t look so convinced. Wishing he could ignore him convincingly, Gavriel turned to the male.

  “Any objections?”

  Frowning at the battle map, the male shook his head.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” he said. “But it seems we’d be better served if these regiments moved around the village. That way, we could attack from all sides and – “

  “It stays as I’ve said,” Gavriel interrupted. The last thing he needed right now was someone pointing out that his plan was oddly inept. Especially when it was meant to be.

  “But the battle would be much more efficient if we were to – “

  “I’m not looking for efficient. I’m looking for quick. And humane.” Gods, he hoped things would be humane enough on all sides. Experience told him it was probably too much to hope for. That didn’t stop him from willing it so.

  Besides, one of the regiments that would move to the sides would be Cairn’s. And even if this wasn’t a farce of a battle to begin with, he’d want Cairn where he could see him.

  Unbidden, an image of the scene Lorcan had come upon in the woods while training Cairn, the reason he’d been exiled in the first place, flashed through Gavriel’s mind. He hadn’t been there, but Lorcan’s description left little to the imagination. Gavriel swallowed the beginnings of bile.

  He wasn’t letting this male, known for raping and then chopping demi-fae into pieces, anywhere near a whole fortress full of them.

  Regardless of which fortress it might be.

  Which brought him to the next bit of the plan. Forcing his gaze up, he finally looked at Cairn.

  “Your regiment will be next, after mine,” he said. “No matter how this goes, you’re to stay at the back at all times. You’ll be the buffer.”

  An angry glimmer lit in the younger male’s eyes, but he said nothing.

  He’d been relegated to the literal back-up. No chance for glory on the battlefield – and no chance for unleashing any of his more… primal urges.

  Exactly where Gavriel wanted him. There was only one flaw in the plan – one Lorcan probably would have had some way to account for, but one which Gavriel was unable to find a way around.

  This strategy meant that of the few soldiers they might lose, Cairn wouldn’t be one of them.

Chapter Text

The walls of the village were bigger than he’d expected. Gavriel fought his frown as they approached. Even now he could see figures running about on the ramparts, hear them calling to each other. They’d probably have archers. Yes, he did think he could see bows.

  “Shields,” he called. A translucent wave of magic hemmed them in.

  Berellan arrows wouldn’t be able to get through their shields.

  A fair amount of Berellan magic, however… Gavriel swallowed. Getting in and getting out quickly. That was still the plan. Minimal casualties. Minimal casualties.

  If all went according to plan. Which it rarely did.

  Shaking the doubt off, he continued onward.

  “There would be no rutting cover,” his second-in-command growled at his side. No, there wouldn’t be. That would be too easy. Once again, Gavriel wondered just how many details Maeve had hand-tailored in this venture.

  Likely all of them.

  He glanced over his shoulder. At the head of the next regiment, Cairn stood, looking less than pleased. Letting him stew in his own disappointment and arrogance was the least of Gavriel’s concerns on a good day. Today it didn’t even make it onto the list. As long as he stayed where he was supposed to be – right behind Gavriel’s own regiment – there would be no problems.

  The Berellans had already seen them coming. Though they were still a few hundred yards away, Gavriel figured acting now was probably his best option. After all, the Berellans hadn’t brought out their magic yet. The arrows bounced off their shields like raindrops off metal.

  It was when they brought out the magic that it would be a problem.

  Glancing at the two Firebringers, directly behind him, Gavriel nodded.

  “Now.”

  Wordlessly, they obeyed, running out ahead of the others and sending a collective wave of fire at the walls.

  Shouted orders and screams reached his ears, but Gavriel shoved them away. Shoved away his hatred of this mission as a whole. Just as he’d learned to do centuries ago. Shove away the enormity of what you have to do in the moment, deal with it later.

  The “in the moment, deal with it later” part had been his addition. Lorcan had only taught him the first half.

  Through the wall of fire, Gavriel could see nothing. But they’d been marching long enough, and it was large enough, that he thought they might have reached the walls. Or what was left of them. Most of the shield power was coming from Cairn’s regiment, directly behind them. Gavriel didn’t necessarily like having the younger male in charge of defenses, but it was preferable to him being in charge of offenses.

  The moment had arrived. Time to see what damage they’d already done.

  “Walls down,” he called. The shields remained up for now. But the Firebringers slowly stepped back, their flames receding.

  They had, indeed, completely leveled the walls.

  But behind the decimated defenses was something Gavriel hadn’t expected.

  Maeve had made it sound as though this was a Berellan village, protected by a fortress.

  What she hadn’t seen fit to mention was that it was more like a fortress that happened to have a village inside of it.

  Because instead of the running, panicked crowd of civilians he’d expected. Gavriel found himself and his regiment met with a solid wall of Berellan soldiers – a wall that seemed to have no end.

  Their numbers were greater, no matter how far back it went. But these were Berellans.

  There was no reason the plan shouldn’t go forward. After all, they had to put up something of a fight for the ruse to be realistic. He just had to survive long enough to give the order to fall back. Turning to the female standing to the right, he nodded. She raised the horn she carried to her lips and blew one long, high, clear note.

  And promptly received an arrow to the throat.

  There was no need for them to march on the Berellans. The Berellans were coming to them.

  The two lines clashed. As he met a blade with his own, Gavriel took his gaze off the battle for the briefest of seconds to eye the sky above. Where were the shields? Where the rutting hell were the shields?

  As his regiment was overrun, he shoved the Berellan off him and, before the male could use whatever magic he possessed, ran him through. Removing his sword, he whirled to where Cairn still stood at the head of his regiment.

  Looking no longer upset, but smug.

  The soldiers at Cairn’s side were looking to him expectantly. From the distance, Gavriel could have sworn Cairn’s eyes met his. The younger male smirked.

  And though Gavriel couldn’t hear over the din, he read the order Cairn barked well enough.

  Fall back.

  No one listened to him, of course. He didn’t have the seniority.

  But the general now directly to his left did. And he was echoing the cry.

  Gavriel didn’t know how or why, but he had a fairly good idea of when. Cairn had likely been plotting this from the beginning.

  Roaring in rage, Gavriel turned his attention back to the battle in front of him even as he realized his mistake. Keeping Cairn close had been to assure that he didn’t do anything unnecessarily horrendous to the Berellans.

  It didn’t account for the fact that, if Cairn issued an order to fall back, the rest of the troops would assume the order had come from Gavriel himself.

  Feeling rather than seeing any chance of making it out of this slip away, Gavriel tried desperately to maintain some order among his own regiment. But they were being picked off, one by one, all around him. One would explode into flames at his right, another felled by a sword to his left, one in front of him, drowned by a steady stream of water from nowhere.

  And he, for whatever reason, always engaged by those without battlefield magic. Always just those with weapons. All of whom he managed to dispatch easily.

  Had Maeve orchestrated that, as well? Or was it some other’s doing? Or random?

  It wasn’t to last long. In an instant, he felt all of the air sucked from his lungs.

  Gavriel fought to replace it, but the air around him was going stagnant. As though a pocket of it had simply been removed, a circle of not-air ringing his head. He located the wind wielder, standing ten feet or so in front of him, her fist clenched and stretched toward him.

  Not quite as skilled as Rowan. But skilled enough that she was killing him.

  Gavriel took a staggering step forward, choking on the nothing around him. That single step brought him to his knees, his sword dropping to the ground. He’d never understood why those who were suffocating grabbed at their neck, as though that would help them breathe again.

  Ironic, now, that he found himself doing the exact same thing.

  The edges of his vision started to go black. He crawled toward the wind wielder, who simply clenched tighter. Arms giving way now, he hit the ground. As oblivion overtook him, he heard two things.

  A shout – “Alive! We were meant to take the commander alive!”

  And, as he felt the first precious bit of air enter his lungs once again, a whisper on the wind.

  “Gavriel.”

  A pair of turquoise eyes flashed in his mind. But, as he fell unconscious, he was unable to determine who they belonged to this time.

Gavriel’s fists clenched against the cave floor. He’d lost an entire regiment, all due to his poor planning. Still, he supposed that was a better alternative than the entire battalion being lost. If he’d had any effort left in him after the surge of memory, he might have laughed bitterly.

  Because now it was Maeve’s voice in his head. He could almost hear her now. You were at least more successful than your father, in that right.

  What had he expected this winter? That the legacy of his father would stop looming over him? It was as though the gods were playing a cruel trick on him. Or Maeve. Or both. Either way, someone wanted him to realize for absolutely certain that he could never outrun his lineage. It would always come back to haunt him. Sometimes in events.

  And sometimes in faces.

  He remembered the sadistic gleam in Cairn’s eyes, even as nothing he did was direct. The relish as he listened to the cries of the dying.

  Javaid hadn’t been a sadist. But he would have loved Cairn.

  As Maeve did.

  If Lorcan hadn’t done everything in his power to prevent it, Cairn would be in the blood-sworn right now. Probably rising in their ranks like a bird soaring into the heavens. Gavriel wondered what his other form was. Probably a vulture.

  A shadow passed over the cave mouth again. Gavriel turned toward it.

  He supposed the return of the wolf should evoke something in him other than an irritated sigh.

  “If you’re not Fae, get out,” he said, rising, his sword out.

  There was cold determination in the wolf’s gaze this time. And, this time, something in Gavriel’s blood called for a fight. His eyes narrowed as he took in the wolf’s limping gait. He hadn’t noticed that before. It was wounded.

  That would explain why it was alone.

  And why it was daring to approach the fire.

  Common sense kept Gavriel on this side of it, even as latent rage screamed at him to be the first one to strike.

  Skirting around the fire, the wolf jumped.

  The pair of them collided, going down, but not before Gavriel’s sword had found its mark. The beast was limp on top of him.

  Groaning as his muscles barked where he’d hit the cave floor, Gavriel shoved the corpse off himself, thinking he’d be content if he never saw another wolf again. The fight had been too brief to really release any pent up tension. And now he had a body to dispose of.

   Dragging the bleeding, shaggy form to the cave mouth, Gavriel pushed it off to the side, invisible from his perspective, and let out another sigh. Had he actually not felt a sensible person’s fear back there? Something had to be seriously wrong with him.

  He hadn’t been like this in at least a century.

  We are not our parents.

  Gavriel felt his shoulders sag as he went back into the shelter of the cave. He cast a glance out at the sky. Overcast. The stars couldn’t help him even if he’d wanted to sleep under them.

  He knew why the conversation with Fenna on that hillside a few miles from their first encounter with the Berellans came back to him now. It tended to every time he started to fear he’d never outrun his father’s legacy, even after having faced it. Hers wasn’t the only voice coming back to him now, however. It wasn’t just his father’s ghost peering over his shoulder.

  This oath you’ve taken is not an honor, Gavriel. It is a curse. It’s a fetter. And you’re going to labor under it your entire life, because you’re too damned noble to see any differently!

  That had been the topic of his and Meira’s last argument. Which had been one of their final conversations at all. And it tended to come back to him when the blood oath grated. When it had caused him grief. Grief was a good word for this. He hadn’t put a title to it yet.

  Nor had he seen the truth of the blood oath, not truly. Not until Meira had been that blunt with him where no one else had.

  And now her voice mixed with Fenna’s in his head, circling around each other until he wasn’t sure who was speaking louder and whose voice was the gentler one. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

  And he still wasn’t sure whose voice it had been he’d heard before passing out on the battlefield.

  Confusion, sorrow, and rage warring within him, Gavriel decided shifting back was probably best for tonight. He’d thought to deal with what had happened tonight. But the wave of thinking was proving anything but beneficial.

  Besides, fighting off marauding predators always worked better as the Lion.

Chapter Text

Fenna knew Elentiya had walked in before Luca swore.

  What she hadn’t noticed until Emrys dropped his bowl to the hearth was how horrifically battered her face was.

  Her bruises had either bloomed overnight, or had had their numbers increased. Either way, whereas her face had been somewhat distinguishable the day before, it was now swollen and so purple she might have been another sort of creature than demi-fae. Her lips – both of them – puffed outward in a constant pucker. Or maybe that was the scowl. Scowl or not, they were cracked and bleeding still.

  Fenna’s fists clenched around her knife. She might have to kill Rowan later.

  “Great Mother and all her children,” Emrys murmured, rising and coming to stand beside Fenna at the counter. Luca was still staring, his jaw flapping in that fishlike way of his, at the washbasin.

  Elentiya took up the knife across from Fenna and started working at the garlic cloves. “It looks worse than it feels.”

  Blinking, Fenna continued to stare. Was that a cut on her brow? Gods above. Had he slashed at her?

  Apparently, not even Rowan was going to aid Fenna in her attempt to exonerate him. He was only going to continue to incriminate himself. At the moment, Fenna was thinking of abandoning her quest altogether.

  Either way, she could practically smell the lie mixed in with Elentiya’s lemon verbena, jasmine, and ember scent.

  “I’ve got some salve in my room – “ Luca started, setting the towel down and heading for the door.

  Seeing the hard stare Elentiya was giving him, Fenna reached out and grabbed his arm. He halted and stared down at her, then back to Elentiya. Seeming to understand the salve was not a welcome gift, he went back to work, glancing over his shoulder every so often.

  Peeling the cloves, Elentiya’s eyes flicked up to find Fenna and Emrys still staring at her. Her scowl turned positively sour. “It’s none of your business,” she said.

  Fenna couldn’t for the life of her tell whether it was meant to be a reassurance that they needn’t bother worrying about her or a warning that they had best not do so.

  As usual, however, Emrys was not to be perturbed. He hobbled around the counter, the same old anger she’d seen directed at Rowan often enough on her behalf sparking in his eyes. “It’s my business when you come into my kitchen.”

  Those identical eyes looked up into Fenna’s, as though weighing her next statement. Just as quickly, they dropped down to the garlic again. “I’ve been through worse.”

  “What do you mean?” Luca asked, turned around again, his eyes flicking up and over her again.

  “Luca,” Fenna muttered. If she could do the math, he could do the math. She’d seen enough of what cruelty could exist in this world this winter, on this continent.

  Regardless, however, of Elentiya’s sordid history, the glare she was currently sending Luca’s direction didn’t exactly endear her to Fenna. In fact, it was accomplishing quite the opposite.

  Emrys sighed and said, “Leave it alone, Luca.” He bent to pick up his shattered bowl.

  Fenna wasn’t quite ready to leave it alone, however. Not yet.

  Chopping up the peppers, she kept her eyes trained on the task in front of her even as she moved to stand beside Elentiya. Her voice low, she voiced the question that had been bothering her all morning.

  “Did Rowan give you that cut?”

  Elentiya stiffened.

  “It’s none of your – “

  “Business. I know. And I’m not usually nosy. But answer my question. Did Rowan give you that cut?”

  After a moment, Elentiya shook her head.

  That was relieving, anyway. “How did you get it, then?”

  That firm, puffy, once-lovely mouth tightened. “I’m done answering your questions.”

  Well, then. Emrys was eyeing her, shaking his head.

  You leave it alone, too.

  Elentiya’s mood didn’t improve throughout preparation, or the meal. Not that she said much as a rule. But she didn’t need to. Most often, she was staring people down or ignoring them entirely. The wonderful glare she sent Narcisa’s direction set Fenna’s teeth on edge. But Narcisa could handle herself.

  Gods help her if she tried the same stunt on Aludra.

  The pair of them had just started in on the dishes, Luca on the floors, when the door opened. Glancing over her shoulder, Fenna restrained a sigh of relief. Malakai was here. At least he might be able to handle whatever Elentiya could dish out. Ever since she’d walked in this morning, her shoulders had steadily been growing tenser and tenser.

  Malakai looked Elentiya up and down and let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Now that is one of the most glorious beatings I’ve ever beheld.”

  If possible, Elentiya stiffened further. The look she sent him wasn’t quite a glare, but it was full of angry caution.

  “You leave her be, too, Malakai,” Emrys growled.

  Malakai was naturally solemn, but he could be charming when charm was required. Setting the platter he carried down beside Elentiya, he ignored the look she gave him and flashed a surprisingly disarming grin. Fenna blinked.

  “Rowan doesn’t pull punches, does he?” Speaking to her as though another warrior after a hard day’s fight, he added, “And it looks like you don’t bother using a healing salve.”

  At the mention of the healing salve, Elentiya finally turned to look at him. Fenna couldn’t see her face, but Malakai’s told her enough. Grin fading, he glanced past her to Fenna. Fenna shook her head. Charm won’t work on this one.

  More like himself again, Malakai frowned and glanced at Emrys before nailing Elentiya with a hard stare. “My mate works too much as it is. You don’t add to that burden, understand?”

  “Malakai.” Emrys’s warning went unheeded – both by his mate and Elentiya.

  Elentiya shrugged. “I don’t want to bother with any of you.”

  Nodding curtly, Malakai stepped past her, squeezing Fenna’s shoulder. Reaching Emrys, he kissed him and murmured something Fenna couldn’t hear. Emrys retorted sternly. Shrugging, Malakai walked back out, eyeing Elentiya over his shoulder one last time.

  “Even the demi-fae warriors push overprotective to a whole new level.” Fenna had known Emrys long enough to know when his tone was completely faked. He didn’t feel an ounce of the lightness he’d forced into it.

  “Just the warriors?” Fenna asked, half a corner of her mouth quirking up as she eyed him over her shoulder. Even as he said it, an image of Lorcan Salvaterre flashed through her mind. Yes, only part Fae or not, the protective instincts held true.

  “It’s in our blood.” Luca lifted his chin, miffed. “It is our duty, honor, and life’s mission to make sure our families are cared for.”

  “And it makes you a thorn in our side,” Emrys replied.

  “Which schoolbook did you read that out of, Luca?” Fenna’s smirk was growing consistently.

  He shrugged. “Made it up. I think it’d make a good demi-fae creed.”

  “Possessive, territorial beasts.” Emrys slid in between Fenna and Elentiya, setting down the now-cool kettle. “My mate means well, lass. But you’re a stranger – and from Adarlan. And you’re training with… someone none of us quite understand.”

  No. Not even Fenna, and she arguably knew Rowan the best of them all.

  Elentiya dumped the kettle in the sink. “I don’t care.”

  All right. Fenna had had more than enough of this nonsense. Opening her mouth and turning, she stopped short when she saw Emrys’s hard stare. Her mouth snapped shut. He was right. However rude Elentiya was, they didn’t know the first thing about her. Didn’t know what might keep that rudeness at the forefront, concealing what was behind.

  So, turning back to her own dishes – the smaller but numerous ones, evening out hers and Elentiya’s tasks – she mulled over what Emrys had said.

  A thorn in our side. Possessive, territorial beasts.

  Her own side pricked. The memory of how she’d gotten that scar ran through her mind again, and she couldn’t restrain the smallest, tightest of smiles.

  Territorial, indeed.

Fenna had smelled Rowan long before she’d seen him. Maybe because she’d been scenting for him ever since she came outside – on the pretense of needing more herbs for the coming noon meal. As soon as he appeared, however, she shot up from where she was crouched among the thyme.

  “Rowan!”

  He halted, and even Fenna blinked at how commanding her own voice sounded. Recovering fairly quickly, he turned toward her, unflinching.

  “Yes?”

  Well, there was no taking it back now. Striding through the garden, Fenna came to stand at the wall. She was over a foot shorter than Rowan when they were standing on the same level. Now he towered at least four feet above her. But she placed her hands on her hips, frowned up at him, and tried to remember just what, exactly, she’d been about to say.

  The cut on Elentiya’s brow. Right. That was it.

  “How did she get that slash?”

  He stared down at her.

  “And the rest of the bruising. I’m going to assume she didn’t just fall down a rocky gorge?”

  No response. Had he gone mute in the months since she’d seen him? At least mute enough that he could only respond in one-to-four-word sentences? Sighing, she let the silence ride for a moment.

  “Have you heard me at all?” she finally demanded when he merely continued to stare.

  “I wasn’t aware I had to answer your questions,” he growled.

  “You’re not aware you have to – “ She faltered, catching another whiff of something. Sea spray. Blinking, Fenna peered up at him again. “Why do you smell like Vaughan?”

  He stiffened. “You’re imagining things.”

  Oh, now she was irritated. Now she was going to let him have it. Climbing up onto the wall, she stood atop it. For once, she was able to look Rowan in the eye without looking up.

  “Don’t patronize me, Rowan Whitethorn,” she demanded. “You smell like Vaughan Lorian. Now tell me – is he here? And why? You should know I’d like to see him.” She’d like to see any of them.

  Something in her stilled as she beheld just the slightest faltering in him. Something vulnerable under that hard demeanor. And something did give way, even as he stiffened further.

  “He couldn’t stay. He just took off.”

  Disappointment rippled through Fenna – but she ignored it. It was nothing compared to the trepidation she felt as Rowan continued eyeing her uncertainly.

  “Why was he here?”

  His green eyes flicked from her face to the kitchen window and back, as though he were debating telling her. Then they narrowed. The kitchen door slammed. Fenna winced. There was only one person who could slam the door with that much veracity. She turned to find Elentiya coming toward them.

  Something like curiosity flashed across Elentiya’s features as she beheld them. It quickly evaporated into nothing but fury when her eyes settled on Rowan. He seemed almost relieved to see her. Almost. Fenna didn’t know whether to be proud or concerned that this girl was preferable to her.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered, and the pair of them stalked off, toward wherever they were training. Fenna frowned after them.

  He wasn’t getting away from answering her that easily.

  Realizing what Elentiya must have thought, she choked off a bitter laugh. Especially after that display of Emrys backtalking Malakai today. Fenna couldn’t help but think her snapping at Rowan – and standing on a wall to be able to shout at him better, for that matter – looked remarkably similar.

  Well, it was for entirely different reasons, of course. But putting Rowan in his place was not something Fenna found herself opposed to.

  A shard of ice shot through her chest. What was it that Rowan wasn’t telling her? Why had he looked at her as though he were afraid she was going to shatter?

  What had Vaughan been doing here?

  The kitchen window slid open.

  “Fenna, we’ve got enough thyme.” Emrys was eyeing her suspiciously, as though he saw right through her. “And everything else you were looking for.”

  They would. She’d only restocked the kitchen a few days ago, when Emrys was out. But there would have been no way he could know that. Hence her being able to successfully fool him. Feeling a little guilty and letting that guilt take her mind off what niggled at its corners, she headed back inside.

  Aludra, showing up for the afternoon shift, met her at the door. She eyed Fenna curiously.

  “You all right?” she asked. “You look like you’ve been clubbed over the head by a falling tree.”

  Finding that description more than a little amusing, Fenna smirked. “So I look dead?”

  “No,” Aludra said. “But you look as though you’d just found out someone was.”

  Another prickle of chill ran down Fenna’s back. But she dismissed it.

  “It’s likely nothing,” she said simply, stepping inside. And, to her credit, Aludra didn’t press.

Thank the gods it rained that night. Fenna needed some distraction from that look on Rowan’s face. And, for that matter, the other question he hadn’t bothered to answer. How, exactly, Elentiya had gotten that cut. But Rowan, male or hawk, was nowhere to be seen.

  Emrys’s stories were usually hair-raising enough that they’d distract her well enough.

  Everyone flowed into the kitchens after dinner, and Fenna, seated between Aludra and Narcisa at the table, leaned against the stone wall, content. Most of the food had been eaten and there was still a sizable amount left. They always made more on rainy nights. Her stomach full, Fenna felt like sleeping right here. But she knew that desire wouldn’t last long. Not once Emrys started talking.

  Something brushed her shoulder, and Fenna jumped. She relaxed, however, realizing it was just Reuven easing his arm around Aludra. Something twinged at her as he pressed a kiss to her friend’s temple. Jealousy? She didn’t know. All she knew was, if that was what it was, it certainly wasn’t for Reuven himself. Ignoring that twinge, she turned to Narcisa.

  “Any guesses what he’s going to tell tonight?”

  Narcisa shrugged. “You’d know him better than I do. But I’d say we heard about the last dragon-killing last time, so he’ll probably mix it up a bit.”

  Ah, yes. That. Rather than on Emrys, as they should have been, Fenna had felt every eye in the room turn to her at least twice. All right, yes, she’d spent the most time with Lorcan Salvaterre of everyone in this fortress. It didn’t mean she suddenly had more connection with this story than anyone else. In fact, she much preferred others.

  Of course, Narcisa, at least, had figured out which ones she preferred not long ago and wouldn’t let the matter drop. So Fenna kept her mouth shut, shrugging instead.

  Eyes flicking somewhere past Fenna, Narcisa pursed her lips.

  “Your new friend is here,” she muttered, frowning.

  Fenna glanced over Aludra and Reuven’s heads to see Elentiya entering the kitchen, looking out of her element. And shocked. No one would have explained how rainy nights worked to her, would they have? Fenna made a note to tell her how they worked tomorrow.

  “I don’t know if you could call us friends,” she said cautiously.

  “What would you call you, then?” Narcisa asked.

  If Fenna were being honest, they were barely even acquaintances.

  “Colleagues,” she settled on.

  “Hmm.” Narcisa’s lips puckered further before her expression smoothed into neutrality. “Well, I’m fairly certain you and Emrys are going to wind up being the nicest people to her in this fortress. Not that that’s surprising. But she’s managed to alienate everyone else thus far.”

  “You’re forgetting Luca.”

  Shrugging again, Narcisa turned her attention back to Emrys, and Fenna was left watching Elentiya. The girl looked around cautiously again, then began slipping through the crowds and filling up her plate. At least she was eating well. Better than she had this morning. Not quite as much as that first day, but this at least seemed healthy.

  Closer to Emrys’s chair sat Luca, his arm draped around Lilah. Fenna thought perhaps she might be judging the girl too harshly. She did seem to properly admire Luca. Recognize what she had in him. Maybe she was just shy – shier than Fenna herself.

  Glancing at the door, Fenna blinked.

  A flash of light, and a hawk flapped upward, disappearing above the door.

  Shaking her head, Fenna gave an irritated if amused smile. So, Rowan had respect for Storykeepers, did he? Well, perhaps it would improve his respect for kitchenmasters. She could just picture him perching in the rafters outside. Maybe she could catch him afterward. Interrogate him further about Elentiya’s scars and Vaughan’s visit.

  But for now, she had enough reverence for what was about to happen to hold her peace.

  Malakai clapped his hands, and everything fell silent. Elentiya, who’d been turned toward the door, froze. Stiffly, she turned around and took up a seat beside the door. Lightning flashed, illuminating the kitchen through the windows. A few people, including Aludra, shrieked a few seconds later when the thunder rumbled in response. Fenna heard Reuven’s low, delighted laugh as he pulled his mate closer to his side. Even as she smiled at her friends’ sweetness, that old pang returned.

  Emrys cleared his throat, and everyone was paying attention once more. Firelight bouncing off his silver hair, he began the tale.

  “Long ago, when there was no mortal king on Wendlyn’s throne, the faeries still walked among us. Some were good and fair, some were prone to little mischiefs, and some were fouler and darker than the blackest night.”

  Fenna swallowed. She thought she might have experienced some of all three this winter – but more closely the first kind. Though she wondered whether Fenrys fit better with the first or the second.

  “It was those wicked faeries,” Emrys said, the magic of his words resonating in the stones of the kitchen walls, “that you always had to watch for on the ancient roads, or in the woods, or on nights like this, when you can hear the wind moaning your name.”

  Ah, the Name Stealer. Fenna smiled as a few people laughed nervously and Luca groaned, “Oh, not that one.”

  He didn’t mean it, of course. No one ever turned down one of Emrys’s stories, no matter how scary. But secretly, Fenna was relieved. She might just be able to sleep tonight. The Name Stealer was somewhat like a Skinwalker. She could handle a Skinwalker tonight. She’d dealt with them before.

  Even if her neck hairs still crinkled a bit when she told the story.

  At one point, remembering her encounter with Skinwalkers, she glanced back out the door. Was Rowan still here? Was he also remembering that day, when he’d left her in the woods with orders to go back and get Lorcan while he ran ahead to help Fenrys and Gavriel? Remembering how furious he’d been when she hadn’t obeyed that order?

  She’d been stupid. That much had been clear.

  But something Gavriel had told her afterward – You remind Rowan of someone. Yet another curiosity she hadn’t ever found an answer to. That same chill ran up her spine from earlier, one that had nothing to do with Emrys’s story.

  If Rowan was smart, he’d stay in hawk form. He’d be harder to corner tonight that way.

  Emrys finished right as a clap of thunder shook the kitchen again. Amidst the nervous laughter and teasing of those who’d emitted it, Fenna saw Elentiya stand and begin to make her way toward the door, then freeze. Had she also seen Rowan? Surely she hadn’t seen his hawk form yet. Then again, Fenna didn’t know what their training sessions had looked like the past few days.

  Catching a glimpse of her as well, Emrys extended a hand. “Elentiya,” he said. “Would you perhaps share a story from your lands? We’d love to hear a tale, if you’d do us the honor.”

  A tale from Adarlan? Fenna was curious, but she didn’t think anyone else would be. Most people in the fortress held the kingdom of luxury and cruelty in contempt. Only Luca offered her any sort of encouragement.

  Something inside Fenna, however, stilled with the haunted stare in Elentiya’s eyes. They roved the room, finally settling on her. Staying there.

  And it was in that moment Fenna knew, Elentiya was not a child of Adarlan. Not originally. Even if her birthplace wouldn’t have outweighed her Fae blood, no Adarlanian child looked that haunted at the mention of tales of their lands.

  Unless the guilt-racked lines of her face indicated anything.

  Tearing her eyes away from Fenna, Elentiya swallowed. Not meeting Emrys’s gaze, she said, calmer than Fenna had expected, “No thank you,” and stalked out. If Rowan saw her go, he didn’t move.

  Sighing, Emrys turned back to the crowd. “Well, then. You know the rules. First story is mine, second is a request.”

  At least five voices began clamoring, but Reuven, shooting Fenna a sly look, spoke the loudest.

  “Tell us a tale of the blood-sworn,” he said. “Any of them.”

  Fenna rolled her eyes as the entire room erupted. Most of them, as usual, were looking at her. Emrys, also eyeing her and knowing full well how she felt about this, but looking resigned, sighed again. He smirked, and it was Fenna’s turn to feel resigned. She knew very well where he was about to go.

  “Very well. It’s been a while since I’ve told it, but does anyone remember the story of the battle of the Twisting Rivers?”

  Fenna remembered this one. It had been one of the first tales she’d heard that told of the Lion of Doranelle. For all her protestations, her mouth quirked upward. Fine. She’d listen again. Ignore all the looks sent her direction.

  As Emrys began, however, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eyes. Wings flapping away. She frowned. Apparently, Rowan was only interested in stories of the fell creatures that roamed these lands. Then again, she supposed stories of himself and his comrades might be boring.

  Remembering her research, she swallowed. Maybe even painful.

  She listened to Emrys’s story, but even as she did, that same chill ran down her back.

Chapter Text

Gavriel jerked awake, panting. Forcing himself to calm, he took in his surroundings.

  Still in the cave. The light was seeping in from the yawning mouth. Breathing evenly again, he stretched out, claws extending. It always took him a few weeks after captivity to wake up with a wall at his back and not think the gods had played some cruel trick on him, sending him a dream of freedom and then waking him back in whatever fetid cell he’d been kept in.

  Granted, this was only the third time in three centuries of serving Maeve that he’d been captured. Overnight. There had been one incident that had lasted all of two hours. But that had led to his meeting Meira, so… it was a different kind of dream that one evoked in him.

  He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep. But he wasn’t tired of holding the Lion yet. He might make it some distance before the sun set again that night.

  Judging from its position, he’d slept longer than he intended. While being on alert constantly, one’s animal form also tended to realize better than the Fae form how much rest was needed. Still, he was starting out relatively early.

  Thoughts like this kept the continued flood of memory at bay.

  Trotting toward the cave mouth, he stopped outside of it. Stared at the wolf’s corpse. For whatever reason, the vultures hadn’t come for it yet. He was grateful for that. Sleeping near a corpse was a bad idea when there were scavengers around.

  Repressing a feline shudder, he took off. He tried to focus on anything but what had happened after the battle. His surroundings. The feel of the blades of mountain grass on his paws. The bite of the wind after last night’s storm. The burning pulse of energy still in the air.

  It didn’t work. As he ran, the images came back anyway.

They’d kept him drugged for the first two days.

  Gavriel didn’t know what they’d given him, but if they were drugging him rather than poisoning him, it was probably a good sign. They needed him alive. For now.

  That was one of his few clear thoughts in those two days. Most of the time, he was in a stupor. Sometimes he would remember where he was. Most times, he didn’t. If he had any thought on the matter at all, he’d usually think he was back in that first cell. This one smelled much better, and seemed cleaner. But it was just as small. The design was relatively the same.

  Were they torturing him, and he was just blocking it out? That was what the black outs were. They had to be. They wouldn’t have him back here and just be letting him sit, waiting to be interrogated. They had to be doing something, and he was just forgetting.

  Lorcan had shown up then, after two and a half weeks. He’d nearly broken the blood oath to do it. But even in his most unclear, most fevered moments, Gavriel somehow understood that Lorcan wasn’t coming. Not this time.

  Had it been two and a half weeks already? Maybe he wasn’t giving him enough credit. But time was just as blurry as the rest of the world. Just as foggy. He could have been here two hours, two days, two months, two years.

  If it was anything more than two and a half weeks, he’d officially give up on Lorcan. In the meanwhile, he was busy fighting off drug-induced visions.

  He hadn’t seen anything like this since that first time, which just confirmed his theory that he might be back there. Maybe the entire past two and a half centuries had been a cruel dream sent by the gods. He wondered if Hellas sent tormenting dreams like those. If he did, might he have pity on him for Lorcan’s sake? Evidently not.

  His visions were more like snippets. Faces here and there. He saw Lorcan, Rowan, Vaughan. Fenrys and Connall. He saw his parents, long since dead or faded. He saw Meira. All of them flashed in his mind, not doing anything. Sometimes they bore different expressions – his father, usually a sneer. Not that Rowan wasn’t wearing one of those often enough, but it was different. Wasn’t it? No, Rowan was glaring. That was it. So was Lorcan. So who was sneering?

  One face eluded him. He saw that face’s eyes in another, but that only served to confuse him more. But that voice he’d heard on the battlefield… it kept coming back.

  “Gavriel… Gavriel…”

  He recognized it. Remembered where he’d first heard it. Sometimes he’d wake after a fever dream to find himself reaching out for it, but his fingers would only touch air. Even in his waking, it would echo in his mind.

  “Gavriel…”

  And that was the most clarity he had for days.

  Then, on the third day, he’d been absolutely certain he was lucid. Mostly because there was nothing unclear about his rolling over and vomiting into a conveniently placed bucket.

  The voice? Gone. It had no place here any longer. 

  After expelling the meager contents of his stomach, he dry heaved a few times, arms braced on the sides of the bucket. A low, chagrined chuckle brought him fully back into reality.

  “You’ll feel that for a few days.”

  He looked through the iron bars of his cell and glared. A Berellan sentry sat across the corridor from the cell, arms and legs crossed, staring at him. Not unsympathetically, but not with any kind of warmth, either. Why should he? He’d led an attack on a Berellan settlement. A Berellan fortress, as it turned out, but still. There were families here. Innocents.

  There was no reason this stranger should show any semblance of kindness toward him.

  “Good news is we’ve only had you on it for two days,” the sentry said. That answered his question of how long he’d been here. “So you won’t necessarily die for lack of it. But we’ve been giving you a pretty steady dose so… by the time your fate’s decided, you may thank us for it.”

  He wasn’t surprised that death was what was coming. Hadn’t that been Maeve’s intent in the first place? Well, she may not accomplish it the way she’d wanted to, but dead he’d be by the end of this.

  “And when will that be?”

  The sentry shrugged. “A few days, most likely. The commander is coming. She’ll decide what to do with you when she gets here.”

  There were probably multiple female commanders in the Berellan army. There were multiple female commanders in the Fae army, though they were less common than certain other kingdoms. But something inside Gavriel hoped that, maybe…

  No. Even if it was the commander he was familiar with, there was no changing what had happened. He’d committed an act of war against the very people he’d fought with this winter.

  Besides, why should he live when his poor planning had killed his entire regiment?

  “You’re remarkably philosophical about all this,” the sentry commented.

  Gavriel almost snorted. Was the male actually trying to make conversation with him? He shrugged it off.

  “I’m old,” he said. Though not necessarily for a Fae male, he certainly was when compared to the Berellan life span. “And I’ve been a warrior for three hundred years. You start to accept the fact that death is probably just around the corner any day by this point.”

  Nodding, the sentry uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

  “That’s what I can’t figure,” he said. “You are who they’re saying you are, aren’t they? The ones who were at the battle of Doranelle?”

  Gavriel had heard that was what the Berellans were calling it. It was a bit of a misnomer, but he was fairly certain it was also a bit of a jab at Maeve. A reminder of what the Berellans’ presence had originally been for. He smiled wryly.

  “If they were there… they’re probably right.”

  The sentry nodded again. “So… what are you doing here, then? What are you doing… doing this?”

  Oh, if only he had an acceptable answer for the male. Gavriel shook his head.

  “I’d tell you I was here because of an oath I took when I was young and foolish,” he said, not knowing why he was confiding this much. Confiding what he hadn’t even told Lorcan. What he couldn’t tell any of the others. “But the only good answer to that question is, your answer is as good as mine.”

  Either way, he was here to fulfill the agenda of a queen he’d long since stopped believing in. Whom serving had long since stopped feeling like an honor. A curse, a fetter. Just as Meira had always told him it was.

  She’d been smarter than he was. A pity that advice had come three centuries too late.

  The sentry rose at the sound of footsteps down the hallway.

  “Like I said, the commander will be here in a few days. Until then…” He gave Gavriel a cursory look, then shrugged. “Try to stay comfortable until then.”

  Easy words for a male without a death sentence on his head. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, the next sentry was much less conversational.

  He marked the hours by the changing of the guard, the arrival of meals he couldn’t hold down, and the subsequent emptying of his stomach. By the fifth day, he was able to stomach food again. The withdrawal sweats had stopped, as well.

  Every once in a while, while he slept, that voice would come back to him. He didn’t know who it belonged to. Actually, he thought he did. It was toneless, and sweet, and soothing, and continued to call to him.

  “Gavriel…”

  Sometimes, he’d respond to it. Silently. For whatever reason, it seemed important the Berellans didn’t think him mad. But in his head, he’d talk back. At first, he’d try to push it off.

  This is no place for you, he’d tell it. Leave me here.

  But by that final, fifth day, it became evident that voice was the one thing keeping him going. Keeping him sane. So he’d changed his mind. He’d welcomed it. And, even though he still wasn’t entirely certain, he’d given it a name. And when it called to him, he called back.

  “Gavriel…”

  Fenna…

He had to get out.

  Almost without his bidding it, the shifting magic flared, and, mid-leap, Gavriel was in his Fae form again. Lurching to a halt, he braced his arm against a tree and leaned over, breathing hard. After a moment, he sank to his knees, letting the clean mountain air fill his lungs. And he thought he heard it again.

  If he were being honest with himself, even when he’d been released, it hadn’t stopped.

  He was less sure here, when death didn’t loom over him, if the voice had actually belonged to Fenna. It was just unclear enough that he could convince himself either way. He could have convinced himself it was Meira. Gods, he could have convinced himself it was his mother, if he’d really wanted to. The only real thing he could tell about it was that it was, in fact, female.

  But he’d chosen to believe it was Fenna.

  Just as he was choosing now to tell himself that choice didn’t matter as much as he wanted to think it did.

  Glancing around, Gavriel suddenly recognized his surroundings. Technically at any point in his journey, he could switch routes. But this was the most clearly defined splitting point. One path led northwest, the other due west. He could go north and skirt around Doranelle. Go where he felt that voice tugging at him. He’d have to go back to Doranelle eventually. But he didn’t have to right away.

  Or he could continue on his course. He didn’t know what, exactly, Maeve would do when he returned to Doranelle alive. And she certainly didn’t have to know he’d been released weeks ago, deeming hunting down Rowan more expedient than letting them know he was alive.

  Or he could go to Mistward.

  Sighing, Gavriel ran a hand over his face and glanced upward.

  Fenna’s trees didn’t have any more answers than his stars.

  No. He’d made a vow months ago that he’d let Fenna live her life. He wouldn’t be a part of it. None of them would – it was safer for her that way. And he certainly wasn’t going to let Maeve get wind that, failing to find Rowan, his next move had been to find her.

  He wasn’t placing her in that kind of danger.

  But, as he continued on for Doranelle, it disturbed Gavriel just how clearly he knew, that if he were to receive even the slightest nudge from any outside source, he’d take off for Mistward in two seconds. Vow or no vow.

  Maeve or no Maeve.

Chapter Text

Fenna.

  Fenna jerked upright in bed, panting. His Majesty, curled up by her knee, eyed her quizzically but otherwise didn’t stir. Brushing the hair off her forehead, Fenna tried to regain her breath and figure out what. Had. Just. Happened.

  She’d dreamed of the girl she now knew to be Elentiya again.

  It had been the same dream as usual, only without the other scenes scattered here and there. And this time, she’d been watching from the front as child-Elentiya ran full bore for her.

  Fenna had been glued to the spot, unable to move. Unable to think. Unable to do anything as the child tripped. She always tripped. Always got her foot caught in a root. And Fenna had never seen how she got out before, but get out she always did.

  Something different had happened this time, however. Elentiya had looked up, seen her, reached out her hand, and called her name.

  Still unable to move or respond, Fenna had stood there for a moment as Elentiya had called her, pleading with her to help her. The black rider bore down, and Fenna wondered momentarily whether the dream would end differently this time.

  But, like that, the root lifted, and as though she’d been running the whole time, the girl took off.

  From there on, the dream had been as it always was. Elentiya had run for the dark, yawning abyss and Fenna had found her tongue loosened as she shrieked for her to stop, and wait, and to turn back, but, as always, Elentiya didn’t hear. She’d careened straight into the maw of the darkness.

  But as Fenna had found herself yanked backward, she’d heard that other voice. Not Elentiya’s. Male, almost slurred, definitely pained. She heard it again now, if only in memory.

  Fenna.

  An uncomfortable niggling gnawed at her gut. She made up her mind to corner Rowan as soon as possible. He knew something he wasn’t telling her, and she didn’t care what it was. She would find out now, and find out all of it.

  Laying back onto her pillow, she groaned. No matter how well she’d slept otherwise, the dream nights left her exhausted. But her job remained the same, and the pre-dawn dark told her it was time to go. She glanced down at His Majesty.

  “You don’t interpret dreams, do you?”

  He simply mrowled back at her, and if he’d had brows, they’d probably have reached his ears.

  Do I look like a seer?

  “No. Not particularly.”

  Groaning again, Fenna rolled out of bed. Whatever these dreams meant, whoever it was she heard, whyever it was that she saw Elentiya in her sleep, and whenever she was going to figure it out, right now, she needed to help with breakfast.

Fenna’s mood only worsened with the day. Something about going from dreaming about a person to immediately having to chop onions next to them set one on edge. And Elentiya wasn’t any more cordial today than she’d been the past few days.

  As a matter of fact, she hardly spoke at all. And if she did respond to someone, it was to glare at them.

  Fenna missed Aludra in the mornings.

  It wasn’t that she faulted Elentiya for being quiet. She’d been when she first came here, too. And even if Elentiya just proved to be a quiet person, not merely warming up to her new surroundings, Fenna wouldn’t have minded that. Some people just didn’t speak much.

  But most people possessed some semblance of niceness. Especially here. Even the most jaded ones at Mistward tended toward letting their pasts make them kinder, rather than angrier. The atmosphere helped with that.

  But Elentiya… Fenna shook her head, reminding herself the girl was from Adarlan. Or, at least, had lived there for some time. She had every right to be surly.

  If anyone did.

  For once, Emrys had sent Luca into the garden to get herbs. Not Fenna. Fenna didn’t know why he’d done that, because it left her alone with Elentiya, as Emrys had gone to run some of the healing herbs to Tyron in the hospital wing.

  Placing the last of the dishes in its proper place and pulling out what they needed to start on the noon meal, Fenna glanced down at Elentiya, scrubbing the floor. For how haggard she’d looked when she’d first shown up, Fenna could tell Rowan was at least putting those muscles to good use. She even appeared to be putting weight on – though Fenna was more likely to attribute that to Emrys’s cooking than anything else.

  The way she scrubbed at the stone tiles, however… Fenna didn’t want to be whoever had put that level of fury into her. She cleaned the way Fenna did when someone had kicked His Majesty in her presence.

  All right, so maybe not everyone at Mistward let their pasts make them kinder. And some of them just weren’t cat people. Elentiya had the air of a dog person.

  The silence was beginning to drive Fenna mad. She normally didn’t mind it, but with Elentiya, she did. She’d almost rather have her snapping at her than attacking the tiles like that and saying nothing.

  It was none of her business, what had made Elentiya the way she was. But even so…

  “Is it as bad as they say? In Adarlan?”

  Elentiya froze, shoulders stiff. She looked up at Fenna, eyes haunted. Unreadable. Fenna was just beginning to regret asking when she turned away and looked down at her mangled hands.

  “Let’s just say you should be glad you’ve been here, and not there.”

  Interesting wording. Fenna had never been anywhere but the eastern continent in her life. But she’d gotten an answer out of her. And it wasn’t a clipped, barbed sentence. It was almost vulnerable. She debated pressing her advantage, but Elentiya was continuing.

  “You would have ended up one of two ways,” she said. “If you escaped the initial massacre of magic users, it would have depended. You’d either have ended up on the streets or worse.”

  “What’s the second way?”

  Elentiya stared at her. “Worse.”

  Ah. Right.

  “Displaced girls in Adarlan and the countries it’s conquered… probably the best thing that can happen to them is getting some kind of domestic position. And that never happens. The nobles won’t hire anyone who looks even slightly dirty, except perhaps the kind ones. You’d be far more likely to get a job in a tavern. Or a brothel. Or…” Her voice trailed off and she appraised Fenna again. Something almost like a bitter smile touched her mouth. “No. Never mind.”

  Fenna wasn’t about to ask what would come after a brothel in that line-up of awful options. Looking away, she returned to kneading the dough for yet more bread.

  “Where have you…” Elentiya’s voice was cautious. If Fenna wasn’t mistaken, it almost trembled a little. “Where did you grow up? Before you came here.”

  That was the most she’d asked of anyone. For not wanting to bother with any of them, Elentiya was certainly proving to be talkative. Fenna gave her the same answer she gave anyone.

  “I was raised in a village north of here. I was one of ten.”

  She couldn’t gauge Elentiya’s reaction to that, but something seemed to stiffen in her further. “Your whole life?”

  It must be some cruel law of the universe that everyone inevitably asked that question. Fenna shrugged again.

  “The last ten years of it.”

  “Before that?” Now her voice was almost desperate. Fenna frowned.

  “What does it matter?” Perhaps giving her a taste of her own rudeness would be a good response.

  The floor finished, Elentiya rose. She stood across the counter, hands braced on it as though she might fall over, though she looked steady enough. Fenna’s frown only deepened. Elentiya wouldn’t meet her eyes. But then again, that wasn’t new, was it?

  “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

  Fenna stared at her. Did she know? Did she know that she bore the face that had haunted Fenna’s sleep for years? That Fenna was coming off another night where she’d run careening into that abyss, only this night she’d actually asked for help and Fenna had been able to do nothing?

  Was she aware?

  Yes, I know who you are. You’re the girl from my dreams – well, nightmares. Do you know what that means, exactly?

  No, that wasn’t the proper response. And there was no way she could respond otherwise and be honest.

  So she shook her head. “No. I don’t. Should I?”

  Elentiya’s gaze hardened, and she stooped to pick up the bucket, lugging it toward the back door. “No.”

  And just like that, they were back to working alongside each other in silence.

  Fortunately, Fenna didn’t have to wait too long. Rowan stalked in a few minutes later, looking just as surly as usual. As though he didn’t have some secret he was unwilling to tell Fenna lodged in that silver head of his.

  He didn’t even look at Fenna as he jerked his thumb back out the door and barked, “Let’s go” at Elentiya. Even his script hadn’t varied.

  Caught off guard by Elentiya’s question from earlier, Fenna hadn’t even seized the opportunity when he walked in. Now she stepped forward.

  “Rowan – “

  But he was already walking out, slamming the door behind him.

  Fenna winced as the room seemed to shake, then turned to Elentiya. “I don’t know how you’ve lived as long as you have. I know it’s only been a few days, but…” Her voice trailed off at the look of sheer hatred Elentiya was sending the door.

  Most likely, Elentiya wondered the exact same thing.

  “Why are you so eager to talk to him?” Elentiya asked, voice brittle. Her unspoken if I had a choice I wouldn’t hung in the air.

  What was she supposed to say? I spent the winter with him and his friends and he came back in the other day smelling like one of them and I’m trying to get him to tell me why and how and why said friend couldn’t stay and what was so urgent that friend needed to come personally and –

  No. No, Fenna wasn’t going to tell her any of those things. She may not have earned the answer Elentiya gave her about Adarlan. But Elentiya hadn’t earned this part of Fenna, either. Not after saying something like “you don’t know who I am” and offering no explanation.

  “No reason,” was all she finally said.

  Mouth set, Elentiya went after Rowan. Fenna sighed and leaned forward on the counter.

  There were too many confusing things happening right now. She needed tea. And didn’t have time to make it. Not with both Luca and Emrys gone. But her brain either needed to be calmed or to focus on something other than her dreams. Other than that voice. Other than Elentiya’s odd question. And other than the fact that Rowan still refused to stick around long enough to hear hers.

  Fenna.

  A chill ran up her back. Desperate for any sort of distraction, she settled for humming until Luca got back.

Chapter Text

For a brief moment, Fenna had hoped it might rain tonight. Clouds scudded across the sky, promising a downpour, but at the last moment they had all dissipated, flying back from whence they’d come. Wherever that was.

  So there was to be no stories by the fire, but the kitchen was packed nonetheless. Reuven had come in to join them, dragging Narcisa along with him. Fenna’s friend only protested mildly, claiming Anastasia and her children would miss her, until she was reminded that Anastacia was working late.

  And as there was nothing Narcisa disliked more than a shoddy argument, she quickly abandoned it for acquiescence.

  Everyone had crowded in around the table when Rowan and Elentiya stalked in. Fenna peered at the girl, trying to see if she looked any worse than she had this morning. Any worse than she usually did. Bruised, but not worse than usual. Still surly, so she couldn’t be too bad off.

  Content to go back to her meal, Fenna had the spoon lifted halfway to her mouth when Emrys called, “Elentiya. Join us.”

  Fenna froze. Part of her cursed her own selfishness. After all, Elentiya probably needed friends just as much as anyone. But Fenna had been looking forward to the quiet familiarity of her family.

  She needed that quiet familiarity tonight.

  Elentiya’s face hardened as she looked at the kitchenmaster. “No,” she said stiffly. Then, as though some better part of her nature prodded her, she added, “Thank you.” The words weren’t anywhere close to sounding sincere.

  “You have somewhere else to be?” Emrys asked, even as Malakai murmured for him to leave it be.

  Eyes sliding from Emrys to Rowan, who seemed more interested in her response than just why the invitation hadn’t been extended to him, Elentiya hesitated for a moment, then let her face slip back into that same mask of stone.

  “Fine,” she said brittlely. Fenna could have sworn she was looking at her.

  As Elentiya continued to fill her plate – Fenna was surprised she still had an appetite after what Rowan had likely put her through – Aludra leaned across the table, brow furrowed.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “You’ve been quiet today.”

  Fenna wished she had an answer. Yes, she was all right. No, she wasn’t. She hadn’t been able to get Elentiya’s words from this morning out of her head all day.

  You really don’t know who I am, do you?

  That, combined with that voice which sent warmth and shivers up her back at once constantly sounding off in her head, and the strange pull that came with it, not to mention Rowan’s increasingly obvious avoidance of her, had combined for a thoroughly off day. She wouldn’t have minded telling Aludra about it. But something held her back. So Fenna merely forced a small, unconvincing smile.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  Aludra gave her a look that said she trusted her about as far as she could throw her. Which wasn’t far. Yes, she was gaining muscle mass working in the kitchen but Fenna was still fairly certain that, despite Aludra’s height advantage, she’d have the jump on her in a fight. If she wanted to fight. Which she didn’t.

  Elentiya was another story on both counts.

  The still slightly-if-less-hideously bruised girl sat down across from Fenna, Aludra, and Reuven, beside Narcisa, keeping as far of a distance as she could from the soldier, who stared at her coldly before going back to listening to whatever Luca was prattling on about. Fenna’s eyes shot over to Aludra, who eyed Elentiya cautiously.

  Fenna almost prayed her friend wouldn’t engage. Almost. Something told her prayer would do her little good in that specific scenario.

  “So, Elentiya,” Aludra said, voice higher-pitched in the way it got when she was attempting to get to know someone. “What do you do?”

  Turquoise eyes stared at her blandly. Aludra blinked, as if she, too, were just now noticing that the newcomer’s eyes matched Fenna’s exactly. But, as usual, she recovered quickly.

  “I mean, what did you do? Before you came here.”

  Elentiya’s jaw hardened, and Fenna fought the urge to reach across the table and slap her.

  “I… served the king of Adarlan,” she said, voice just as bland as her eyes.

  The door closed, and Fenna glanced up to find Rowan gone. She let out an exasperated sigh. Unless she tracked him down and snuck up on him, she wasn’t going to get any answers tonight.

  She probably could sneak up on him. But she wasn’t particularly eager to get a knife lodged in her throat or the breath pulled from her lungs, which was about what she could expect from a startled Rowan Whitethorn.

  “What’s it like over there?” Reuven asked, stepping in, eyes flicking back and forth from Elentiya to his mate warily. If Aludra hadn’t gotten warning feelings from Fenna, he had. “As bad as they say?”

  Elentiya didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. Narcisa did for her.

  “Worse, no doubt. Has anyone ever told you that you ask absurd questions, Reuven?”

  He shrugged and leaned back against the wall, arm coming to circle around Aludra’s shoulders. “I’m making conversation. Which is more than you’re doing.”

  Narcisa snorted and elbowed Luca. “Can you blame me? This one roped me into conversation and you know I’ll never get a word in with him.”

  “I take offense to that,” Luca declared haughtily. “You’ve said plenty in the past few minutes.”

  “Really? Name a single word I’ve said.”

  Luca opened his mouth to respond, then frowned. Frowned again. And shook his head.

  “Not all communication is verbal, Narcisa,” he said airily, going back to his meal in what Fenna was sure he thought was a dignified manner.

  The general din of laughter around the table was interrupted by Elentiya’s quiet if brittle voice. “So that’s normal, then?”

  Fenna blinked and stared. Was that… humor? She hadn’t seen that coming tonight. She allowed herself a half-smirk and a shrug.

  “Somewhat,” she said.

  Luca leaned around Narcisa. “You missed a lively winter, Elentiya. I don’t imagine you’ve heard of what’s happened around here recently?”

  “Luca,” Emrys and Malakai grumbled at the same time, the latter’s eyes shooting to Aludra, the former’s eyes shooting to Fenna.

  Elentiya ignored them both, but took a break from shoveling her food down to peer at Luca.

  “I didn’t even know this place existed until two weeks ago,” she said flatly. “Why would I know what your… lively winter was like?”

  Apparently, Luca decided that between Emrys and Elentiya, Elentiya was the more terrifying and plunged onward.

  “It wasn’t much,” he said. “A couple of raids into surrounding territories, a new cult cropping up, lots of Maeve’s blood-sworn showing up unexpectedly.” He raised his eyebrows at Fenna.

  Now it was Elentiya’s turn to freeze with her spoon halfway to her mouth.

  “The blood-sworn?” she asked. She shot a glance at the door, as though afraid Rowan might be lurking outside, then turned back to Luca. “What are they like?”

  He shrugged. “You’d probably know at least one of them better than most of us. Well, except maybe Fenna.”

  Fenna glared at him. He was trying to rope her into talking about last winter, wasn’t he? He was always convinced he hadn’t heard the whole of her story and trying to get more out of her.

  He’d heard most of it. Not all. But most.

  “You’ve traveled with them,” Elentiya said. It wasn’t a question. Fenna nodded.

  “For a month or so, yes.”

  After she’d arrived back at Mistward, she thought she’d be dying to talk about them. Most of them she just missed that much. But only Emrys didn’t seem interested in them as a… commodity. As living legends. Only he seemed to realize they were more than just walking stories, to her especially.

  Elentiya was watching her, waiting for an answer. Fenna couldn’t tell what she wanted out of her – confirmation about the stories, or an actual depiction of them as they were.

  But she did want something out of Fenna. That much was obvious.

  “They aren’t… quite as terrifying as the legends make them out to be,” she said. Then, thinking on the matter, she added, “And yet they’re even more so, at the same time.”

  Elentiya eyed her evenly.

  “I know,” Fenna said. “That clears things up, doesn’t it?”

  “You were a lone female,” Elentiya went on. “Traveling with five Fae males.” Her gaze slid to the door again before coming back to rest on Fenna once more. “Did you feel threatened by any of them?”

  “If you’re looking for an excuse to kill Rowan, you won’t find one from me,” Fenna replied. “None of them laid a hand on me.”

  Well… that wasn’t entirely true. But that was also the part of her story she’d left out when she told Luca. He’d heard about her encounter with the rogue male in the woods. He’d heard about Gavriel arriving just in time. What he hadn’t heard about was… anything that had happened afterward.

  Luca might not think her clinging to a male for the rest of the day a big deal, especially considering she’d almost died, but practically everyone else would.

  That was beside the point, however. Elentiya wasn’t asking about Gavriel. She probably didn’t even know who he was, growing up in Adarlan. Fenna thought some lands across the sea told old Fae legends, but definitely not that one. No, Elentiya was digging for information on Rowan. And Fenna wasn’t sure which information to give there, either.

  The part where he’d looked full-on ready to murder her after the Skinwalkers, or the part where he’d saved her life when she’d burned out in the middle of battle.

  “They’re just as complicated as anyone else,” Fenna finally settled on. “Let’s leave it at that.”

  Elentiya eyed her. “Why did they pick you?”

  Fenna blinked. “Pardon me?”

  “Why were you the chosen emissary of Doranelle?” Elentiya asked, voice hard. “Why should anyone in Doranelle give a shit about a tiny demi-fae female who probably can’t even defend herself properly?”

  Fenna could feel every body in the room tense, not to mention her own. Emrys might already be snarling, she couldn’t tell.

  “It was a complicated diplomatic situation,” Fenna managed to grind out between her teeth.

  “And you’ve diplomatic experience, then?” Elentiya asked, lip curling in derision. “You’ve, oh, I don’t know, been a liaison between the scullery maids and the latrine cleaners, then?”

  “Enough,” Emrys growled.

  Fenna wasn’t quite ready to let it go, however.

  “I was chosen,” she said, feeling her spine go ramrod straight, “because, according to the blood-sworn who suggested me, I am incapable of making people dislike me. Unlike you.”

  Elentiya held her stare.

  “Oh, and also – you’re right. No one in Doranelle does care about demi-fae. But some of us care about them.” She considered. “Certain ones of them, anyway.”

  Elentiya appeared to consider that for a moment, then rose, pushing away from the table and abandoning her half-eaten plate.

  “Your mistake,” she said, stalking toward the door.

  The reverberation as it slammed echoed around the room for at least ten seconds afterward.

  Luca, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the door, turned back to the general assembly, eyes wide.

  “Well,” he said, folding his hands in front of his plate and assuming a sage expression, “she’s a barrel full of laughs, isn’t she?”

  No one else moved. They seemed incapable of it. Even Aludra was trembling at Fenna’s side.

  Fenna stood. “I’m not hungry,” she said, heading out the door herself. She didn’t slam it.

  As she stalked past her gardens, she eyed a spot in the middle of the path and sprouted grapevines from them, just for the heck of it. Couldn’t even defend herself, could she? What would Elentiya do in the middle of a group of Skinwalkers? Insult them to death? Glare them into submission?

  Granted, that had been simultaneously Fenna’s most and least impressive moment of that entire journey.

  Or maybe it had been when she’d run off those wolves.

  Or maybe it had nothing to do with her magic. Maybe it had been when she’d slammed that one wolf in the teeth with a flaming branch.

  She wanted to kick something. She also wanted to hug something. She wanted – she didn’t know what she wanted.

  Sinking down onto the garden wall, Fenna buried her face in her hands and let out a shuddering sigh. How was it that at the beginning of the day, Elentiya could have that rare moment of vulnerability and then go and behave thusly at the end of it? Fenna didn’t know and she was tired of guessing at what the girl had been through to bring her to where she was. She really just wanted to slap some sense into her head at this point.

  A ruffling of feathers brought Fenna to attention. She glanced up at the white-tailed hawk perched on the fortress wall and smirked ruefully.

  “Well, I hope you’re here to tell me why Vaughan came to see you,” she said, crossing her arms.

  The hawk fluffed its tail feathers before flapping off into the night.

  Fenna sighed. “I suppose not.”

  For lack of anything to kick, she settled for wrapping her arms around herself and holding tight.

Chapter Text

Gavriel only stopped when he saw Doranelle in the distance.

  Rather, the waterfalls that contained the city. The city itself was still hidden from view, but at least here he knew he was within an hour’s trek of home.

  Which didn’t leave him with much time to contemplate what, exactly, to do once he got there.

  Planning was effectively taking his mind off what he’d left behind, so Gavriel leaned against a tree and stared up at the cloud-studded sky. Rain was promised, but he’d hold out no hope one way or the other. This time of year, the sky tended to portend one thing and loose another.

  There were a few options open to him. His first job, of course, would probably be to report to Maeve. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d say in that particular audience. Hello, Your Majesty. How has the last month of your life been? I’ve technically been released for that long but I’ve been on a shame-driven mission to find Rowan for the last three weeks. Hence my delayed return. By the way, your beloved Cairn staged a coup and tried to have me killed.

  He snorted to himself. No, he’d have to work on that between now and then.

  Did he stick around, or did he immediately try to figure out where Rowan had gone? Either way, he’d be seeking out Lorcan. Try to figure out why the commander had outright lied to him about where Rowan was. Maybe Vaughan would know. But in the meanwhile, Gavriel had several things to work out with his commander.

  And just exactly what it was Rowan was up to that was so secretive Lorcan would try to keep it hidden. From him. Lorcan hid a lot of things from a lot of people, but Gavriel had always liked to think he was an exception to a few of those rules.

  He should have known better. Rarely was anyone an exception to Lorcan Salvaterre’s rules.

  Leaning his head back, Gavriel stared upward, into the branches of the tree. They were still dripping from this morning’s downpour. Not trusting one way or the other didn’t change the fact that he still hoped, at least, that the rain would hold off until he got back to Doranelle.

  Thinking about Lorcan brought him back to the Berellans. Which made him think about the nature of his release. Which had him wondering – just what, exactly, was he supposed to tell Maeve about that? The truth wasn’t quite believable, and certainly wouldn’t win him any points with the queen. But as a war general who’d led an attack on an outer region and had been captured and slated for what was likely a horrific execution, he didn’t think he could come up with a lie that was convincing enough.

  Hopefully he ran into Lorcan first. The commander was much better at this than he was.

Gavriel was at least glad this drug they were giving him wasn’t addictive. Every time it wore off, rather than craving more of it, he felt something akin to relief.

  Not quite relief, however. Oblivion was still preferable to reality. Especially the dreams that were surfacing whenever he drifted into the dark.

  As always, instinctively, his hand reached out only to curl around straw and nothingness. Groaning, Gavriel drew it back. Anything close to relief fled immediately.

  He was still a prisoner of the Berellans.

  He was still likely going to die as soon as the commander, whoever that was, showed up.

  And he was still very much alone in this cell.

  Rolling over, Gavriel glanced at the slit of the window he’d been afforded. Humane of them, really, to let him have that. He’d hoped the posted guard wouldn’t notice he was awake immediately – despite the relative importance he held as a captured enemy general, they’d assigned rather unobservant sentries to him. Maybe it was because they were a border outpost and couldn’t afford better ones.

  More than likely, however, it was the threat they’d assessed him to pose. If he’d cared about that sort of thing, the image likely wouldn’t have been a flattering one.

  This guard was a bit more on alert than the others. He shifted uncomfortably as soon as he saw Gavriel glancing over at him. But he didn’t stand to enter the cell. They all did, usually with food laced in the drug. Gavriel only ate to keep from starving.  

  Nothing. Not the slightest upward movement.

  Gavriel squinted at the light again. Likely mid-morning. He wasn’t feeling hunger pangs quite as much as he might have otherwise. He assumed that was a numbing effect of the sedative. Considering the times he’d woken up to food, however, he was just as hungry now as if he felt positively empty.

  And, considering the times he’d woken up to food compared to this hour of day, he assumed he’d missed breakfast.

  Snorting lightly, Gavriel shook his head at himself. Now was not the time to be concerned with skipping meals.

  It wasn’t often curiosity got the best of him. No, that was Fenrys’s territory, Vaughan’s occasionally. But he hadn’t quite shaken his shock at not being drugged immediately upon awakening. He turned his head toward the guard once again.

  “No sedative this time?”

  The guard jumped at the sound of Gavriel’s voice echoing in the otherwise silent prison. Odd, that this was an outpost and Gavriel happened to be the only prisoner here. Perhaps they’d just been having a quiet week before he got there.

  Easing back into his chair again, the guard eyed Gavriel for a moment, as though weighing whether he should answer. Apparently deciding giving one wasn’t out of the question, he shook his head.

  “The General’s due any time today,” he said. “You’re to stay awake until then.”

  The General. No doubt this commander they’d been mentioning ever since he’d arrived. Gavriel frowned. Was there any possibility – no. None, whatsoever. There was more than one general in the Berellan army, and the odds that it would just happen to be the one he’d actually interacted with were too dim to hope for.

  Whichever general he was, he doubted their identity improved his odds of survival. He just hoped this one had magic that would kill him faster than fire.

  Though, he thought, if he were to die at the hands of a Berellan Firebringer, especially this one, it would be especially horribly poetic.

  Gavriel leaned back against his pallet and closed his eyes. If he were about to die, he’d rather spend every minute he had left reliving the visions that had come to him while he was in oblivion. Unconsciously, his fingers twitched, closing around nothingness and straw once more.

It was another three hours before the door ground open and the guard surged to his feet. Gavriel turned to see who had entered, but it was merely another soldier. He faced the ceiling once more, but heard the newcomer’s words clear enough.

  “The General is here.”

  The guards exchanged a few more words before the other left and Gavriel’s sentry was left alone once more, eyeing him with something like pity.

  “What’s this ‘General’ like?” Gavriel asked, figuring he might as well figure out as much as he could about his probable executioner. There was nothing like preparation when one was facing imminent doom.

  The soldier gave him an odd look, but Gavriel brushed it off. He was probably thinking that if he were in Gavriel’s shoes, he’d be looking for an escape route right about now, rather than asking questions about the commander.

  For a Berellan in a Berellan prison, perhaps that was a plausible idea. For a Fae in a Berellan prison, it was just as suicidal as staying put. So Gavriel chose curiosity once again.

  The soldier, however, was still eyeing him measuringly before responding.

  “I’ve never met her in person,” he said cautiously. “But from what I’ve heard, she’s relatively fair. And humane. You can expect a quick end, if a fitting one.”

  All right, that was a good sign.

  “Everyone’s fairly well terrified of her, though,” the soldier went on. Gavriel tried to determine the young male’s age and decided he must be in his… well, it was hard to tell with Berellans. They had the same lifespan as humans, but if he were Fae he might have been anywhere from twenty to eight hundred. Gavriel wasn’t generally a good judge of age in humans. Berellans weren’t an exception to the rule.

  “Fair, but you’re terrified of her?” Gavriel went on. “Forgive me if that seems a bit contradictory.”

 “You just don’t want to be on her bad side.”

  “Indeed,” said a female voice out of nowhere. “A mistake I had, until just recently, thought you wouldn’t be stupid enough to make.”

  Gavriel wasn’t sure which hit him first – the fact that she was addressing him, not the petrified-looking soldier, or the fact that he did, actually, recognize this voice. He was still fairly certain it wasn’t going to do him any good.

  He sat up and waited. Slowly, the form of General Sorina of the Berellans stepped into view.

  “It would appear you’ve proven me very wrong on that score,” she growled.

  Gavriel didn’t respond. If he were Fenrys, or even Rowan, he might have had some snide remark. But he wasn’t feeling particularly snide at the moment. Just remarkably tired.

  A further irony, seeing as he’d been sleeping most of his time here.

  Sorina didn’t move for a moment. In fact, Gavriel could barely see her breathing. She peered at him through narrowed eyes, then cast a cursory glance at the soldier.

  “Leave us.”

  Blinking, the guard seemed to remember this female terrified him and muttered something in the way of acquiescence under his breath before scuttling out.

  Gavriel waited for Sorina to speak. Or not. Maybe she’d just incinerate him right here. Considering that the prison walls were made of stone, it wasn’t a huge safety risk, and even if it was, Gavriel didn’t think she’d care very much at the moment. He just hoped it would be quick. Painful, yes, that was inevitable, but quick.

  “So,” Sorina finally said.

  That was all she had to say? Gavriel continued to remain silent.

  “This is going to be rather awkward to explain to the Chancellor. He and I placed bets before I left the capital. I thought it was probably really you. He’s still pretty firmly holding to the idea that it’s all rumor.”

  She wasn’t wrong. That would likely be an awkward explanation.

  “Did they cut out your tongue before I got to you, or have you taken a vow of silence?”

  Despite himself, Gavriel found a corner of his mouth quirking upward.

  “You’d be hard-pressed to find a Fae devout enough to have taken a vow of silence,” he said.

  “True,” Sorina said, sighing and looking around before pulling up the chair the guard had vacated. “Most of you like to hear yourselves talk. Once again, you’d struck me as the exception to that rule.”

  If anyone was the exception to that rule, it was Lorcan. Gavriel found himself hoping, not for the first time, that he’d see sense and not recommend a counter-attack to Maeve.

  Not that she’d allow it. Which meant Lorcan would lead the attack on his own, which meant certain death for him, and honestly who would that benefit – 

  “Really, though. How stupid could you be?”

  Gavriel wished he had a decent enough answer for it. He’d gotten tired of offering the blood oath as an excuse about a century after he’d taken it – though it was the only reason he’d come back here in the capacity he had. Part of him thought it would be valid.

  And part of him thought Sorina might just murder him on the spot.

  On the one hand, that would hasten the inevitable, and he really didn’t have much desire to drag this out much longer.

  Sighing again, Sorina turned at the sound of the door creaking open. Rising, she went to take something from the soldier on the other side.

  The door closed again, and Sorina pushed a tray under the bars. Gavriel raised a brow. She was giving him a last meal? It was a poor excuse for one.

  “Don’t worry,” Sorina said. “I’m well aware that this wasn’t your idea. Believe it or not, I don’t think you’re diabolical enough. I do think you’re just stubbornly noble enough to not tell me it was your queen who made you do it.” She gestured toward the tray. “Eat.”

  Gavriel eyed her. “Why?”

  Glaring at him, she growled, “Because. I’ve invoked an ancient Berellan law. Which means that I, as commander of the army, can do whatever I wish with you. In this case, it means I wish to spare you public execution. And, incidentally, I have something to show you.” She stood and headed toward the door. “We’ve got a walk ahead of us. My guess is they’ve been feeding you rather irregularly, and I can’t have you fainting along the way.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t bad scenery for one’s death place, Gavriel supposed. The foothills of the mountains, still in the forest but close enough that he could see the peaks poking over the tops of the trees. Every breath of air he took burned his lungs, and he cursed the drug he’d been ingesting. No addictive tendencies, but it definitely made him wonder if he’d been locked up longer than he’d initially thought.

  He glanced ahead of him at Sorina, leading the way. They’d been walking for five hours, and she hadn’t said a word beyond what was necessary. Hadn’t so much as looked back at him.

  Which, of course, only gave him more time to contemplate his imminent doom and wish she’d just get on with it, already.

  “How are the others?” she asked, abruptly.

  Apparently, she’d get some information out of him before roasting him. He considered how to answer.

  “We weren’t back for very long before Maeve gave me this assignment,” he said. “But they’re… well, as far as I know.” He hadn’t seen any of them in weeks, beyond Lorcan.

  “I imagine Salvaterre is losing his mind right about now,” she said dryly.

  Gavriel shrugged. “And desperately trying to conceal the fact, no doubt.”

  “You should count yourself lucky. I don’t imagine he considers many valuable enough to lose sleep over. I don’t think I saw him so much as doze once the whole time the six of you were with us.”

  Oh, Lorcan lost sleep over plenty of people. But Gavriel decided correcting her would be beside the point. He understood the sentiment she was trying to convey, anyway, and she wasn’t wrong. Lorcan probably was losing his mind and trying to conceal it and probably succeeding with everyone but the other blood-sworn.

  Well, except Fenrys. And maybe Vaughan. All right, Connall was probably the only one who’d catch on.

  “And what of Lady Fenna?”

  Gavriel felt himself tense. He’d managed to avoid thinking about Fenna today. Thoughts of her may have been the one thing bringing him comfort in his oblivion, but she was also the one thing that challenged his resignation to dying before this day was over.

  Because, he realized with a sudden jolt, more than anything else, she made him want to live.

  “I haven’t seen Fenna since we left her at Mistward,” he said. “Fenrys and I.” He contemplated. “I hadn’t expected to ever see her again.”

  To his surprise, Sorina snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  Gavriel frowned at her. Not that he doubted Sorina was clever enough to pick up on… certain things, but her statement seemed to negate what she was bringing him out here for.

  Finally coming to a stop, Sorina turned to face him.

  “Do you know where we are?”

  Gavriel looked around them, shaking his head. It was on the tip of his tongue to compliment her on the choice of his final resting place, but he decided that might be a bit too morbid. Morbid humor was more Vaughan’s style. More Rowan’s.

  At rare times, it was even Lorcan’s.

  Sorina eyed him, her gaze hard.

  “This,” she said, “is where my great-great-great grandsire burned your father to ash.”

  However he may have felt about his father, a chill snaked its way up Gavriel’s spine. He’d thought the growth around here looked slightly newer than the rest of the forest. Still centuries old, but as though it might have been destroyed at one point in time by a swath of flame.

  He’d never asked Lorcan about that day. He’d only vaguely been aware of what the armies were doing when they marched on the Berellans – he’d also never asked his father much about his job. Had he done so, he might have avoided taking the blood oath in the first place.

  Holding Sorina’s stare, he said, “I’ll say this for you, general. You do have a flair for poetic irony.”

  Sorina frowned, then glared.

  “I didn’t bring you out here to kill you, Gavriel,” she said. “I brought you out here to explain why I’m setting you free.”

  He blinked.

  “You should have figured out by now,” she said, “My people are superstitious. You’ve spent enough time with us. We believe in prophecy, and omens, and that sometimes the universe aligns in certain ways that cannot be coincidence.”

  “Just your people?” Gavriel asked, raising a brow. He got the feeling this conversation was about to take a more individual turn.

  Sorina’s glare hadn’t lessened.

  “No,” she said. “I am, too. And I guarantee you, when I offer my explanation to the Chancellor of why I’ve let you go, he won’t question it.”

  Gavriel didn’t count himself as superstitious, but he didn’t necessarily disagree with anything she’d said. It might be a nice change of pace, he thought, to serve a monarch who would not only not question the “it would be unwise for reasons beyond the corporeal” explanation, but find it perfectly logical.

  “So what alignment of the universe are you referring to?”

  Folding her arms, Sorina smirked at him. Briefly. When she spoke again, her expression was as serious as if it had never changed.

  “Your father died trying to exterminate our people,” she said. “However foolhardy and hopeless a cause that was, it was still an attack on our kind. And when I say our kind,” she eyed him knowingly, “I think you know I mean more than just the Berellan people.”

  Gavriel nodded. He knew too well.

  “When you stepped forward on that battlefield months ago and took on the cause of all demi-fae, not as an exterminator but as a protector, you negated your father’s deeds in our eyes. Your line was cleared of all guilt.”

  “Is there some… law you can quote me to assure me that the next Berellan I meet won’t think differently?”

  Sorina shrugged. “It’s an unspoken law. Our entire people know of the battle. Know who won it. No one would disagree with me.”

  Gavriel had learned long ago questioning the Berellan faith in the metaphysical and ethereal never worked. If an unspoken law had exonerated his family’s crimes, an unspoken law had exonerated his family’s crimes.

  “Tell me,” he asked, “wouldn’t my recent actions have also negated what happened this winter?”

  Rolling her eyes, Sorina shook her head.

  “You Fae,” she said. “So measure for measure. No, they have not. Your actions this winter were irrevocable. Granted,” she added with a ghost of her earlier smirk, “it’s not harmful to your cause that this latest offense was by order of your queen, and this winter was of your own accord. Not to mention that not many of our people were killed this time.”

  Something within Gavriel went still. Not many of their people.

  He ran a hand over his face. Well, if he was going to survive today, he supposed he knew his first order of business – find Rowan. Exhaustion washed over him again.

  “There is, however, an ancient law that I can quote you, if you’re looking for hard fact,” Sorina said. “If any of an enemy people should raise their sword in defense of ours, the fate of the Berellan people will be tied to that individual and their bloodline.” She shrugged. “It’s not a very well-known law, but I’ve been evoking a lot of those today. I figured why stop with just setting you free of my own accord because I am afforded that right? I’m setting you free because I don’t want to tempt fate.”

  Gavriel frowned, still trying to piece it all together.

  “So you’re saying that you’re setting me free because to do otherwise would be to insult the gods?”

  Snorting, Sorina’s ghost of a smirk turned full-blown.

  “Please. Do you think the gods truly care about this little interaction here? They long ago stopped caring about what happens in this world unless it affected them. And they’re gods. Not much does. No, I’m setting you free because there are other forces at work in this world besides a pantheon of petty deities.” She eyed him evenly. “Tell me, Lord Gavriel of Doranelle. Do you believe in fate?”

  He came from a race of people who could form a bond with someone they’d never met before purely because the universe said it might be a good idea. It was rather hard not to.

  “I do.”

  “Fate is what the Berellan people worship. Not gods. And fate has said that the destiny of your bloodline is forever entwined with our people, no matter what ills you’ve committed against us.” She stepped back, as though giving him room to leave. “We’ve exercised our right to defend our borders. We will do so again, should Maeve choose to send you back. And there’s no guarantee of what might happen on the battlefield in that case. But for now, you’ve received penance enough. My work here is done.”

  He stared at her.

  “Let me spell it out more plainly,” she said, a twinge of exasperation in her words. “Your fate is ours. Your bloodline’s fate is ours.” Another smirk. “And believe me, not all of us are happy about that. You should hear Tushar going on about what a travesty of justice it is that we’re tied to Javaid’s seed. He’s not as large a fan of poetic irony as you and I.”

  A moment passed. She frowned at him.

  “You’re really not going to say anything?”

  He didn’t have anything to say. There were too many ways such a tie could go wrong. Did this tie also apply to his brothers? One had died before siring any children, but the other was still living. And gods help them if he ever reproduced.

  Considering the fact that Gavriel was the one who had unknowingly forged this bond with the Berellans, however, he considered it unlikely. His bloodline explicitly, not his father’s as a whole. So what then? Say he had children one day. What if one of them showed his father’s murderous tendencies and decided to try taking the Berellans again? What if, on some off chance, that child was more successful?

  Well, he hadn’t been planning on having children – not due to lack of desire for them, but simply because it was a bad idea with the blood oath riding on his shoulders. So he supposed he was making it more complicated than it needed to be.

  Sorina sighed again. “Very well. I imagine this is a bit of a radical concept. I’ll take my leave of you. But if this is something that’s even plausible with that insidious bond to your queen weighing you down, I’d recommend taking a vacation. A long one. Maybe spend some time visiting the border outposts.” She inclined her head pointedly, grinning wickedly. “If you take my meaning.”

  Gavriel did. Maybe he would. Maybe.

  “As a recommendation, though,” Sorina said, already heading off into the woods, “I’d get beyond our borders quickly. There are rumors circulating that the Champion of the Berellans from last winter has turned on us. I wouldn’t give anyone who hasn’t seen you already reason to believe them.”

  “I thought you said the fate of the Berellan people was tied to mine?” Gavriel asked.

  “It is. But I believe I also said not all of us were happy about it. We won’t kill you. Doesn’t mean we won’t make your life more difficult. Or maim you. Good luck!”

  And she disappeared into the woods.

  He should report back to Doranelle. As a soldier, that should be his first order of business. Besides, he should probably let Lorcan know he was alive before he marched on the capital city and wiped them all out in a black cloud of death.

  It would be a bit awkward if he returned to Doranelle and found the object of his vengeance waiting for him.

  But right now, Gavriel didn’t feel much like a soldier. Considering that it was his queen who’d sent him here, her favorite who had put him the position he’d been in and gotten his entire battalion killed, he decided that, just this once, duty could hang.

  He headed south. Lorcan had said that was where Rowan had gone, and Gavriel needed to take care of some things before he allowed himself to contemplate the weight of what Sorina had just told him.

Gavriel was jerked from his reverie when a bird flying by overhead ran smack into a tree.

  He blinked, not sure exactly what he was witnessing as the thing began to topple, then righted itself, swaying slightly as it lowered itself to the ground.

  It had just landed when Gavriel smiled truly for the first time in weeks. He recognized this one.

  A flash of light, and Vaughan was standing before him, relief flooding his face.

  “Hello, Vaughan,” Gavriel said, surprising even himself at the exhaustion lining his words.

  Vaughan, looking only slightly dazed for the dive he’d just taken, strode up, reaching down and gripping Gavriel’s wrist, pulling him to his feet.

  “I owe Fenrys thirty gold pieces,” he said, pulling Gavriel into a one-armed embrace.

  Gavriel wasn’t necessarily sure how he felt about them places bets on his survival, until Vaughan spoke again.

  “He said you’d be back within the month. I thought they wouldn’t let you go for at least two.”

  Shaking his head, Gavriel pulled back, surveying his friend.

  “You’re scouting?” he said.

  Vaughan shook his head. “Just getting back from a mission, actually. More of a personal one. I…” He looked suddenly chastened, even though Gavriel hadn’t said anything. “I went to Mistward once I heard what happened.”

  Well, at least someone had said something. Though Gavriel was slightly disappointed Lorcan hadn’t honored his request, he was glad Vaughan had thought to do it without even being prompted.

  “How did you get out?” Vaughan asked.

  It was Gavriel’s turn to shrug. He didn’t feel very much like explaining at the moment, though this might be a good tester of whether he was going to sound convincing to Maeve.

  He was still having a hard time convincing himself he’d been let go on the grounds of an ancient law no one knew much about any longer.

  Vaughan eyed him for a moment, then shook his head.

  “Sorry I asked. You can tell me whenever you want. Let’s just… get you back.” He put a hand on Gavriel’s shoulder, pushing him onward gently. “We should probably find Lorcan before you report to Maeve, though. I think he might be planning to advance on the Berellans himself. He might have sent a letter declaring intent of war. I don’t actually know.”

  Gavriel smiled weakly. Well, that would certainly explain the speediness of Sorina’s arrival.

  “You know, you’re probably not wrong,” he said.

Chapter Text

Fenna came up with another excuse to be in the gardens this morning. Emrys had given her a look that said he was tired of her nonsense but would, this one last time, let her be ridiculous. She was grateful for that allowance. It gave her time to lie in wait for Rowan.

  She hummed to herself as she worked, even as she was watching the spot he’d come from. There was always something to do in this garden. Some plant that needed a little more doctoring. She was in the iris row when someone called from the garden wall,

  “Emrys gave you the morning off, then?”

  Fenna’s head snapped up, but she smiled as she saw Aludra climbing over into the dirt with her.

  “Not hardly,” Fenna said. “I’m waiting to get some information out of Rowan.”

  “Hmm,” Aludra said, bending and beginning to pluck some cucumbers from their spots. “It seems to me that you do a lot of chasing after Prince Rowan.”

  Fenna eyed her sideways. “What are you implying?”

  Snorting, Aludra shook her head. “Nothing you wouldn’t want implied, believe me. You’re too sensible to go after males who never smile.”

  Shoving a particular smile out of her head – honestly, why was this so hard, even months later – Fenna went back to coaxing a slightly wilted leaf back to life. “Not a problem you have, I notice.”

  “Reuven knows when to smile. But he also knows when to be serious.” Aludra’s voice was tinged with affection, and though Fenna wasn’t looking at her, she could very well picture the smile. “But like I said. Prince Rowan isn’t your type. That’s not what I’m thinking. I just wonder why you’re so determined to corner him lately.”

  Fenna shrugged. “He’s hiding something from me.”

  “Hiding what?”

  Oh, what a long story this would be.

  “I… smelled one of his companions on him the other day,” she said. “Vaughan. Vaughan Lorian. He said Vaughan couldn’t stay long, but he didn’t say what caused him to fly all the way out here – “

  “Fly?”

  “His other form’s an osprey. Anyway, Vaughan was here. He needed to tell Rowan something. And for whatever reason, Rowan won’t tell me what.”

  She glanced over at Aludra, who was shrugging and considering. “Maybe you don’t need to know.”

  Fenna peered at her through narrow eyes. “Maybe I don’t. But it was different. If it just wasn’t any of my business, Rowan wouldn’t hesitate to tell me. But he hasn’t said that.” Not in so many words, anyway. “I’m just… worried.”

  Aludra was eyeing her cautiously. “About… what?”

  Staring at her hands and flexing them in and out, watching the crumbs of dirt crackle in the creases of her knuckles, Fenna shook her head.

  “I don’t know.”

  She truly didn’t. But she did know Rowan Whitethorn better than perhaps anyone in this fortress, and she knew when he was hiding something from her. There had been something fragile in his eyes. As though part of him had cracked and he was one poke away from shattering altogether.

  He’d looked at her as though she may shatter, as well. And Fenna couldn’t think of many things that might wreck both her and Rowan.

  The ones she could think of, however, terrified her.

  “How are things with Elentiya?” Aludra asked, eyeing the vegetables she was gathering again.

  Bless her. Apparently if Fenna wasn’t able to maintain her own ruse, Aludra would do her best to help her remain firmly on this side of Emrys’s wrath.

  “I don’t know,” she said again. “They’re… normal. Which isn’t necessarily good, but… we haven’t brawled yet or anything.”

  Aludra snorted indelicately. “That would be a sight.”

  “What? Are you casting aspersions on my scrappiness?”

  “Fenna. Have you seen her hands? Whatever that girl did before she came here, she’d be able to best you in a fight without question.”

  “She wouldn’t stand a chance against my grapevines,” Fenna said, fully aware Aludra was right. She had no doubt that if it came to it, Elentiya would have her pinned to the ground in moments. And, considering the girl’s overall temperament, she’d be lucky if she didn’t rip her throat out. With her teeth.

  She hadn’t seen Aludra smile, so she had no idea if she had Fae incisors.

  “What sort of magic do you think she has?” Aludra mused.

  Fenna was beginning to doubt Elentiya had very much magic at all. But then again, there had to be a reason Maeve was willing to let her train to enter Doranelle. Why she’d sent Rowan himself to train her. Rowan was an unassuming enough choice, and yet also important enough that it showed there was more to Elentiya than at first glance.

  If she’d wanted it to be glaringly obvious that there was something she’d taken personal interest in, Maeve could have sent Lorcan. The least obvious choices – though as they were blood-sworn there was no avoiding someone questioning it – would have been any of the others. Famous males in their own right, but not Lorcan or Rowan.

  But she’d picked Rowan. Sending a message, but a very clear one.

  This one is mine.

  Fenna shuddered. She didn’t envy Elentiya that. She’d rather be almost anyone’s than Maeve’s.

  Aludra’s attention was drawn by someone behind them. She nodded in that direction. “Fenna.”

  Fenna whirled to find Rowan stalking past the garden toward the kitchens. Nodding her thanks at Aludra, she made her way toward the wall. “Rowan!”

  He didn’t look her way. But if she wasn’t mistaken, he started walking just slightly faster.

  Honestly. If he was that eager to avoid her, why didn’t he just fly in through the kitchen window?

  “Wait,” she called, climbing over the wall. He wasn’t waiting. Letting her exasperation leak into her tone, Fenna demanded, “Stop!”

  Shoulders tensing, he halted but didn’t turn.

  Trotting around in front of him, Fenna stood with her hands on her hips. “Why are you avoiding me?”

  “Why are you following me?” he said evenly.

  “I wouldn’t have to if you’d answered my question about Vaughan.”

  Rowan wouldn’t meet her eyes. He stared at some spot behind them on the wall, over Fenna’s head.

  “I told you. He couldn’t stay.”

  “But you didn’t tell me why he was here in the first place.”

  His jaw twitched. “It was military business, and wasn’t any of your concern.”

  She glared at him. “You’re many things, Rowan Whitethorn. You may even be a convincing liar sometimes. But now is not one of those times. You are hiding something from me, and I want to know what.” He looked down at her finally, and she ignored the murderous look in those eyes, holding his stare. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

  “I just told you – “

  “Damn it, Fenna, sometimes it’s better for you not to know!” Rowan growled. Fenna blinked. She had seen him furious before, but never like this.

  Actually, she had. Right after she’d subdued the skinwalkers.

  This time, however, she wasn’t daunted. Her spine straightening, she stared right up into his face and said, “Are you avoiding telling me because it’s better for me not to know, or because you don’t want to admit that whatever it is might be real?”

  His brow was practically V-shaped as he glared down at her. Fenna would have liked to think she could keep him there until he answered her question. She would have liked to think she could grab him by the collar and demand that he tell her what was going on.

  But she was still smaller than he was. And far less intimidating.

  So when he turned to poke his head in the kitchen door and shout, “Let’s go!” at Elentiya, there was absolutely nothing Fenna could do about it. And as they stalked off, she bit back a cry of frustration and watched them go. She was nowhere closer to having answers than she’d been this morning, and she was more than ready for this nonsense to be over.

It was, conveniently, Fenna’s afternoon off. As soon as Emrys released her – which he grumbled mightily about, claiming that without Aludra, she wouldn’t have fulfilled her purpose, anyway – she took off toward the fortress gates. She had a mission.

  Rowan was going to avoid her, was he?

  Fine, then. She’d just do what he’d accused her of doing and follow him.

  She tried to follow his scent, but it was fainter than Elentiya’s, for whatever reason. Stalking along, Fenna barely noticed the beauty of her forest. She could practically feel its indignance at being ignored, or perhaps it was something different. Perhaps her forest was concerned at her own lack of attention to her own safety. If she were set upon by a predator, magical or otherwise, she was fairly certain she wouldn’t even see it coming.

  Either way, it was convenient that Elentiya’s scent was not at home in the forest. It was much easier to follow lemon verbena, jasmine, and embers out here than it was pine and snow. Though she had to fight her basic panic instinct every time the embers were stronger than anything else. A forest fire was not something she wanted to be caught in the middle of.

  Still, it was odd. Elentiya’s scent was much stronger, but also fresher. As though she’d only just recently walked through here, without Rowan. Fenna frowned. Why would she have been without Rowan? Perhaps she’d finally shaken him and run away.

  Though why she’d run away when she’d come here to be trained in the first place, Fenna had no idea.

  A pair of wings flapped overhead, and Fenna glanced up, biting back an irritated sigh. There he was. And he was going to outrun her at that pace. Pausing for a moment to watch the direction he’d gone, Fenna determined he was heading west, toward Wendlyn, and ran after him.

  She halted, however, when she saw Elentiya stalking along ahead of her. Saw Rowan land and shift between two trees, right in her path.

  For whatever reason, she felt the need to hide herself. Pulling behind a tree and peeking around it, Fenna watched and waited.

  “Is this what you do?” Rowan demanded. “Run away when things get hard?”

  Well, wasn’t he one to talk? Fenna bit back a snide call when she noticed – Elentiya had a satchel on her.

  Was she leaving?

  “You’re free of your obligation to train me, so I have nothing more to say to you, and you have nothing more to say to me. Do us both a favor and go to hell.”

  All right. She was moderately impressed with anyone who could give Rowan a piece of their mind with that much freedom. Though something told her she was far more likely to receive violence at his hands than a lot of people, too.

  Rowan growled. Actually growled. “Have you ever had to fight for anything in your life?”

  Elentiya laughed, low and bitter, and switched directions. Rowan, curse him, took after her. Fenna attempted to run along, stay hidden, and stay silent as she followed the pair of them, trying desperately to keep up with the conversation.

  “You’re proving me right with every step you take,” Rowan was saying.

  “I don’t care.”

  “I don’t know what you want from Maeve – what answers you’re looking for, but you – “

  “You don’t know what I want from her?” It wasn’t a question. “How about saving the world from the King of Adarlan?”

  All right, that was new.

  “Why bother? Maybe the world’s not worth saving.”

  Fenna stopped in her tracks. Not worth saving? Did he truly believe that?

  Somehow, she didn’t have trouble believing that he did. And that fact made her indescribably sad.

  Fortunately for her, Elentiya had stopped walking and whirled on Rowan. Fortunate for Fenna. Perhaps not fortunate for Rowan.

  “Because I made a promise. A promise to my friend that I would see her kingdom freed.” Shoving her palm into his face, showing him something Fenna had never and could not now see, she snapped, “I made an unbreakable vow. And you and Maeve – all you gods-damned bastards – are getting in the way of that.”

  Well, that was more informative than two weeks of working beside her had been. Fenna crept along as they took off down the hill again.

  “And what of your own people?” Rowan asked, confirming another of Fenna’s suspicions. “What of your own kingdom?”

  “They are better off without me, just as you said.”

  He’d said what? Oh, forget her questions, Rowan and Fenna would have words –

  “So you’d save another land, but not yours. Why can’t your friend save her own kingdom?”

  “Because she is dead!”

  The last word echoed through the forest long after Elentiya uttered it. Fenna stopped again. Rowan did as well, staring at Elentiya with unnatural stillness. As though he were unable to move. From this distance, Fenna couldn’t see his expression, but she imagined it was either floored or nonexistent. Probably the latter.

  “Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life!”

  And though she couldn’t claim any fondness for Elentiya, Fenna felt something in her chest cave at those words. She wanted nothing more than to close that distance, to tell her that her life couldn’t be that worthless, that no life was so worthless it couldn’t be redeemable. She wanted to tell her about the dozens of people she knew at Mistward who had lost friends, who had dealt with guilt and desolation, and who were the stronger for it.

  She wanted to tell her all of that.

  But she knew it would do no good. So she stood there and watched as Elentiya turned away from where she’d been glaring up at Rowan and walked away.

  He didn’t go after her.

  But he also didn’t notice Fenna approaching him, either. And Fenna had even more questions than before.

  “Who is she?”

  Rowan jumped, then turned, that ever-present frown on his face deeper than ever.

  “You’re not following me?” he demanded.

  “Don’t play coy with me, Rowan. Who is that girl?” She nodded in Elentiya’s direction. “You said your kingdom, your people. Where is she from, if not Adarlan?”

  “Who said she wasn’t from Adarlan?”

  “Who told her she was worthless? Was it you?”

  Rowan glared.

  “What I want to know more than anything else, though, is why you went so still when she told you her friend was dead,” Fenna said. “And why you stopped going after her.”

  “Why should I go after her?” he growled. “Why should I tell her anything but the truth?”

  Reining in her initial sharp retort, Fenna sighed and searched for the proper words.

  “Because I think you and I both know, deep down, it’s not the truth. Her life is no more worthless than yours.”

  “What makes you think my life isn’t worthless?” Rowan wasn’t looking at her. “Surely you’ve heard stories from your Storykeeper. What have you heard, Fenna? I guarantee you, whatever it is, it’s not even the most shameful chronicle of my long, miserable existence.” He raised his wrist toward her, the thin white line that was the blood oath scar stark against his tan skin.

  “This,” he went on, voice ragged, “is the only chance I have of restoring any honor to myself. This is the only thing of worth I have done. Without it, my life is just as worthless as hers. And nothing you can say will convince me differently.”

  He lowered his wrist, suddenly uncomfortable, as though he couldn’t quite believe he’d told her any of that. Fenna sighed and reached out, resting a hand on his arm. Rowan stiffened, but didn’t pull away.

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “It’s not the only thing of worth you’ve done. And even if it is,” she nodded in Elentiya’s direction, “wouldn’t you like to think that things can only go up from here?”

  He finally looked down at her. His face was still hard as granite. But when he spoke, his words were choked.

  “Optimism will get you killed, Fenna,” he said.

  She shrugged. “At least I’ll die with hope.” Stepping away, she turned back toward the fortress. “Go after her.”

  “I can’t bring her back if she doesn’t want to come,” he called.

  “Who said anything about bringing her back? There’s any number of creatures in these woods. Make sure she at least makes it to the main road alive. Then, when you come back, maybe you can finally tell me what’s been on your mind.”

  She could practically feel him shaking his head as she walked away. At that rate, she’d be lucky if he even came back once he’d seen Elentiya safely on the main road.

  But he would, at least, do that much. Even if Fenna never had her answers, she was glad she’d prevented the girls’ having to travel – at least through these woods – alone.

Chapter Text

Everything was burning.

  The dream was the same, but everything was burning.

  Fenna stood in that forest that she knew and yet didn’t, watching flaming branches fall around her, hearing the crackle of the blaze as it devoured everything in its path, and tried to move. Her feet wouldn’t give way. Fortunately, this appeared to be the one area of the forest not consumed by heat.

  Child-Elentiya was running toward her again. Fenna braced herself for a repeat of the last time she’d had this dream – a root catching her foot, the desperate cries for help – but instead, the girl ran straight past her. There was no yawning abyss. No dark wall of nothingness in her path. She simply ran until she disappeared into the woods.

  It was only after she’d vanished that Fenna heard her scream of terror over the roar of the flame.

  Fenna’s feet were suddenly loosed, and she could move. She ran in the direction of the scream, but found nothing. No trace of the girl she’d been looking for.

  Someone else came crashing through the burning undergrowth. Fenna frowned as she realized she did and did not recognize this person. He’d been in her dreams only once. For a moment she thought he was Fae – he had that same unnatural stillness, the same alert aura, even when he was at rest, the same angular planes of his face.

  He was at least demi-fae. And when he turned toward her, Fenna stilled, remembering.

  He also had her eyes.

  Golden hair flashing in the light of the flames, he started calling her name. Fenna shouted back at him, but he didn’t seem to see her. When she reached out and touched him, her hands touched air. He began crying out another name, one she tried and tried to remember but could not recall where she’d heard it before.

  Suddenly, a sword materialized in his hands, and he saw her then. Rather than recognition, rage filled his face, and he raised it for a killing blow.

  Fenna scrambled backward, but she could not escape before that sword came down on her. Before it sliced through her body, the picture changed.

  Pure blackness, but for the outlines of a horrifyingly beautiful face, with black eyes studded with gold. A low, wicked laugh poured from its mouth, at once male and female. Two laughs, but she could not tell whose laugh the face belonged to. Fenna struggled, trying to move, to run, but she could not get away from that laugh. Could not get away from that face.

  The scene changed again. Fenna drew in a shuddering breath and looked around. She was no longer in the burning wood, or in that blackness. She was kneeling on the ground, in her own forest again, the home that always called to her, no matter where she went. This place was hers.

  And, inexplicably, there in front of her, was someone very familiar. This one, she could put a name to.

  Not quite sure whether she could trust the relief flooding her in this dream world, Fenna reached out, touching his face. She whispered his name.

  Tawny gaze intent, Gavriel reached up and covered her hand with his own. He smiled at her, though there was something sad tinging the expression. That phantom warm sting surged through Fenna’s side.

  A wind began to roar in her ears, and Fenna’s head whipped around, trying to find where it was coming from. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay here. But all she knew was that that wind was coming for her, and she was going to be taken away to some other place, and she wanted to stay here, in this familiar place, with Gavriel.

  She turned back to him, desperate, but his expression didn’t change once as that wind reached fever pitch and pulled her away.

  Abruptly, the scene changed again. Fenna was underwater, the water cold and starting to fill her lungs. She flailed for the surface, but seemed stuck exactly where she was. Above her she could see only darkness and the faint outline of stars, blurred by the water’s surface.

  And a woman, a woman of mist and air, with moon-white hair and a diadem crowning her forehead.

  Fenna reached for the hand she outstretched, but her fingers only brushed the surface as she began to sink. Behind the woman, flame erupted once more.

Inhaling deeply, as though having been released from that dark, crushing water, Fenna sat up. His Majesty yowled and leaped off the bed, glaring at her reproachfully.

  Brushing the hair off her forehead, Fenna tried to orient herself. She was home. She was at Mistward, in her room, the light of the moon peeking in from her window. Judging by where the moon sat in the black veil of night, buffeted by clouds, it was after midnight.

  She needed tea.

  Wrapping a robe around herself and standing, Fenna thought about what she’d just seen.

  Why on earth had Elentiya suddenly played less of a role in her dreams than she usually did? Why had that young man with the sword been there again, and why had he seemed so desperate to find her one moment and so determined to kill her the next? Where on earth had Gavriel come from? And who was that woman above the water, the one with hair the color of the moon now nearly fully eclipsed by the clouds?

  Fenna wasn’t afraid of the dark. But even she didn’t want to walk around in it on a good day. On a night like tonight… she grabbed a candle and headed out the door, His Majesty trotting after.

  Fortunately, one of the things Aludra had seen fit to resupply this morning was lavender. Fenna set a pot to boil and sprinkled some of the crushed herb into it. Leaning against the counter, she sighed.

  She was beginning to get tired of these dreams. Ten years, she’d been having them. And she had no idea why, nor what they meant.

  And they always disturbed her sleep. Which made her grumpy in the morning. Luca was already grumpy enough. Emrys did not need another cranky kitchen worker, especially not with Elentiya.

  Elentiya. Fenna wondered how far she and Rowan had gotten tonight, whether she knew he was there or not.

  The water was just reaching boiling point when the kitchen door slammed open.

  Jumping and letting out a little shriek, Fenna felt her magic rallying toward her as the hulking form stalked in and sat down at the table. As he moved into the candlelight, however, Fenna breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Rowan,” she said, letting her magic settle again. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  He glared at her. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Where’s Elentiya?”

  “In her room, I imagine.”

  “So she did decide to – “ The stench of rotting corpses reached her, and Fenna pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a gag and blocking her nasal passages all at once. Once the gag had passed, she removed her hand and demanded, “What is that?”

  He eyed her pointedly. “You don’t remember? I’d think it would be obvious.”

  And then Fenna did remember. The cloying scent as a leathery hand had clamped over her mouth.

  “Skinwalkers,” she said, voice weak. She suddenly felt the need to brace herself on the counter.

  “A whole herd of them. Turns out, no one told your friend Elentiya” – he sneered her name as though it were hilarious – “that they’re drawn to light. That a lot of creatures are. So she elected to make a fire and bring them to her like rutting moths.”

  Thinking the alternative was that she might have frozen to death on a night like tonight, with wind howling outside the window, Fenna held her tongue.

  “Do you… want tea?”

  Rowan stared at her blandly. “Tea.”

  “It sounds like you’ve had a rather unpleasant night, and lavender has soothing qualities. It’ll… calm your senses. You’ll be able to sleep.”

  After looking at her as though trying to ferret out whether she were mad or not, Rowan finally nodded. “I’ll… have a bit.”

  A bit? Fenna was going to hit him with the largest mug of tea he’d ever seen. Maybe sleep would improve his disposition. Then again, she thought as she poured it, she’d been around Rowan when he’d slept for days at a time, and his disposition remained much the same. Perhaps his willingness to answer questions would increase, at least.

  Bringing the mugs over, she sat across the table from him and kept the mug never far from her nose. It didn’t quite drown out the scent of the skinwalkers, but it at least made it a bit more bearable.

  “You followed her.” Fenna wasn’t asking.

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to let her die.”

  Shaking her head, Fenna sipped her tea. “Whatever you say. So why did you come to the kitchens?”

  “Why are you in the kitchens?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Fenna said. It wasn’t entirely untrue. Slightly, but not entirely. She had been sleeping, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep again without the tea. Besides, she wasn’t going to tell him she’d been having dreams. Something told her Rowan wouldn’t press her, but there was always the chance he might ask what they were about, and then what was she supposed to tell him?

  Your trainee? I dreamed about her. Well, her as a child. There was also this strange young man there. Yes, he tried to kill me at one point. And that launched me into this void where I was accompanied by some terrifying face and a pair of unnerving laughs, would you happen to know who they belong to? Oh, and Gavriel was there. You wouldn’t happen to know what that was about, would you? I almost drowned this time. That’s never happened before.

  No. Best not.

  “What about you? Do you often come here at half past two in the morning?”

  Rowan gave what might have been a ghost of a smirk. “Believe it or not, I was looking for a drink.”

  Fenna nodded toward the mug in his hand. “Well, you found one.”

  Though he said nothing, Rowan rolled his eyes.

  They sat in silence for a few moments. Fenna leaned her head back so it was resting against the top of her chair, her eyes on the ceiling.

  “I’ve lost people too, you know,” she said. “Recently.”

  Rowan said nothing.

  “It hasn’t… undone me quite as much as it has Elentiya. Maybe not quite as much as it should have, either. But there are times when I wonder about my family. Especially my younger brother. I wonder if I did the right thing in leaving them. Wonder if I could have gone home at least once. Wonder if they’d think what I did this winter with all of you was enough of a tribute to their memory.” She looked up at him. “And I still feel that hurt, every time I think of them. Every time there’s even the slightest reminder.”

  Rowan’s face was hard, but she knew he listened. Knew he heard.

  “I don’t know who you’ve lost, Rowan,” she said. “But I know that look. Fae or not, no one just goes as still as you did when Elentiya exploded on you earlier without reason. And usually it’s shared pain – that maybe they don’t want to acknowledge.”

  Rowan still said nothing. Fenna didn’t press him. Just waited. Took sip after sip of her tea. After she’d sipped about ten times, the mug nearly empty and her tongue numb, Rowan finally broke the silence.

  “I have lost more than you can possibly fathom.”

  Fenna raised a brow. She might talk about quantifying sorrow and how it was pointless – and callous – to do so, but something told her to hold back.

  This was an old hurt, likely one that had been built upon over the years. And she wouldn’t poke the wound any more than she already had.

  Setting down her now empty mug, she jerked her head toward the sink. “You can put that away whenever you’re done,” she said. “I’m going back to bed.”

  She’d no more than risen, when Rowan sighed and said, “Fenna.”

  At his tone, she froze. Her gut twisted. Sitting back down, she waited for him to continue.

  “Vaughan didn’t come here looking for me. None of the others know where I am – well, except Lorcan. The others might have ferreted it out of him, but… The point is, Vaughan wasn’t looking for me. He was looking for you.”

  Fenna had long ago abandoned the idea that it had been a simple social call Vaughan was on. The question was, why else would he be seeking her out?

  Rowan set his mug down and traced the rim with his thumb before raising his eyes to hers.

  “Maeve launched an attack on the Berellans a month ago. I had no idea she was planning this, I’d already gone to Varese to get A – Elentiya. But she sent a battalion with the intent to take over.”

  Fenna’s heart stilled. But she nodded. It was nothing she didn’t expect of the dark queen, anyway.

  “All right,” she said. “Where was the attack?”

  Greynar was her first concern. Was Rowan about to tell her that the Chancellor had been killed in the battle? It was hard to kill a Berellan, but only a Berellan with battlefield magic. Greynar had memory magic. And it made complete sense Vaughan would want Fenna to be informed if Greynar had been killed. Even though Gavriel had been the only one privy to what Greynar was doing in regard to Fenna’s memories, everyone knew she was at least fond of the Berellan Chancellor.

  “It was on a border outpost.”

  All right. Maybe not Greynar. Fenna nodded for him to keep going.

  Looking as though he’d very much rather not, Rowan plunged forward.

  “She had Gavriel lead the battalion.”

  Her heart may have stopped altogether this time. Fenna wasn’t sure.

  “What?” she breathed. “Why? After this winter – “

  “You think it wasn’t because of this winter, Fenna?” Rowan hissed. “She wanted to teach us all a lesson about dodging the blood oath. Him most of all. We all interfered in a battle we were not meant to, but Gavriel’s interference had the biggest impact. That’s why she chose him. To ruin whatever bridge he may have built with the Berellans.” His glare darkened. “And his family history probably didn’t hurt, either.”

  Fenna thought about how satisfying it might be to strangle the Queen of the Fae with rose vines. Thorny ones. But the thought lasted only briefly. Rowan continued.

  “Gavriel’s entire regiment was killed. The others pulled back before they could meet the same fate, but – “

  “Rowan,” Fenna asked, hearing the tremor in her voice. “Is he alive?”

  He was quiet for a moment, staring into his mug again.

  “We don’t know,” he said. “A few of the soldiers reported that they’d seen him being taken captive. One even thought he heard the order being given to take him alive. But… we don’t know. And it’s been a month, with no word.” He ran a hand over his face. “We don’t know enough to say for certain. But… at this point…”

  Fenna’s mind raced. There had to be some addendum, some vague hope she could cling to.

  “Do you think… I mean, the Chancellor knows who he is,” she said. “Everyone at the battle last winter does. Is it possible – “

  “Fenna. Last winter aside, he led an attack on a border outpost. There were families in those walls. And granted, there were no civilian casualties, as far as we know, but he was an enemy war general just as surely as he was an ally all those months ago.” Rowan shook his head. “Clemency is unlikely.”

  Trying to steady her breathing, Fenna nodded. “Why did you send Vaughan away?”

  Rowan’s jaw tightened.

  “He’d delivered his message. I figured he had no reason to stay any longer.”

  “Yet you didn’t tell me. Why?”

  Holding her gaze, Rowan said, “I didn’t think you needed to know quite as much as Vaughan seemed to think you did.”

  Oh, she was furious. And worried. And… she didn’t know what that little part of her that felt like it was breaking was, but she wasn’t sure how to put it back together. She wasn’t sure she could. And she certainly didn’t want to start weeping in front of Rowan.

  So she stood again.

  “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “For telling me now.”

  Rowan said nothing. The remnants of his tea were going cold.

  “You should go change,” she suggested. “Or bathe. Or… both. Just… get some sleep.”

  She certainly wouldn’t be. Turning toward the door, she tried to hold her shoulders straight.

  “Fenna.”

  Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, Fenna turned back to Rowan, who looked uncharacteristically fragile.

  “We don’t know,” he said. “One way or the other.”

  The comfort felt a bit flat, after he’d given her the odds. But she offered him a small, brave smile and nodded.

  And then left. She didn’t trust herself to stay here much longer.

  Her fury at Rowan for keeping this from her was only eclipsed by her fear for Gavriel. The tangle of panic in her throat wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she swallowed.

  He had to be all right. He had to be. There was absolutely no conceivable way he was anything but alive right now. Possibly not alive and well, if he were a war prisoner, but alive, at least. There was hope in that situation.

  No, that was the only possibility. Fenna wouldn’t let herself entertain any other.

  Her mind flashed back to her dream. To that sad smile he’d given her. As though the Gavriel in her dream had known what Rowan was about to tell her. But why should that be sad? She found it hard to believe that it was only for the turmoil not knowing was going to cause her.

  Reaching her door, Fenna finally allowed herself to entertain the thought she’d had many times, but had been holding at bay ever since Rowan had told her.

  Perhaps everyone in her dreams – with the exception of Elentiya, of course – were dead.

  Slipping back into her rooms, His Majesty suspiciously absent from the hallway, Fenna was glad of the solitude as she curled back into bed. She didn’t sleep until long after her tears had dried on the pillow.

Chapter Text

Fenna’s eyes were gritty when she woke in the morning, as though someone had shoved her face into sand and rubbed it back and forth until her eyes were full of it. Trying to open them fully, she found she couldn’t. Sitting up and resenting her inability to do much more than squint, Fenna pressed lightly on her cheekbones.

  Puffy undereyes. Sighing and bracing herself for the inevitable questions that would arise when someone – Luca, Emrys, Edwina’s newest housekeeper whose name Fenna had yet to learn – saw her, Fenna got up and moved woodenly through her morning routine. All the while, she tried to stave off the knowledge Rowan had afforded her last night.

  Gavriel was missing. No one had heard from him in a month. And he’d been attacking the Berellans.

  On Maeve’s orders, of course, but she doubted a blood oath was something taken into account in most war crime tribunals.

  Fenna paused before the door, her hand on the handle. Leaning her forehead against the rough wood, she sighed and tried to organize her thoughts.

  She was glad Rowan had told her.

  She wished he hadn’t.

  The two sentiments were not separate from each other, and she knew that she would probably spend much of her day trying to figure out the dichotomy of them. Which would render her distracted. Which would bring on even further questions. And suddenly, she began to understand why Rowan had kept this to himself the past week.

  She didn’t much feel like talking about this with anyone.

  Stepping outside, Fenna made her way down the corridor, the arms she wrapped around herself warding off more than just the morning chill.

  Part of her did wish Rowan had told her after they’d learned… well, the outcome, one way or the other. Because right now she felt as though she were standing on a hillside holding up a boulder lest it fall and crush her. And any minute now, the ground helping her hold it was going to give way.

  The Berellans wouldn’t let him go without a trial, at least, would they? Fenna shook her head. What good would it do? Previous good deeds didn’t hold water in any court in any kingdom she knew of. Especially not when one’s intent had been to overtake.

  Fenna’s fingers tightened on her arms. She hated Maeve. This was her fault.

  She wanted to do something. But what was she supposed to do? She supposed she could write to Greynar – call in a favor. Wasn’t she already calling in a rather large one, though? And besides, by the time her message got there, it could be too late.

  If it wasn’t already.

  Fenna mentally ran down the pantheon of gods, thinking of every single one and what their area of power was. She couldn’t think of a single one who would be interested in this specific thing. Perhaps Hellas, god of death and war. After all, weren’t the stories that Lorcan was blessed by Hellas? Though that might not extend to his friends.

  For lack of any better option, Fenna paused as she got to the kitchen door. Bracing a hand on the frame, she sighed and eyed the sky above.

  Temis, goddess of wild and uncaged things, if my gifts are at all a sign of your favor, somehow, some way… bring him home.

  She waited for anything to change. Something in the fabric of the universe to change, some thread of comfort to rest on the ache in her chest. But nothing came. That boulder still threatened to roll forward any minute now.

  Silly of her. Temis was goddess of wild and uncaged things – fauna, mostly. Fenna’s gifts tended more toward the flora side of nature. And there was no god or goddess of the forest – the Fae were the closest beings to any such thing.

  And considering who their Queen was, Fenna doubted offering up a prayer to her for Gavriel’s safety would do much good.

  Sighing, trying to shake off the fear gripping her and knowing she would be unsuccessful, Fenna pushed the kitchen door open and went inside.

  It didn’t take long for Luca to make a comment.

  “Something wrong?”

  Fenna stared into her mug full of coffee and didn’t reply. She could hear a pot being set on the counter and felt Emrys’s stare on the top of her mug.

  “Are you sick?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

  Shaking her head, Fenna debated whether to say anything. Emrys, she wouldn’t question it. She’d probably tell him later, anyway. But Luca… she loved the brother of her heart. But this was something she’d rather keep close to her chest. Much as she’d kept everything else since she’d returned home.

  “I’m fine,” she said, knowing her weak, tiny voice was less than convincing. Shoving her mug in Luca’s direction, she said, “There’s a bit much here for me. You can have mine.”

  Emrys raised a brow, but Luca seemed to take the offer of extra energy in stride, eagerly reaching for the second mug. Already regretting giving Luca that much stimulant, Fenna got started chopping the onions for the casserole, which did nothing for her resisting any show of emotion.

  Elentiya shuffled in a few moments later, ignoring the third mug of coffee as usual. Pausing her brooding long enough to at least be glad Elentiya didn’t smell like Skinwalkers, Fenna privately wondered when she’d found time to bathe.

  It didn’t matter. But Fenna was, once again, rather irritated with Rowan. They’d both stumbled back into the fortress at all hours of the morning and he couldn’t let her start training a bit later?

  Elentiya’s eyes met hers across the counter as the other girl started in on the potatoes. She looked her up and down, brow raised. The implication was clear – you look like hell.

  And as much as Fenna had preached understanding to Rowan yesterday, as much as she’d championed perhaps some solidarity between the pair of them, she decided she was decidedly not in the mood. Not today.

  So she leveled a stare at her and matched the derision. I could say the same of you.

  Eyes going back and forth between the pair of them as he beat first the first of ten bowls of eggs for Emrys, Luca cleared his throat.

  “Awfully clear this morning. For how stormy it was. Last night. Wouldn’t you say?”

  Curbing an exasperated sigh, Fenna forced a tight little smile and nodded. All right, the tension was thick enough Emrys probably couldn’t cut it, not even with his sharpest knife. It didn’t mean Luca had to dispel it. Maybe a little tension was good.

  Why should she or Elentiya have to tamp down on their respective troubles?

  “Night air still has a bit of a chill in it anyway, this time of year.”

  Was he actually talking about the weather? Fenna at least felt a twinge of amusement. The lows he’d stoop to in order to make everything seem normal.

  “Anybody see Rowan this morning?” Luca said, voice lowered slightly. “He looked in a mood that could shrivel raisins!”

  “No wonder,” Fenna muttered.

  Both her companions stared at her. Elentiya’s eyes narrowed. Naturally, she didn’t know Fenna had seen Rowan not four hours ago – and knew that Rowan had every reason to be in a fouler mood than usual. Though Fenna doubted Elentiya knew the whole of it, she certainly knew why he might be a bit more tired than usual.

  How would Rowan spend his frustrations? Likely on Elentiya.

  Slowly, carefully, peeling a potato, Elentiya asked, “Have you ever faced a Skinwalker, Luca?”

  His eyes found Fenna’s across the counter. “I haven’t. But – “

  “Do you know how they kill?” Not waiting for him to respond, she deliberately slid the knife around the potato, letting the skin come off in spirals.

  Swallowing visibly, Luca nodded.

  Elentiya raised a brow at him as the final peel slid from her knife to the counter. “Then you understand why both His Royal Ass-ness and I are ready to slit someone’s throat.”

  All right. Maybe Elentiya did need to tamp down on her own tension. Fenna felt her fist clench around her own knife as Elentiya slammed hers into the countertop. Having been relatively quiet thus far this morning, Emrys whirled.

  “You’ll blunt it!” he snapped. Fenna found herself less concerned for the knife than the countertop.

  Holding his stare, Elentiya shrugged and scooped the potato peels into the bin. She didn’t remove the knife. Fenna thought perhaps it was a very dangerous thing that she happened to still be holding hers.

  “You faced Skinwalkers? With Rowan?” Luca’s eyes were wide, eager, as though he’d hardly heard what Elentiya had just said. Much less the tone in which she said it.

  “And likely doesn’t want to relive the encounter, Luca,” Emrys put in, coming to Elentiya’s defense just as quickly as he’d shouted at her for lack of proper respect for his knives.

  Shrugging, Luca went back to beating his eggs.

  “Suit yourself,” he said. His eyes slid slyly up to Fenna.

  She didn’t have the energy right now to shake her head, so she simply willed him to stay silent. She wasn’t in the mood.

  Don’t say it, don’t say it…

  “But you and Fenna have something in common,” he said. “You’ve both taken on Skinwalkers with Prince Rowan.”

  Elentiya’s eyes shot to Fenna. They narrowed.

  “How did you wind up in that situation?” she asked. Immediately, she gave something of a wince, as though she’d forgotten to not be interested in anyone or anything.

  Figuring it would be rude of her to not respond and that someone truly would demand that explanation of her later, Fenna didn’t look at Elentiya. She simply eyed the task in front of her as she spoke.

  “When I was traveling with the blood-sworn this winter, we were split into groups of two. Rowan and I came upon signs that they’d attacked a pair of our companions further ahead. He demanded I run back to the rear party, get the commander.” For whatever reason, she didn’t feel like Elentiya had earned their names out of her. “ I… made a different call.”

  “What sort of different call.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

  Frowning, Fenna’s eyes slid to Elentiya, who’d crossed her arms and was glowering at her. Not sure what she’d done to offend her this time, Fenna’s answer was clipped.

  “I ran on ahead. I… my magic was able to best the Skinwalkers. Barely.”

  There was quiet for a moment. Fenna wished Elentiya would speak. Would go back to her business. Would do something other than look at her in fury, as though her life had been depending on Fenna’s sensible reaction months ago.

  “Come on, Fen. There’s more story than that. Tell her about how you – “

  “Why would you be so stupid,” Elentiya growled over Luca’s insistence, “as to run toward the Skinwalkers, rather than away from them?”

  Fenna stared.

  “Her magic – “ Luca started.

  “I don’t care what sort of magic you have,” Elentiya snapped. “Anyone who would run toward a Skinwalker instead of away from it may just be the biggest imbecile on this earth.”

  Emrys turned from his spot in front of the window, blue eyes snapping. “Watch your tongue while you’re in my kitchen,” he said. “I won’t have any of my workers speaking to each other in that manner.”

  “I don’t care if it was stupid. If I hadn’t,” Fenna said, trying to keep her voice even, “Rowan and the others would have died.”

  “Fenna,” Emrys growled in warning.

  Elentiya snorted. “Rowan certainly isn’t worth saving,” she said, removing her knife from its spot moored in the wooden countertop. “I highly doubt his friends were, either.”

  Hearing nothing over the wave in her ears, Fenna lost all grip on reality. All grip on sensibility. Certainly all grip on politeness as she reached over and smacked the knife out of Elentiya’s hand.

  Aludra’s prediction about her former occupation might be accurate. With cat-like reflexes, Elentiya whirled toward her, but Fenna cared not. Unleashing a cry of fury, she bowled into the taller girl, knocking her to the ground.

  She could have called on her magic. But she didn’t. She simply let her nails and fists do the work. Elentiya’s eyes were wide with shock as she attempted to grab hold of Fenna’s wrists and hold her off. Fenna dodged them and slapped her across the face.

  Elentiya gave a wolf-like snarl and finally grabbed hold of Fenna’s wrists, wrapping her legs around Fenna’s and flipping her over onto her back. Still letting loose a torrent of war cries, Fenna bore her teeth in Elentiya’s face.

  Pinning her wrists to the ground, Elentiya shouted, “Stop!”

  Fenna didn’t care to think of why Elentiya didn’t fight back, when she obviously could. She was only vaguely aware of Emrys’s pleas, an enraged roar that she thought might belong to Rowan. All she knew was that this girl had just insinuated that her friends weren’t worth saving, and if she was so concerned about her worthless life, she might consider that there was at least some worth to others’, and the knowledge that she did not filled Fenna with such unbridled ire that she freed one of her legs and brought her knee up into Elentiya’s stomach.

  Hard.

  She may not have gotten to the non-magical self-defense lessons with Gavriel and Fenrys, but so help her,  even if she wasn’t effective, she’d at least make Elentiya as uncomfortable as possible for the next few minutes. Or until someone pulled her off. She started slapping at her face again, gauging a furrow in Elentiya’s cheek with her nails.

  Someone suddenly grabbed Elentiya under the arms, dragging her away. Fenna could only vaguely tell through her red haze of fury that it was Rowan.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

  “I’m not doing anything!” Elentiya snapped at him.

  Fenna lunged for the pair of them, but someone had her around the waist, holding her back.

  “Fenna, stop!” Malakai’s voice barked in her ear. “Now!”

  Breath coming in ragged gasps, Fenna stopped fighting him. But she didn’t stop glaring at Elentiya. The other girl stared back at her, something like… sadness lining her eyes? That was strange. Not that Fenna doubted it was there, especially after all she’d overheard her screaming at Rowan, but –

  Malakai released her waist, but grabbed her by the shoulders and whipped her around, his face hard and set, his own anger pouring off of him.

  “What is this about?”

  What was it about, in fact? Fenna had put up with insults and general rudeness from Elentiya before, but she couldn’t bear – she hadn’t been able to –

  For lack of any better response, she burst into tears anew. It wasn’t often she was embarrassed by tears, but everyone was watching her. She covered her mouth with a hand to stifle the sound, but somehow the action just seemed to make her sobs louder.

  Malakai stared at her as she stood there weeping, his anger dissolving into confusion. He glanced at Emrys, then over Fenna’s shoulder at Rowan. She couldn’t see either of their reactions, but clearly they offered no satisfying response, because he finally settled on Luca.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Luca hesitated a moment before beginning.

  “I made Fenna tell Elentiya about running into the Skinwalkers this winter,” he began. Fenna could practically hear Rowan’s eye roll. “Elentiya said some…” His eyes darted up to where Rowan stood. “Ah, insensitive things.” Unable to look at anyone any longer, he fixed his gaze on the ground. “About the blood-sworn.”

  Malakai nodded and went back to staring at Fenna. She wished she could stop crying, but the tears just kept coming. She thought she’d spent them all last night. Taking a deep, shuddering inhale, she hiccupped and was finally able to still them.

  Finally, Malakai turned back to Rowan.

  “Well,” he said, “it looks like there’s fault on both ends. What do you wish us to do about it, Prince Rowan?”

  Fenna turned around to find Rowan frowning down at Elentiya, who, rather like Luca, was avoiding everyone’s eyes.

  “I’ll deal with her later,” he said.

  Malakai frowned. Apparently he was just as uncomfortable with that idea as Fenna. Fenna could beat up Elentiya. She wouldn’t do any lasting damage. Rowan, she was still firmly holding to an entirely different standard.

  “If you’d consent to leave off training for a day,” Malakai said, folding his arms, “I’d much rather do things the Mistward way.” He raised a brow. “Say… a day of stable duty?” Nailing both girls with a hard stare, he added, “Without brawling.”

  Even stoic Elentiya wrinkled her nose a bit at that. But she glanced at Rowan, then at Fenna, and seemed to realize a day of stable duty as penance was the better option of the two. Wordlessly, she nodded.

  Fenna wasn’t entirely pleased, either. But she was too exhausted to fight back. She nodded, as well, and Malakai seemed to breathe easier.

  “Right then,” he said. “The pair of you are to report after breakfast is cleaned up. I’ll see if Edwina can spare anyone to help in the kitchens.” He eyed Rowan. “Is this acceptable to you?”

  Rowan was still for a moment before nodding.

  “Good.” Malakai stalked toward the door. “Now if the pair of you would leave off beating each other long enough to continue helping Luca and my mate with breakfast, my soldiers are hungry.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first time Celaena Sardothien had mucked out stables. It was under decidedly worse circumstances than that first time, however.

  And her workmate hated her significantly more this time. Which was just another in a long line of cruel tricks the gods had played on her lately.

  Her cheek twitched upward as the scratch Fenna had left there smarted. She didn’t cringe away from pain often. Especially not something as small as this. Even now, she glanced around to see whether anyone had noticed.

  It would be just like Rowan, she thought, to show up now, when she’d born up under his torment for weeks only to find her cringing away from a scratch brought on by a tiny kitchen maid.

  Shoveling a particularly large pile of manure into the wheelbarrow Malakai had supplied them with, Celaena caught a glimpse of two beasts at the back of the stable and shook her head. Well, now she knew where those sorry mounts she and Rowan had ridden in on came from. She might have thought to steal one yesterday when she’d left.

  But, then again, the creature probably would have wound up dead, and then she’d be dealing with even more guilt than she already was saddled with, over a rutting horse.

  She jammed the shovel into the dirt with more ferocity than she had the knife earlier and brushed sweaty strands of hair off her forehead. All the while, she avoided looking at the girl laboring behind her.

  “I’m not sorry.”

  Celaena stiffened, no longer avoiding anything. She glanced over her shoulder to find Fenna blowing an equally sweaty strand of hair off her own forehead and glaring at her.

  “I should be. But I’m not.”

  Celaena wasn’t entirely sure she agreed. Fenna shouldn’t be sorry for kicking her ass. If she’d been fighting back, it wouldn’t have been a contest.

  But she’d known that. Which was why she hadn’t fought back.

  Ignoring the ache in her chest that was so much stronger now than it had ever been before, Celaena shrugged and went back to work.

  “You… your nails are very sharp,” was all she said.

  Complete silence from behind her.

  “Which is good. Even if you can’t defend yourself any other way, sharp nails are a good weapon. But you’ve got a good kick, too. No hesitation.”

  Another moment of silence. “You know, making fun of me isn’t going to make me regret coming after you any more than – “

  “I wasn’t,” Celaena muttered. “It was a compliment, Fenna.”

  Picking up her shovel again, she tossed another shovel-full onto the wheelbarrow heap.

  “Oh,” was all Fenna said before going back to work.

  It was still unnerving to have Fenna – Fenna – standing here. After all these years. Celaena had never known where she’d been sent, she’d only known that it was far enough away no one would ever find her. Not Terrasen’s enemies. Certainly not Celaena herself.

  Part of her wondered if she could have at least looked. She should have at least looked. Even as the idea entered her head, however, she scoffed inwardly. No. There was no way she could have. Between Arrobyn and the King of Adarlan himself, she’d never have been able to make it to a ship, let alone out to sea, before someone had come to haul her back.

  No, she couldn’t have looked.

  But, whether she’d looked for Fenna or not, here she was. And Fenna didn’t even remember her. Granted, ten years was a long time, but still… she didn’t think it was that long.

  Celaena attacked the next mound of manure rather aggressively. Having Fenna forget her was no more than she deserved, but… she wondered just how much Fenna had forgotten. And whether such memory loss was natural.

  Maybe she was better off not remembering.

  She’d made every effort to not appear as though she cared about anyone here. She didn’t care about most of the people here. But with Fenna… something was niggling at her.

  “Have you got magic?” she asked casually.

  Another beat of silence, during which Fenna was likely staring at her bemusedly. Then, “Yes.”

  “What sort of magic?” She dared a look over her shoulder. Oh, yes. Fenna was definitely suspicious.

  But not too suspicious, apparently. Eyes narrow, she lifted a shovelful of manure into the wheelbarrow and said, “I grow things.”

  Trying to act as though she wasn’t already aware, Celaena asked, “Can you… use it for anything other than growing?”

  “Well, I can restrain Skinwalkers long enough for someone else to kill them,” Fenna responded brittlely.

  Celaena restrained her wince. She still had to act as though she didn’t care – it really probably was better if Fenna didn’t know who she was, anyway – but the memory of their… conversation earlier was eating at her just as much as Fenna probably presumed it wasn’t.

  “Anything else?”

  Fenna shrugged. “I usually use grapevines if I’m in trouble,” she said. “Which happened quite a lot last winter. And I can command animals – when I choose to. Which isn’t often. I don’t like the idea of them not having a choice in what they do.”

  Fighting a smirk, Celaena shook her head. No. No, she wouldn’t like that, would she?

  “So why aren’t you training to enter Doranelle?”

  To her surprise, Fenna actually snorted.

  “It’s like what Emrys said. Why would I train for years only to be looked down on in Doranelle for the rest of my life? No, thank you. I’m perfectly content here. Besides, my magic isn’t strong enough for Maeve to take an interest in me.”

  Celaena somehow doubted that, but she did figure that Fenna’s personality wouldn’t make her a great asset to the Fae queen. Which would certainly explain why she’d ended up here, instead of there.

  “What makes you say that?” She kicked herself, but she couldn’t keep herself from asking. Maybe because no one had trained her… maybe because her magic had always been eclipsed in childhood… did she truly not remember or realize how powerful she was?

  Celaena’s magic destroyed. Fenna’s created.

  “Let’s just say, I highly doubt the Queen would want a warrior my size, who also loses her magic’s potency about once a month.” Fenna’s voice faltered, to the point where Celaena found herself looked back at her again. A spasm of pain crossed her face, her hand involuntarily going to her side.

  Celaena put two and two together. That was new.

  “You lose power on your cycle?”

  Lips pursed, Fenna shook her head.

  “I don’t lose power, necessarily. I just… can’t call it up as quickly. Or to the same level. It’s still there, just not as responsive.”

  It wasn’t unthinkable. Celaena hadn’t been around magic for almost ten years – with the exception of Dorian the last month she was in Adarlan, and her own when she’d jumped through that portal to save Fleetfoot and Chaol, not to mention these last weeks here – but she didn’t think it was common for a woman’s cycle to stunt her magical ability. Still, everyone’s cycle affected them differently. Celaena cramped and had nausea. Fenna might be able to grow a sprout where before she could spring up trees.

  Maybe. Celaena didn’t know how much her power had developed.

  What she couldn’t figure out was what that spasm of pain that crossed Fenna’s face was. Maybe it was phantom pain thinking about her cycle. But no.

  It wasn’t of the physical kind.

  “Think what you will of Rowan,” Fenna said quietly, jerking Celaena out of her thoughts abruptly. “You’ve every right. I’ve seen what you look like after he trains you. I can disagree with you all I want, but I won’t deny you that right – deciding for yourself he’s awful and irredeemable and not worth saving.” She glared at Celaena with all the quiet fury no one would ever expect – and would be a fool to not be frightened by. “But don’t ever pass judgment like that on the rest of them.”

  She attacked a particularly large heap of manure with fervor.

  She hadn’t been… passing judgment on them. Celaena had been angrier that Fenna would throw herself in harm’s way as she claimed she had – though she could never let Fenna know why. Not if Fenna didn’t already know. And she truly didn’t think anyone was worth her – well, she didn’t think anyone was worth Fenna being hurt.

  She didn’t know how to say that, however. And to apologize would likely ruin the façade she’d been keeping up. So she stayed silent.

  Eyeing the way Fenna attacked that more-or-less innocent manure, Celaena frowned. There was something more to this. Something she was missing. But she couldn’t ferret it out of her now. Something told her this was a topic Fenna would remain decidedly silent on, and Celaena wouldn’t begrudge her that right.

  The stable doors creaked open, and Celaena stiffened as Rowan stalked toward them.

  He leaned on the wall of the stall they were mucking and said nothing. At least he didn’t look amused, but Celaena wished he would leave. He was probably enjoying this far too much and would just wait for an opportunity to gloat about it tomorrow.

  Though he hadn’t proven himself much of a gloater. A bastard, yes, but a gloater? No. More likely he’d just dig whatever had been said out of Fenna and kick Celaena halfway to Doranelle for it.

  At least she’d be closer than she was now.

  “I take it the pair of you have learned your lesson?” he asked.

  Both of them paused and glanced up at him. Celaena almost instantly looked away. He’d seen her bleeding, covered with vomit and piss, and in any number of other unfortunate states. Most of which he’d inflicted on her. Gods, her shoulder still stung from where he’d bitten her.

  For whatever reason, though, the idea of him seeing her covered in horse dung was appalling.

  So she kept her gaze trained on the floor and muttered something in the way of acquiescence.

  Arms folded, Rowan went on, “Fenna, don’t bother defending me. You could choke her to death with thorn vines, and she’d still hate me, and she wouldn’t be wrong.”

  Blinking, Celaena looked back up at him. Well, that was unexpected. But not unwelcome.

  Had something very large hit him on the head between when she’d left yesterday and when he’d shown up to help her fend off the Skinwalkers?

  “And what have you learned from this morning, Elentiya?” he said, his voice playing mockingly with the name.

  She wanted to rip his throat out. But at least he hadn’t called her by her true name – either of them. He may insist on calling her Aelin, but he apparently respected the fact that she wished her identity to remain secret to everyone else.

  Especially Fenna.

  Rowan glanced at Fenna, and came perhaps the closest Celaena had ever seen to smiling.

  “Don’t rile the small ones. They tend to be the most vicious.”

  Celaena doubted that, unless Fenna had been through just as much hell as she had. But she still doubted it. Fenna seemed just as sweet as she’d been ten years ago – until someone insulted the blood-sworn. Then she turned into a feral mountain cat.

  Rowan turned to go, and Fenna practically dropped her shovel as she ran to the wall of the stall.

  “Rowan,” she asked, something like desperation tinging her voice. “Have you… heard anything?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, but something in his expression made Celaena frown. It was more guarded – well, more guarded than usual, anyway.

  “Not in the last ten hours,” was all he said.

  Fenna’s shoulders slumped, and she stepped back, nodding.

  “Right. I guess you wouldn’t have. I was just…” She turned back to work, shaking her head. “Right.”

  Rowan left, and the girls continued to work in silence. Celaena couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder every once in a while, however. What was it that put that heavy of a weight on Fenna?

  The fact that Fenna was here was a miracle. The fact that the pair of them were here together was a miracle. It was hard to remember, however, when Fenna wouldn’t look at her and didn’t seem interested in speaking – with anyone.

  The horse shit non-withstanding.

Fenna didn’t realize a few horses could make such a huge mess, but by the time she and Elentiya were done, the sun was starting to sink on the horizon. Someone had been kind enough to bring them a noon meal, but, hungry as Fenna was, somehow the smell of horse excrement had ruined her appetite. She’d catch the leftovers from dinner.

  Elentiya slunk off somewhere. Probably to her own rooms. Fenna had no idea how cranky she’d be in the morning after having not eaten for twenty-four hours, but she wasn’t eager to experience it.

  Sneaking into the kitchens, Fenna could smell dinner still. And, true to Emrys’s form, there were two plates set aside. Waiting.

  Fenna wondered if Elentiya would come to claim hers. And wondered, if not, if she’d even know Emrys had set it out for her before he scraped it into the bin in the morning.

  Cradling her plate in her hands like a heavy, precious metal, Fenna decided eating outside would be best tonight. She crept back outside, sitting on the garden wall, close to the kitchen. Leaning against the kitchen wall, she sighed and closed her eyes. There was a nice breeze tonight. It was just beginning to be cold, but she didn’t mind. The cold would keep her awake.

  “Bwrorrr!”

  Blinking, Fenna jerked awake and stared. His Majesty was sitting just in front of her, his green eyes reproachful.

  For what, Fenna couldn’t imagine. “You were the one who abandoned me in my hour of need, you know.”

  He began to clean a paw, indifferent. I can’t help it if you have poor taste in friends.

  “I have excellent taste in friends, thank you.”

  You should have known getting attached to a group of warriors would mean you’d lose one of them eventually.

  Suddenly not hungry anymore, Fenna began to eat anyway. If she didn’t now, she probably never would.

  “I haven’t lost anyone,” she growled.

  Yet.

  Fenna glared at her cat, watching him continue to casually cleanse himself, and contemplated throwing a dinner roll at him.

  “Why are you cruel?”

  I’m a cat. It’s in our nature. Besides, maybe I just want you all to myself.

  Fenna shook her head and stared up at the sky again. In the purple sky of twilight, the stars were just beginning to peek out from their hiding places. Well, that was just thoroughly unfair, wasn’t it?

  Is this your first time sleeping under the stars? You get used to it.

  Her food only half-consumed, Fenna set the plate aside. His Majesty could have it if he wanted, but unlike most domestic creatures, he didn’t immediately leap for it. Just sat there and continued to bathe. Leaning her head back again, she closed her eyes to the stars threatening her sanity.

  The breeze caressed her face, and she could have sworn she heard a voice on it. That same voice that had woken her a week ago, whispering her name.

  Fenna.

  She swallowed, her heart clenching.

  “Where are you, Gavriel?” she whispered.

  Neither the stars, nor the wind, nor the cat in front of her still cleaning between his toes, had an answer.

Chapter Text

Emrys was staring at her again.

  Honestly, Fenna was glad someone other than Rowan noticed something was wrong, Luca had been prattling on all morning and Elentiya had done nothing other than glare into her gruel and say nothing in response to – well, anyone’s questions. So, really, nothing was out of the norm.

  Other than the fact that Emrys was distracted by Fenna’s own distance.

  Fenna’s eyes felt gritty – again. She hadn’t slept last night but for fitful patches of it here and there. And the whole while, she’d been berating herself for not being more prepared for something like this, all while assuring herself that she really should have expected it to happen long after her time.

  She’d been prepared to never see any of the blood-sworn again. She had not been prepared to lose any of them in her own lifetime. Fae were exceptionally long-lived, only a few demi-Fae could claim the same. And she couldn’t decide whether that knowledge should have prepared her better for this.

  Clenching her fist around her spoon, which had been up until now disconsolately stirring the as-always-oddly-delicious mush in her bowl, Fenna shook the thought off.

  She didn’t know. No one knew. Not Rowan, not Lorcan, not rutting Maeve. Why was she settling on this one single possibility so easily, when she couldn’t even quite bring herself to believe it?

  A throat cleared. Fenna’s eyes rose to find Emrys’s still trained on her. Luca had stopped mid-sentence and was looking at the kitchenmaster, mouth still open. Elentiya, unsurprisingly, hadn’t moved.

  “Luca,” Emrys said slowly. “Elentiya. I wonder if you might give Fenna and I a moment.”

  “What – “ Luca began, then, as his head pivoted toward Fenna, understanding dawned on his face. “Right. Come on, Elentiya.”

  As he pushed back his chair, ready to go to the mess hall, Elentiya hesitated. Fenna wondered, considering the last time she’d been asked to eat with anyone but the kitchen staff, if she’d take her bowl at all or just wander off somewhere without eating. But she grabbed the bowl and filed out after Luca.

  After they left, Emrys turned back to Fenna and sighed.

  “All right. What’s going – “

  “Emrys?” Luca poked his head back in.

  Emrys’s lips pressed together in that way that said he was restraining an exasperated groan and a smile all at once. “Yes?”

  “Do you want us back to help clean up?”

  Considering, the kitchenmaster nodded. “You, yes. By the time we’re done here, though, Elentiya had probably best be on her way to Prince Rowan. You can let her know.”

  Luca’s eyes rose to the ceiling. “Gods help me,” he muttered before ducking back out.

  Waiting a significantly longer time to make sure they really were gone, Emrys turned to her.

  “What’s going on?” he asked again.

  Sighing, Fenna ran a hand through her hair.

  “One of the blood-sworn – Vaughan – was here the other day,” she began.

  Emrys nodded. “Malakai told me.”

  A prick of irritation poked at Fenna’s chest. Malakai had known and hadn’t mentioned anything? So it wasn’t just Rowan who’d been keeping this from her?

  “To be fair,” Emrys went on, quick to his mate’s defense, “he didn’t know why Vaughan was here, only that he was here to give Rowan some news.” He raised a brow. “I take it Rowan’s shared that news with you?”

  It was Fenna’s turn to nod.

  “And it wasn’t good?”

  Lowering her head into her hands, Fenna shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, it was not.”

  She told him the whole of it – what they knew, anyway. The longer she went on, the more convinced her head became that things certainly didn’t look good, and the more convinced her heart was that all was not lost yet. Fenna wished one or the other would win.

  Emrys sat there and nodded, letting her tell before offering any comment in that way of his. The older male was the best listener she’d ever known. When he did speak, his tone was subdued.

  “And that would explain your little… scuffle with Elentiya yesterday morning,” he said. “The subject matter did make me wonder, but it might have been more in character for your tongue to get the better of you, little one. Not your fists.”

  Fenna gave a weak little laugh. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “It also explains why you haven’t been sleeping and don’t seem to care.”

  She stared at him. “How did you – “

  “I can always tell when you or Luca haven’t slept, Fenna,” he said drily. “You still usually work decently. It’s when you come it after having not slept and don’t guzzle my coffee that I know something’s truly wrong. So, in the past two days, you’ve attacked another scullery maid and only sipped at your coffee. I’ve been somewhat tipped off to your distress.” He gestured to her bowl. “Do me a favor and eat, would you?”

  Fenna glanced down at her bowl and tried to imagine putting even a single bite into her mouth. She really wasn’t hungry.

  “It won’t help Gavriel if you starve yourself,” Emrys added. He nodded toward her food again. “Eat and talk. I won’t be put off if you talk while you chew.”

  All right, she wasn’t quite hungry enough for that, but she was hungry. Fenna begrudgingly obliged. Swallowing a bite, she sighed.

  “I know what the odds are,” she said. “What Maeve had him do… it was an act of war. As far as diplomacy goes, that negates any good deeds past, right?”

  Shrugging, Emrys said, “As I understand it.”

  Fenna nodded and frowned, taking another bite before continuing. One spoonful at a time, she would finish her breakfast this morning.

  “But…” She glanced up at Emrys, gauging if what she was about to say would sound absurd and decided that, even if it did, he wouldn’t act as though it did. “I just feel as though I would know, Emrys. I’d know if he were dead. Does that sound strange?”

  The kitchenmaster was giving her a look Fenna couldn’t quite interpret. It was at once measuring, knowing, and wary. As though he wanted to be pleased but wasn’t certain he should be. Finally, he shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “Not strange at all. Why would that be strange?”

  Why wasn’t it strange? Fenna shook her head, sitting back in her chair, food temporarily forgotten.

  “Because,” she said, “it’s not concrete. It’s not proof. It’s highly unlikely. It goes against everything I know for certain and yet I just can’t shake the idea that I would feel something if anything had happened. It’s ridiculous.”

  Emrys was still giving her that look, and Fenna resisted the urge to squirm.

  “When you’re…close to someone,” Emrys said, “feelings like this can be deceptive. So it’s best to not give them too much room to run wild. However, they can also be right. You’d be surprised how many times Malakai’s been somewhere overnight and I’ve worried about him traveling only to reassure myself that I’d know if anything had befallen him on the road.”

  “But Emrys,” Fenna said, frowning, “Malakai’s your mate. You have a bond. The bond literally frays when your mate is in mortal danger – so I’ve been told. Of course, you know when he’s all right and when he’s not.”

  Another long moment of silence before Emrys finally shook his head and said, “You’re right. I also comforted myself with that practically every night you were gone this winter, if that’s any more… generic for you.”

  Her frown deepening, Fenna nodded. “I suppose that’s true.”

  Not one for words when none were necessary, Emrys sat for a moment before pushing his chair back and rising, groaning and stretching his back.

  “I can’t pretend to know, Fenna,” he said. “I have no words of comfort for you in regard to Gavriel and what may or may not have befallen him at this point. Not if Rowan knows no more than you. I will agree, it doesn’t bode well. But I’ll also say – if your heart tells you he’s all right, or at least alive, don’t disregard it entirely. As I said, when you’re close to someone, your heart can be deceptive. But it can also know more than your brain.”

  Smiling weakly, Fenna shook her head. “I wish it’d make up its mind to be reliable or not.”

  Smiling in return, Emrys squeezed her shoulder as he passed. “It’s a fickle creature, Fenna. But when it’s set, it’s set.”

  Hearing something else in his tone, Fenna frowned at his back as he walked toward the counter and began working on the dishes. Was there a double meaning in what he’d just said? She didn’t know.

  It was only then that she realized she’d been absentmindedly running a finger along the scar on her side.

  Closing her eyes and looking up at the ceiling, she decided beseeching the gods was getting her nowhere. So she merely projected her thoughts. If her heart was somehow telling her Gavriel was all right, perhaps his would enable him to hear.

  Please be all right, Gavriel. Please be all right.

Chapter Text

Gavriel had been back for all of two hours when Lorcan slammed through the door.

  Well, slammed was probably an excessive term, seeing as he had to be let in. But the incessant pounding knocks had sounded like slamming to Gavriel’s sleep-starved brain. Rising and blinking exhaustion from his eyes, Gavriel opened the door to find the commander looking more angry than glad to see him.

  “You’ve been free for how long?” Lorcan demanded. “And you’re just now coming back to Doranelle?”

  Sighing against the pounding in his head, Gavriel stepped aside and let Lorcan enter. “I missed you, too,” he muttered, fairly certain his tongue had no filter on it any longer.

  Lorcan didn’t take either of the empty chairs, just stood in front of one of them, arms crossed. Fortunately, Gavriel knew him better. The quick response to his arrival was Lorcan’s version of sobbing in relief. So he leaned against the now-closed door, fairly certain if he didn’t he’d fall over and go to sleep right on the floor, and matched Lorcan’s cross-armed stance.

  “I had business to attend to,” he said.

  Lorcan’s eyes narrowed.

  “Business so important it overruled reporting back to Maeve? More important than letting anyone know you were even rutting alive?”

  So he was going to be that way, was he? Gavriel raised a brow at him. He could dish back, if that was what Lorcan required.

  “Actually, I was looking for Rowan,” he said. “Who, incidentally, was not at the coast inspecting the fleet. And no matter what Vaughan says, something tells me he’s not at the eastern border, either.” Even if that something was just what a bad liar Vaughan was.

  Unsurprisingly, Lorcan didn’t flinch. “Perhaps he’d finished by the time you arrived.”

  Gavriel nodded. “Then he’s back?”

  Stiffening, Lorcan turned his back and stalked out toward the balcony, where the sun was beginning to sink on the horizon. Gavriel ignored the cracked, dry feeling in his eyes. He wasn’t offended that Lorcan had come directly from the throne room here once Maeve had finished with him, but gods, he just wanted to sleep.

  For two days.

  Either way, he decided to take Lorcan’s reaction as a “no” and let the matter of Rowan’s whereabouts be for a moment. Even if he did have a sneaking suspicion and even if he was fairly certain he should stay away if that suspicion was correct.

  Gavriel trudged to the doorway and leaned against the frame. It was pointless to ask Lorcan what was on his mind. The commander would talk when he was good and ready, and Gavriel knew it.

  Finally, Lorcan turned back toward him. Not all the way, just enough that Gavriel got a fairly good view of his profile against the glare of the setting sun.

  “Do you have any idea how close we came to all-out war with the Berellans?” he asked.

  It seemed foolish to ask – after all, Gavriel had literally just committed an act of war against them. Besides, there was something else in Lorcan’s tense-backed stance. As though he truly was asking, without even knowing what he was saying or why he was saying it.

  Gavriel had thought the commander might collapse when he walked into the throne room to report his return to Maeve. No one else might have noticed it, but Gavriel knew by now when Lorcan was relieved. Even now he was slightly less tense than he might have been. He had the look of a male who had been preparing for a battle he couldn’t win and had just been informed the enemy had surrendered prematurely and without any reason.

  Then again… Gavriel frowned at Lorcan and wondered if that wasn’t all that accurate. After all, considering just who’d come to free him and how swift the response had been…

  “Lorcan. What did you do?”

  Still tense, Lorcan’s jaw twitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Oh, Gavriel would love to read whatever message Lorcan sent, probably with one of their warriors who took the form of a bird. He imagined there was probably some very strong verbiage and promise of, if not destruction, at least some very serious damage to the Berellan settlements and their capital city.

  In the unlikely event that he ever saw General Sorina again, he’d have to ask. Knowing the general, she’d probably keep it framed. Threatened by the death wielder her great grandsire had encountered? It was a story for her own grandchildren.

  But he knew that if Lorcan wasn’t going to admit to it, no amount of warm feelings on his part would convince the commander to talk. So Gavriel merely sighed and, shaking his head, asked, “Where’s Rowan, Lorcan?”

  Another jaw twitch. “On a mission for Maeve.”

  “Obviously. Which one?”

  Lorcan shook his head. “Not even I know all the parameters. All I know is it’s serious enough he can’t be disturbed.” He finally turned all the way around, eyeing Gavriel knowingly. “Not even by you. Not by any of us.”

  Truth, and yet not. Gavriel was used to these sorts of things from the commander. If his earlier suspicions proved accurate, he thought he knew why Lorcan wasn’t telling him everything. And he also had a fairly good guess as to the why behind the why.

  If only Lorcan knew he was telling himself the exact same thing.

  Sighing in resignation, Gavriel ran a hand over his face.

  “Lorcan, if you’re not going to interrogate me or follow up on my release, I haven’t slept much in the past few weeks.”

  Giving him an even stare, Lorcan finally backed off. “Rest,” he said, striding for the door. He didn’t speak once before it had slammed shut behind him. It was only after he’d gone that Gavriel realized he hadn’t even told him about Cairn’s betrayal. He would tell him. But that would come later – and he’d simply have to survive until then. Once Cairn heard he was back in Doranelle, he might just try another assassination attempt.

  Shaking his head, Gavriel didn’t bother changing before falling into bed. He could deal with bathing later. Right now, he had at least a week’s worth of sleep to catch up on. Perhaps when he was done, he could think clearly.

  If Vaughan had gone to Mistward… if he’d told Fenna about what had happened… someone had to let her know… had to let her know he was fine…

  Gavriel didn’t think much beyond that. He fell asleep far too fast.

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  Someone scoffed, jarring Gavriel out of the fog of oblivion.

  “I’m somewhat insulted, Con. You truly have no faith in me – and an abominably short memory. Remember when I suggested doing this to Lorcan in our first decade here?”

  “Oh, I remember. And you’re still an idiot. I’m not concerned with Gavriel waking up and murdering us. I’m concerned with Lorcan finding us here and going into a territorial rage. Either way, my concern is with Lorcan and your idea of triggering his raging protective instincts is decidedly worse than waking him up in the middle of the night.”

  A pause. “Fair enough.”

  Squeezing his eyes tighter first, Gavriel forced them open and sat up in bed. Well into their second century, he still sometimes struggled with remembering that the twins were, in fact, not teenagers.

  A corner of Connall’s mouth quirking upward was all he got, but it was still more than Lorcan had given. Gavriel would take it. Fenrys, on the other hand, was grinning wickedly at him.

  “So you’re alive,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “Maybe the gods are merciful.”

  Gavriel rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t certain about that. If the gods were merciful, at least half of his battalion might have made it back. At this point, he was fairly sure they’d been aiming for him, too, and just missed.

  Correction. Maeve had missed. Cairn had missed. The gods’ aim was of little consequence.

  Instead of voicing any of that, he shook his head and attempted to focus on the twins in the dark room.

  “All right. How did you get in here and what time is it?”

  The half-smirk replaced with an irritated grimace, Connall stretched and yawned. “Sometime around two in the morning,” he muttered. “Don’t ask me what I’m still doing here.”

  “As to how we got here, that’s a dangerous question to ask two males who can jump from place to place at will,” Fenrys drawled, draping himself across his chair.

  Connall rolled his eyes. “The door wasn’t locked,” he informed Gavriel, as usual being the much more helpful of the two. “We walked right in and you slept right through it. You’re just lucky we’re glad you made it back. There’s already been a clamoring for your spot in the blood-sworn.”

  It wasn’t surprising, and yet it was disturbing. Instantly awake, Gavriel’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

  Connall blinked. “Does it matter?”

  Thinking on that, Gavriel decided it was better they didn’t know. Not yet.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not particularly.”

  “Besides,” Fenrys said, “even Maeve said we couldn’t replace you until we knew for certain you weren’t coming back. Oddly benevolent of her.”

  Brow furrowing further, Gavriel tried to decipher that. He’d thought Maeve eager to be rid of him after this winter. Besides, there wasn’t any set rule for how many blood-sworn any one ruler had to have. She could have technically replaced him and, in the event that he showed up alive, simply claimed them both. Gavriel shook his head. It made no sense.

  But he wasn’t about to process any of that with the twins. Even if he was being remarkably tight-lipped lately, Lorcan was his best option. When he informed him about Cairn… then he could dig for just why Maeve had thought it expedient to wait. A fact that probably hadn’t endeared the younger male to him, he just now realized.

  “You don’t look like you’ve been in prison for five weeks,” Fenrys commented, eyeing him appraisingly.

  Gavriel snorted. “You’re a flatterer, did you know that?” Swinging his legs off the bed, he leaned his elbows on his knees and sighed deeply before continuing. “I was looking for Rowan.” He held up his hand by way of explanation. “I… needed to find Rowan before coming back.”

  It was Connall’s turn to sweep a searching eye over him. “My guess is you weren’t successful?”

  Gavriel honestly had no idea how Connall figured that. Not all of his tattoos were visible. But he was still too tired to question it. He shook his head in response.

  “Well, I just hope he isn’t wearing a trench in Mistward’s floors,” Fenrys commented glibly. “If he’s pacing as much as Lorcan did, anyway.”

  Connall cleared his throat sharply, glaring at Fenrys, but his twin continued on.

  “I can’t decide what’s more terrifying – Fenna strangling him with grapevines or the kitchenmaster carving into him with those knives of his. Either way, I don’t think explaining he was committing vandalism for your sake will – “

  “So Rowan is at Mistward?” Gavriel clarified, not sure just what was causing the catch of hope in his chest.

  It was only then Fenrys seemed to register Connall’s warning look. He stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging open for a moment before continuing.

  “No,” he said. “No, of course Rowan’s not at Mistward. I have no idea where he is. Or what he’s doing there. Or, for that matter, why anyone might be strangling him with grapevines or carving into him with kitchen knives. Nope. Rowan’s a mystery to us all.”

  Gavriel had often wondered how Connall made his eye rolls audible, but somehow, he could hear the gesture even as his gaze was trained on a decidedly guilty Fenrys.

  “Nice try,” Connall growled. “You’re about as convincing as a skinchanger in Fae’s clothing.” He looked back and forth between the pair of them. “Too soon?”

  Shrugging, Gavriel shook his head. “Vaughan already sort of let it slip,” he said. “Believe it or not, being a genius doesn’t make you a good liar.”

  “Nor, apparently, does being a fool,” Connall commented. Fenrys glared at him.

  An idea had begun forming in Gavriel’s head, but he shoved it to the side. Lorcan had said what Rowan was doing was important enough he not be disturbed… but was that more to keep Gavriel away?

  If his reasons were what Gavriel thought they were, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time Lorcan had employed every means necessary to do so.

  For now, he needed more information. And the twins had already given him enough – they might be a wealth of details if he pressed them enough. Fortunately, Fenrys didn’t require much pressing, and Connall already seemed to have given up on keeping the crucial details from him.

  “Either of you know what he’s doing there?” he asked casually.

  Giving a melodramatic sigh that Gavriel was certain only he didn’t know was melodramatic, Fenrys stretched out further.

  “Having more fun than either of us,” he said. “He’s training a Firebringer.”

  Gavriel blinked. Not another one. Hadn’t they had enough of flame-wielders in the past year? His attention was drawn, however, by Connall’s scoff.

  “He says without a trace of bitterness,” he commented. “Not that he wanted to be the one to train her at all. Not at all.”

  For once serious, something like avarice gleamed in Fenrys’s eyes. “All of that raw, untamed power,” he said. “How often do you get to train someone like that?”

  For that reason alone, Gavriel was fairly certain Maeve had made a wise decision in sending Rowan. Fenrys was too fascinated with all things wild and raw and unbroken. He’d be distracted by the Firebringer in question’s glory, not focused on honing it into usefulness.

  Had Maeve sent Fenrys, the whole of Mistward would probably have been burnt down within the week.

  “How long has he been there?” Gavriel asked.

  “About a month,” Connall said. “I was with him and Maeve – “

  “Maeve went to Mistward?” The question was out of Gavriel’s mouth before he could stop it, but he didn’t care. Why should she have gone to Mistward personally? What interest did she have in the fortress she couldn’t have cared less about four months ago? Why –

  “She had business with the Firebringer,” Connall said, staring at him as though the answer should have been obvious. “I don’t know who the girl is, but she’s not ordinary, that’s for certain.”

  Fenrys sat bolt upright. “You didn’t tell me you saw her!”

  Staring at him evenly, Connall replied, “I didn’t. Maeve sent one of us to deal with her. That tells me everything I need to know.”

  “Oh.” Fenrys eased back down. “Makes sense.”

  He knew everything he needed to. And the hour was more than unreasonable. Sighing again and eyeing them both, Gavriel said, “Not that I don’t love having you two pop into my room whenever you wish” – really, it was becoming something of a habit – “but it is the middle of the night.” He figured he didn’t need to remind them he’d just been through the campaign from hell.

  Glancing at each other, the twins nodded.

  “Right,” Fenrys said sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

  Connall stood, stretching. “You don’t need to tell me twice,” he said. “Like I said, this wasn’t my idea.” Reaching the doorway, he turned around. “By the way, I’m glad you’re not dead.”

  As soon as he was gone, Fenrys turned to Gavriel, face questioning.

  “Are you going to go?” he asked. “To Mistward, I mean?”

  For the second time that day, Gavriel ran a hand over his face. “I’m not sure.”

  With a strange amount of insight, Fenrys eyed him shrewdly and said, “You don’t have to see her while you’re there, you know.”

  It would be nigh on impossible to not, Gavriel thought. Especially considering that, from what he’d gleaned, almost everyone at Mistward knew Fenna. But he knew Fenrys understood why he hesitated. They’d discussed this on the way back to Doranelle this winter after leaving Fenna behind.

  Maeve couldn’t know about the carranam compatibility Fenna shared with Fenrys – with both of the twins, most likely. Neither of them would ever so much as speak of Fenna. While Gavriel got the impression Fenrys talked about her quite a bit with Connall, none of the others had mentioned her, either. This winter was to be a mission, and nothing more.

  So if Maeve suspected that which was pulling him to Mistward was more than Rowan… Gavriel could only imagine what she’d be able to do with that.

  He countered with a true statement, even if it weren’t the entirety of why he wasn’t sure whether he was going to go.

  “You think that wouldn’t hurt her?” he asked. “Knowing one of us was there and hadn’t even bothered to say hello?”

  Fenrys shrugged. “Oh, terribly. Especially you. Or me, I suppose. But the fact remains, you still don’t have to. If what you’re needing is for Rowan to add to your tattoos, that’s all you have to go there for.”

  It wasn’t all he needed, and the sheer level of need for anything else terrified him. But not even Fenrys suspected, he thought. So Gavriel shrugged.

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said.

  Fenrys rose and went to the door, pausing before leaving.

  “We all want to see her again, Gavriel,” he said. “Gods, you think the only reason I’m jealous of Rowan is because he gets to train a once-in-a-lifetime fire wielder? I miss her, too. You don’t have to see Fenna while you’re there – but you also don’t have to let Maeve know that’s why you’re going.” He opened the door and shrugged, his voice low. “You don’t even have to let her know where you’re going.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  Despite having shooed the twins out under the pretense of needing to sleep, Gavriel suddenly found himself wide awake. Fenrys wasn’t Vaughan, certainly, but he also wasn’t stupid. And sometimes he was just as good at finding loopholes in their interactions with Maeve as Lorcan.

  Laying back down and staring up at the ceiling, Gavriel contemplated it. He’d just been through an ordeal. It wouldn’t be entirely out of the ordinary to ask for some leave. Granted, Maeve might say the amount of time he took to return could count as leave, but… she didn’t have to know where he went. And he’d ask for a week, at most.

  His fists bunched around the sheets. He’d decided against this months ago. It was just a bad idea. Seeing Fenna again was a bad idea, on so many levels. He wouldn’t put her in that position – a position he’d thoughtlessly put others in before.

  Part of him, however, wondered if he was holding her at arms’ length for his own sake just as much as hers. If he was afraid she’d realize the gravity of the greater situation and send him away permanently. It had happened before.

  But what if she didn’t? All Gavriel knew was that right now, his soul was a desert and the very image of Fenna was like a spring. He couldn’t imagine how much more so her actual presence would be.

  He didn’t have to figure all of this out now, Gavriel realized. Besides, Rowan was at Mistward. Gavriel had need of his ability with needle and ink. As long as he was at Mistward… there was no sense in not taking full advantage of that fact.

  His mind made up, Gavriel rolled over and tried to ease back into sleep. The combination of trepidation and longing building in his chest, however, made that somewhat difficult.

Chapter Text

Maeve peered at Gavriel through narrowed eyes. His request wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary – but nor was it in character. Best to pretend she hadn’t seen this coming in the least.

  “Leave?” she asked, hands steepled in front of her. “For such a short amount of time?”

  His face didn’t betray whatever surprise he might have felt. Maeve almost wished Lorcan was here that she could cast an approving glance in his direction. He’d trained them all well. Too well. And, to be fair, he’d been training Gavriel the longest of them all, so it shouldn’t shock her that he was best of them all at keeping his expression neutral when speaking to her. Not naturally the best – no, that honor distinctly fell to Rowan – but with three centuries of training? He’d gotten quite good at it.

  But if Maeve knew anything, she knew herself. And she knew the miniscule amount of time he’d requested to have off would have sounded perfectly reasonable to her under normal circumstances. She certainly wouldn’t have offered more.

  Unfortunately, to some degree, her scions knew her, too.

  “I don’t need long, Majesty,” Gavriel went on. “Just long enough to… put the past month behind me.”

  “Yes,” Maeve said. Deciding to toy with him just a bit more, she added, “An unfortunate loss, but one that we will recover from.”

  Gavriel betrayed no emotion but for a slight twitch of – his fingers. Interesting. Maeve suppressed a smirk. Was he imagining strangling her? He could try. Not only would he not make it more than two steps toward her, but one of the many perks of having blood-sworn was that you could keep your greatest threats close. If any of them attempted to kill her and succeeded, their own lives would be forfeit in the process.

  And, if she guessed correctly, she suspected this male very much wanted to live for at least a few more days.

  Pretending to consider, Maeve finally nodded.

  “I will grant you the requested five days,” she said. “Do you intend to leave the city?”

  He nodded. No hesitation. This was thought through long before he’d come to her. Maeve wasn’t often impressed with the commander of her blood-sworn, but she was continually learning how well he’d trained those under him to act as though they weren’t playing her every move.

  In fact, sometimes, they even got the better of her. But not this time.

  “I have relatives in one of the border settlements,” he said, naming the fortress. In the exact opposite direction of where he was likely going. Not bad. She wondered if he’d travel in the proper direction long enough to throw her scouts off.

  “Your leave begins tomorrow. You may leave whenever you wish,” Maeve said. She nodded toward the door. “You are dismissed. I will expect your return in five days.”

  Gavriel’s head lowered along with his eyes. “Majesty.”

  Maeve watched him go. Then rose, deliberately, slowly. Going to the balcony that looked out over the training arena, she remembered a time ten years ago when she’d stood here, contemplating what she knew. The power it gave her. The delicious, intoxicating power over so many who weren’t even aware she had it.

  Who, if she were to guess correctly, thought they were doing everything in their power to keep her from possessing it.

  She smirked, eyeing the owl perched on the balcony rail almost mischievously.

  Yes. Go on, Gavriel. Go visit the little princess.

  He truly had no idea, did he? None of them did. She’d worked her magic well a decade past. But now… now she thought her little game had been in waiting for far too long.

  Reaching into the depths of her mind, where she kept memories pocketed, she selected the seven-year-long train of thought. Pulled it out and twined its dark blue strands through her fingers. The bit of magic pulsed purple every once in a while. She’d found when she’d taken them out and experimented, that each person’s memories tended to have a different shade. She’d never quite understood it, but she assumed it had something to do with a person’s aura, but not even she could see those. She didn’t know. All she knew was that this strand of memories was a strange mix of blue with flashes of purple, twined about with the tendrils of her own dark magic.

  She smirked. At least when she took out Lorcan’s memories, the two magics blended.

  Part of her almost wanted to call Lorcan in for what she was about to do. He alone of the blood-sworn would understand, and she loathed relinquishing an opportunity to make him squirm. Inwardly, of course. Much to her dismay, Lorcan wasn’t much of a squirmer.

  Still, it would be so much more delightful if he didn’t know until Gavriel returned what had happened.

  Smirking at the owl again, Maeve raised her hand with the strands of magic twining about them toward the sky.

  “Let’s upend everyone’s days, shall we?” she said before sending the magic shooting into the sky.

  Closing her eyes and relishing the feeling of soaring along with the memories she’d released, Maeve waited. And waited. And frowned.

  The memories were not going the direction she thought they would. Rather than west, toward Mistward, they were headed… east.

  Had the girl moved east? Did the Berellans offer her a spot in their society? That would have added a whole new level of nuance to Maeve’s sending Gavriel into battle against them. But no, even if she’d left the day Maeve and Connall had, there was no way she would have had the chance to reach the capital city –

  The magic landed, and Maeve sagged against the balcony rail, chest heaving. Her owl fluffed its tail feathers and backed away pointedly. Glaring at it, Maeve attempted to catch her breath.

  This was one thing she hadn’t seen coming.

  It wasn’t often that she released memories. But when she did, while she no longer had control of them once they were past her grasp, she could always see who they were delivered to. It had always been the person in question. Never another.

  Her plans of ten years ago were about to be foiled by one foolish oversight.

  A growl rising in her chest, Maeve didn’t care how melodramatic it was as she shrieked, knowing full well he couldn’t hear, “LORCAN!”

  One of her guards went scuttling off to fetch him. Good. Maeve wanted to save the rest of her rage for when he arrived and she demanded to know just how he’d been so foolish as to leave Fenna alone with a memory keeper.

Chancellor Imhran Greynar had nearly given up on Fenna of Mistward’s memories. He’d probed them of his own accord, to no avail. Honestly, he expected to have them for the rest of his life. And then what would happen when he was gone? Whether she settled or not, he was still a good deal older than Fenna. Would her memories die with him? Memory keeping was rare enough that no one really knew. Seeing as the memories in question were always forgotten by the person who’d had them.

  So when he’d been literally floored in the middle of a council meeting, to say he hadn’t seen it coming was an understatement. Really, why was it that other memory keepers released memories at the worst possible times?

  Receiving memories was less painful to him, unfortunately, than the people he took them from. Whereas Fenna had experienced immense, albeit brief, agony as he extracted the memories from her conscience, he now receiving them experienced a soaring feeling in his chest.

  This… this was beyond anything he’d expected. He’d told her not to concoct wild stories in her head, but he highly doubted she’d be able to invent this. She’d been too humble.

  This was a story beyond all reckoning.

  He’d come to back in the council room with every member surrounding him. They’d all been taught what to do in the event something like this happened, but no one in the room had witnessed a memory episode yet.

  Greynar was, as usual, panting and wildly out of focus. He could only lay there and blink up at the ceiling, trying to regain some semblance of normal breathing.

  “Gods,” was all he could say. “Holy rutting gods. She’s – she’s – “

  “Chancellor,” one of the councilors finally asked. “Are you all right?”

  A bit more lucid, Greynar had sat up.

  “Bring General Sorina to my quarters.”

  And now here they sat, he in one upholstered chair, her in the other, as she listened to his story – or rather, Fenna’s – one brow raised. At last, he finished, and she sat there, nodding, brow still quirked.

  “Well,” she said. “That’s fascinating.”

  Greynar laughed weakly, shaking his head.

  “That’s all you have to say?” he said. “We’ve found a lost royal, and all you can say is that’s fascinating?”

  “I mean, none of us particularly knew she existed,” Sorina said, shrugging. “Which, from what you’ve told me isn’t surprising. It’s just remarkable that her family managed to conceal her existence for that long.” She eyed him evenly. “Do you understand what this means? If Aelin Galathynius is, in fact, as dead as the world believes her to be – “

  “Fenna is the heir to Terrasen’s throne,” Greynar finished. “Yes. I know.” He rose. “Which is why I must set out immediately.”

  Sorina rose as well. “I’ll arrange an escort at – “

  “No,” Greynar said. “I need you here. Send some of your newer recruits with me”  

  She stared at him. “You’re not serious, Chancellor.”

  “I am entirely so.”

  Sorina moved to block the door, as though he were leaving right that moment. “Imhran,” she said, invoking his first name the way she did when she wanted him to see reason. “It’s a month’s journey through who knows what sort of danger in those woods. This city needs you. These people need you. And I’m not inclined to leave that to a group of grunts -- ”

  Snorting, Greynar shook his head. “Right now, the world may need me. The next continent over does, at least. What I saw in those memories, though… there is an ancient, dark magic at play across the sea. It spans much greater than those few kingdoms. So, world or the western continent? The former option is the most likely, in my opinion.”

  Sorina stood in silence for a few moments before finally shaking her head. “I won’t convince you differently. At least let me come with you.”

  “No,” Greynar said. “I need you here. I’m appointing you interim Chancellor in my place.”

  There was dead silence then, to his great amusement, Sorina began sputtering for the first time since he’d known her.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am entirely so,” Greynar repeated, mouth quirking upward. “There’s no one else I trust with this nation in my absence. And don’t look so glum. I am a fairly well-renowned warrior in my own right, Sorina. I just might make it back alive.”

  Sorina didn’t appear to see the humor.

  “I’m no politician.”

  Greynar snorted. “Please. That’s why I picked you. I know I can trust you, Sorina. Any of the numerous ‘politicians’ I could appoint might undermine certain things when I’m gone. Things I’ve worked hard to put into place.”

  “The council respects you, Chancellor.”

  “Respects, yes. Always agrees with me? No. And they could take advantage of my absence to lay foundation to wreck things tentatively put into place.” He raised a brow. “Such as our most… recent interaction with Doranelle.”

  She blinked at him. “You want me – a war general – to convince the council not to march on Doranelle? When I only vaguely believe in that superstition you brought up in the first place?”

  He gave her the knowing smirk he knew maddened her. “Who better? You know your craft. They do not. Besides, you can remind them just who threatened us. And why that would be a double tempting of fate. Who better than you, indeed?”

  Eyes narrowing for a moment, Sorina finally turned away, groaning in despair. “Fine! Fine! I know better than to argue with you when you’ve got a foolish idea in your head. It just happens so seldom I occasionally forget it ever does! And then you remind me you’re just as pigheaded as – “

  “You?” A corner of his mouth quirked upward.

  She glared, but said nothing.

  Sighing, Greynar turned away and continued to pack. “I suppose it’s a good thing Salvaterre sent that letter,” he said. “Else we may have forgotten that old thing about bloodlines and whatnot. Conveniently.”

  “You know as well as I do it was conveniently remembered,” Sorina said, folding her arms and leaning against the bedpost. “You didn’t want to kill Gavriel any more than I did.” She frowned. “Out of curiosity, what do you mean? We already established it was a good thing.”

  “Oh, nothing,” he said. “It just might be awkward if I were to go return Lady Fenna’s memories immediately after you slaughtered her lover.”

   Blinking again, Sorina’s eyes darted back and forth along the floor, as though she were trying to find grounds to deny what he’d just so clearly suggested. Then, sensibly, she shrugged.

  “Fair enough.”

Chapter Text

Eventually, Fenna realized that waiting for a certain answer from Rowan would do neither herself nor anyone else any good. It could be months before they received one. And, considering that Rowan was her chief source of information, she would likely be waiting even longer than that.

  So, here she was on her afternoon off, heading for the tailor’s shop in Mistward’s settlement.

  It hadn’t necessarily been a quiet morning – the only difference was that Elentiya was gone, off on some extended overnight mission with Rowan, and she didn’t contribute much to the noise of the kitchen, anyway. But still, it had felt off. Fenna didn’t know when Elentiya had become part of the kitchens, rather than some oddity in the atmosphere to be tolerated for a time, but apparently she had. While Fenna wouldn’t necessarily say she missed the girl, she still felt her absence.

  Working relations were a strange thing, she thought.

  Fenna had left Edwina to fill in her spot for preparing the noon meal and the first part of the evening one and deliberated whether she would fall into her usual habit – tending her garden a bit extra – or seek out some other form of occupation. After a few moments, during which she’d been leaning against the kitchen wall, chewing her bottom lip and getting some questioning looks from passerby, she’d decided on the latter.

  She really thought it best she wasn’t alone right now. While she wouldn’t be able to offer much help in the way of sewing or even mending, really, Anastacia and, more importantly, Shyah, had never turned her away before.

  Reaching the shop, Fenna slipped around to the back door – she’d only enter through the front if she were coming as a customer – and knocked.

  Immediately, the pounding of toddler feet sounded on the other side of the door. She couldn’t help the first true grin she’d had in days breaking out on her face.

  Through the open window, she heard not Anastacia, but Shyah’s gruff voice following along.

  “All right, child,” the old tailor muttered. “I can’t imagine why you’d be so excited now when – “ Her voice faltered, and then took on a knowing, playful tone. “Ah, I see. Well, why wouldn’t you be excited to see Fenna?”

  It must be the combination of the open window and the breeze, Fenna thought. Not even Fae noses could smell individual scents through a door – that she knew of, anyway. If they could, it was an unfortunate drawback if you wished to surprise someone.

  Shyah opened the door, her normally craggy face softened by a smile. Fenna only had a moment to appreciate it, however, before a tiny form barreled into her legs and wrapped his arms around them. Laughing lightly, she brushed a hand along Lazaro’s dark hair.

  “Good to see you too, love,” she said. All right. Coming here had been a very good idea.

  “Well, come in.” Shyah beckoned her in, that gruff voice of hers a contrast with the pleased look on her face.

  Bending down and lifting Lazaro to a hip, Fenna followed her through the living space into the shop itself.

  “Is Anastacia out?” she asked, wondering why she hadn’t brought Lazaro by the kitchens if she was.

  “Off on an errand,” Shyah said, sitting down next to a cradle. Valeria slumbered inside, one hand poking through the blanket wrapping her to curl under her chin. Fenna took up the spot on the other side of the cradle and gently poked that tiny hand. Not stirring otherwise, Valeria wrapped her five fingers around Fenna’s index one and sighed in her sleep.

  “We’ve had next to no one in today,” Shyah went on. “So, I thought it would be all right to have the children here. Give her some time to herself.” She raised a brow at Fenna. “I take it you didn’t want the same favor?”

  Fenna shrugged. She liked Shyah, but not enough to trust her with what was really going on.

  “We all have days when we need solitude,” she said. “We also all have days when we need company. I guess mine and Anastacia’s didn’t line up today.”

  “Hmm.” Shyah’s usual expression had returned, and she waved a hand in Fenna direction before bending over a piece of vibrant blue fabric. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you wish, as long as you don’t mind me working still. We may not have anything coming in, but we’ve certainly got plenty of orders to catch up on.” She stuck a cluster of pins in her mouth. “I would pick today to give my assistant an afternoon off, wouldn’t I?”

  A corner of Fenna’s mouth tipped upward as they lapsed into a comfortable silence. She adjusted Lazaro on her knee, and he turned toward her, wide, dark eyes solemn as he put a hand on either side of her face, as though he could see into the depths of her. She sighed and nodded at him.

  “I’m not myself today,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t be better company.”

  He nodded sagely in return and, with one chubby hand, patted her cheek.

  “You sad?” he asked.

  Fenna nearly fell off her seat. Blinking at him, she stared up at Shyah, who had only glanced up from her work briefly. It was long enough, however, that Fenna could see the glint of triumph in her eyes.

  “Yes, that’s a new development,” Shyah said. “Anastacia tried to find you yesterday evening. She’ll be sorry she missed the look on your face. You look as though I just claimed to be Mala Firebringer herself.” A barking laugh erupted out of her. “I’m wishing I could capture it for myself.”

  Turning her stare to Lazaro, Fenna laughed in amazement as he, too, started laughing at her expression.

  “When?” she asked.

  “Yesterday afternoon he just started spouting off words,” Shyah filled her in as she stuck pins here and there. “You know what we’ve all been thinking. He knew very well how to speak. He just…” Her voice trailed off, and Fenna was surprised at the hesitation in it. “Just learned not to.”

  Fenna’s brow furrowed as she realized the bits and pieces of the tailor’s story that she didn’t know. But for the moment, she turned back to Lazaro, who’d grown serious again.

  “Fenna sad?” he asked again.

  She sighed and nodded. “Not as sad as I could be.” She wrapped him in a hug, relishing the comfortable toddler smell of him. He snuggled in against her shoulder, as though sensing she needed it more than he did. It gave her as much time as she needed to study Shyah herself.

  The fabric she was working with seemed oddly bright for anything Mistward could have produced. It occurred to her it must have come in on the last caravan from Doranelle. No one at Mistward could afford anything so fine for anything but Shyah’s prices. The caravans were aware Mistward operated on a barter system, rather than silver and gold. Shyah was able to produce fairly decent wool around this time of year from Mistward’s small flock of sheep. Still, Fenna may not know much about fabric, but she knew enough to know what Shyah was working with was something of a steal.

  She wondered who had ordered it.

  Caravans from Doranelle… it reminded her of what she did know of the tailor’s past.

  It was likely none of her business, and quite frankly, she found Shyah somewhat intimidating. But something prompted her.

  “Shyah,” she asked cautiously, starting with something safe. “Were you always so good with needle and thread?”

  Freezing for a moment, Shyah frowned up at her and seemed to evaluate before responding.

  “Well, I wasn’t quite as good at ten as I am at sixty,” she commented drily. “Obviously.”

  “Fair enough,” Fenna conceded.

  “And I lost something of the ability for about five years of my life,” Shyah said. “After my parents died when I was twelve… well, I could barely afford to eat, let alone the materials I needed to sew. I went to Doranelle thinking I’d get a job in a shop there.” She gave a bitter laugh under her breath. “Turns out not many tailors in Doranelle want to hire demi-fae.”

  Fenna didn’t need to ask what happened after that. She knew what work Shyah had turned to. It was the in-between that she’d missed in Shyah’s stories. And it was that which Fenna was curious about most today. Steeling her nerves to be told firmly to mind her own affairs, she took a deep breath.

  “If you don’t mind me asking… how did you get out?”

  To Fenna’s surprise, the corners of Shyah’s mouth quirked up and she eyed her knowingly.

  “A mutual friend,” she said. “Well, I’ve no idea whether that’s truly a good description. But I’d consider it so, anyway.

  “I was seventeen years old and had been working the streets nearly since I’d arrived in Doranelle. During the theater season, we got some of our best work. A group of… I don’t guess you’d call them friends. I don’t really think any of us were friends, but we were at least allies. Anyway, a group of allies and I went to a production. There was a separate entrance for us.”

  Fenna swallowed. In the Berellan capital city, Fenrys had told her he thought she’d like the theater. From what she’d heard, she didn’t disagree. But this new aspect Shyah was presenting to her sat ill.

  “Anyway, I had the bad sense or the good fortune to approach a group of the blood-sworn. One of them was there with his lover, but the other two appeared to be free. At least one of those two looked interested, but the other had some… choice words for what he’d rather do than lie with a demi-fae escort. I might have pressed with the first one, but the female started railing at the second one so loud the play stopped. One of the ushers decided I was a disturbance to the arts at that point and showed me to the door.” Shyah’s tone suggested it was not nearly as genteel as her word choice made it sound. Fenna shuddered and privately hoped she didn’t know either of the other two blood-sworn… but considering the timeline, she thought she might.

  She didn’t have a single guess as to which was which, however.

  “I’d made it all of two blocks from the theater when the third member of the blood-sworn – and, incidentally, his lover – caught up with me. Apparently, they’d left not too long after I did. He started asking me questions. I had no idea why he cared about any of the answers, but next thing I knew, he was pushing money into my hand and telling me where to catch a caravan to Mistward.”

  Shyah didn’t continue, but Fenna wasn’t entirely certain the story was over.

  “And you did?”

  Eyeing her, Shyah snorted.

  “I wish I could say ‘why would I do anything else,’ but I won’t lie, I considered ignoring his advice and using the money for what I normally would – something to dull my senses. Or food. But… I’m not sure what it was that made me do it. I just knew there was a world beyond, and if it was with my people, only my people, then it had to be better than anything I’d ever seen. And it was.” She smiled wistfully, an expression that was well and truly out of place on her. “It truly was.”

  Seeming to realize Fenna was still there, her expression cleared, once again becoming as gruff as usual. “You know the story from there on out. Tyron adopted me and helped me find a trade. Of course, now it’s odd, my looking ten years older than him, but believe it or not, he’s the best father I’ve ever had.” She snorted. “My own didn’t care much for me.”

  Tyron had Settled a thousand years ago. He’d been with Mistward since its beginning three hundred years ago and had just begun showing signs of aging, as all settled Fae did when they approached fading. Still, he looked to be about fifty, whereas Shyah, his unsettled adopted daughter, did, in fact, appear much older than him. Fenna shook her head. Theirs was a strange race in that way. The laws of nature did not often apply.

  “You said a mutual friend,” Fenna prompted. “Which one?” She had a guess.

  Shyah eyed her shrewdly before continuing, as though this were a secret she was uncertain her savior would want her to disclose.

  “Lorcan Salvaterre,” she finally said. “I didn’t bother to know any of the rest of them, but him… he’s one of us. There weren’t many of us demi-fae living in Doranelle who didn’t know his name or couldn’t recognize him on sight.” Her gaze turned knowing. “I imagine you learned, travelling with him, there’s a bit more to him than meets the eye.”

  Her guess had been correct. Fenna smiled, shaking her head. Odd, how fondly she remembered all of them, even the ones she hadn’t thought she’d miss all that much. This particular act of kindness didn’t surprise her at all, coming from Lorcan.

  He was selective in showing that compassion, Beyond the demi-fae affinity… Fenna wondered once again just what he’d gone through on the streets of Doranelle before rising to commanding the blood-sworn. For that matter, she wondered how he was doing with this whole debacle.

  Fenna may be worried about Gavriel, but she at least had enough sense to seek out other occupation… after a few days of brooding. Lorcan? He was probably climbing the walls by now, if he wasn’t organizing the troops to move out.

  She remembered that last night in the war camp, before parting ways with the Berellan army. She’d thought there had to be a reason the blood-sworn were as… well, halfway decent as they were. And it certainly wasn’t Maeve. She’d told Lorcan of her opinion. Smirking, Fenna remembered his response.

  You know, Fenna, sentiment will get you killed.

  I know. That doesn’t make it a bad thing to have.

  Her smirk grew and she sighed. Imagine, she actually missed Lorcan. She wasn’t sure he was necessarily a better option to have around right now than Rowan, but even having the two of them here together might be somewhat comforting.

  When it came down to it, however, neither Rowan nor Lorcan were who she really wanted to see.

  Shoving that thought away and acknowledging its uselessness, Fenna sighed and turned back to Shyah.

  “Yes. I did, in fact, learn that about Lorcan.”

  It wasn’t a difficult thing to observe, if you looked close enough.

Chapter Text

 Despite only helping with part of the evening meal, Fenna was still ready to fall asleep on her feet by the time she was done that night. Something, however, prompted her to walk a bit. Clouds scudded across the sky, and the smell of the air promised rain soon. She loved the smell of a coming downpour. This, however, promised to be a storm.

  No matter. It still filled her senses with something like clarity.

  She made her way toward the outer walls of the fortress and walked along their length. She may have loved the woods. It may have been a part of her. But she wasn’t nearly foolish enough to be out there after dark on her own – especially after this last winter. Especially after Rowan and Elentiya had come home the other night reeking of skinwalkers.

  This, however, where she could still smell the pine and spruce, was close enough. All right. Maybe the Fae sense of smell was just that good.

  The scent of the fortress itself combined with what floated over the walls from the forest was interrupted by a scent that decidedly did not belong – lemon verbena, jasmine, and embers.

  Fenna glanced up at the wall. No sentries were patrolling this section at the moment, and all appeared to be well but for the figure crouched on the ramparts. A small half-smirk crept onto Fenna’s mouth. So Elentiya and Rowan were back. She gauged how far of a distance the next set of stairs was. Not exceptionally far.

  Another mystery she was feeling emboldened enough to puzzle out today, apparently.

  Fenna honestly wondered whether Elentiya knew she was coming. She didn’t so much as twitch as Fenna rounded the stairs and came to stand beside her.

  Whatever she did, she was probably good at it. So Fenna figured she was all right to speak.

  “May I join you?”

  Elentiya jumped and had a knife halfway into her palm before realizing she wasn’t under attack and heaving a sigh.

  “Give me some warning next time,” she growled. “I was that close to gutting you.”

  Fenna shrugged and, taking that as a yes, sat down beside her.

  “Maybe check to see whether it’s actually a bloodthirsty assassin sneaking up on you next time.”

  She waited for the harsh retort, but Elentiya said nothing. Much to Fenna’s surprise, she even scooted aside to make room for her. They sat in silence for a few moments, staring up at the rapidly clouding sky. The stars were disappearing from view one by one. Fenna hoped that wasn’t an omen.

  “I take it Rowan didn’t murder you?” she tried.

  Still stiff, but at least responsive, Elentiya shrugged.

  “Believe it or not, he was almost pleasant,” she said. “I’m certain what sort of person ‘doesn’t eat sweets,’ though.”

  Fenna contemplated pointing out that he was a highly trained warrior, but then considered Fenrys – or Malakai, for that matter – and thought better of it. Besides, her interest on another matter was piqued.

  “Sweets?” she asked, brows raised. “Where did you go?”

  Elentiya shrugged. “Some town a few miles from here. I don’t remember what it was called. But, like I said, he was oddly pleasant. Even took my suggestion that people would be more willing to talk if we bought from them. You know, rather than stalking around and glaring as he usually does.”

  That corner of Fenna’s mouth tipped upward again. “You needed to get people to talk? About what?”

  Elentiya’s eyes narrowed, and Fenna wondered if she’d asked too many questions already. But, rather than continuing to glare, Elentiya simply shook her head and sighed.

  “We found… something in the woods.”

  Fenna understood the hesitation then. She might have hesitated to tell Luca about what she’d found last winter, if the rest of the fortress hadn’t already heard about it. So she shifted to look at Elentiya straight on and held her gaze.

  “You won’t shock me, you know,” she said. “I’ve seen more of what this world has to dish up in the last year than most people will in their lifetime.” The scar at her side twinged. “I’m not quite as innocent as I look, believe me.”

  After measuring her for a moment, Elentiya nodded and moved on.

  “You should know, anyway,” she said. “You’re out in the woods often enough… you should know.” She sighed again. “We found a body. But it wasn’t a body, necessarily, more of a… husk. Like all the life had been drained from it. The woman had obviously been young, and she didn’t necessarily look old. Shriveled isn’t the right word, but… definitely drained.”

  Dead bodies in the woods again? It didn’t sound quite as graphic as what they’d been through a few months ago, but still… something about the description sent chills up Fenna’s spine. She frowned and searched for what troubled her.

  “Drained?” she asked. “Of life? You think some kind of magical being did this?”

  Elentiya nodded. “And not a benevolent one. I never heard of any non-magical method of killing that left a body looking like that.” Her eyes turned distant. “And trust me. I’ve heard of quite a few. But this… no wounds. Nothing. Just pale and bony.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand it. And no one in the village knew anything.”

  Rampaging Fae intent on demi-fae blood was bad enough, but if there was some magical being roaming around that could suck the life out of you… Fenna shuddered.

  “Did you find any other bodies?” she asked.

  Elentiya shook her head. “The villagers had, though. No tracks around them that were anything other than human.” She eyed Fenna. “It was fairly far from Mistward. My guess is it’s only a threat in that area. But still… be careful the next time you go into the woods.”

  It was an oddly personal warning from the cold, passive-until-she-wasn’t girl Fenna had come to know. But she’d take it.

  They sat in silence for another moment longer. To Fenna’s surprise, it was almost companionable. She might have been entirely at ease if Elentiya didn’t look over and stare at her every once in a while. How was it that she somehow felt as though she knew her? As though they’d had these moments before.

  Then again, she didn’t remember the first seven years of her life. And Elentiya had been behaving strangely ever since she’d first arrived.

  Maybe they had.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask when Elentiya spoke first.

  “What’s got you upset?”

  Shaking off her initial shock that Elentiya had so much as noticed, Fenna could only reply, “What?”

  Elentiya glared at her.

  “Do me a favor and don’t play the fool,” she said. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You launch yourself at me the other day, growl at me about insulting Rowan’s friends, and then practically hang off of his arm begging him for news about something. Then tonight you’re as friendly as can be. Something’s got you upset enough that you’re furious with me and then desperate enough for company to spend time with me. So, tell me – what is it?”

  She didn’t know why she should trust Elentiya. She barely knew her – knew nothing about where she came from, who she was, much less whether she was trustworthy with one of Fenna’s deepest worries. But she looked into Elentiya’s eyes and understood something.

  She didn’t know how she knew. But Elentiya had lost someone. Someone other than that friend she’d screamed at Rowan about the other day. And she would understand this fear.

  “You know Rowan’s friends? The ones he’s mentioned. The ones Luca was talking about… before.”

  “His cadre.”

  Fenna blinked at the description then decided it was accurate enough. She wouldn’t question it. “The blood-sworn, yes. You… obviously knew I’d spent a bit of time traveling with them this winter?”

  “From what Luca says, it sounds like you sort of saved demi-fae as a whole.” Did she detect a hint of… pride in Elentiya’s voice? Fenna wasn’t sure, but she wouldn’t question it. If Elentiya was proud, all right, then. She was proud.

  “Well, they’re not nearly as bad as you’d think,” she said, somewhat sarcastic but, considering Elentiya’s experience with Rowan, thought maybe it wasn’t inaccurate. “I actually became quite fond of all of them – on varying levels.” She eyed Elentiya. “Yes, even Rowan. They’re not all bloodthirsty. Most of them don’t even like being bound to Maeve all that much purely for that reason. For the most part they’re relatively decent and noble and – “ Her voice trailed off, remembering Shyah’s story. Just how well did she know the blood-sworn.

  Well enough that what she was about to say was true, anyway.

  Giving a shuddering sigh, Fenna rested her arms on her knees, her chin on her arms.

  “One of them… is missing. Probably taken captive or… or killed. And he’s the best of them, Elentiya.” She sighed again. “He’s very important to me. And it’s driving me mad, not knowing one way or the other.” As though accentuating her words, the last of the stars disappeared behind a blanket of clouds.

  There was no response. Fenna gave a rueful smile.

  “You see why I was a bit miffed when you suggested the blood-sworn weren’t worth saving, yes?”

  Elentiya didn’t speak for a moment longer, then shook her head.

  “I’m the last person who should be telling you this,” she said. “But as someone who has lost someone I… who was important to me, as you put it, even when you don’t know, it’s better to have had them for a time. Did knowing him make your life better?”

  It had been for such a brief period of time. Yet, Fenna didn’t hesitate as she nodded.

  “Then treasure that. And, if the worst happens, live every day knowing it. Maybe you’ll live better.” She contemplated. “Maybe. I can’t speak for myself.”

  Fenna contemplated the girl in front of her. She’d never expected this of Elentiya. Yet she felt oddly comforted.

  Elentiya was looking at her again, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “What’s his name?”

  Swallowing, Fenna gave the smallest of smiles. “Gavriel.” She hesitated before asking, “What was his?”

  Eyeing her as though measuring how she’d known the exact nature of the relationship in question, Elentiya waited a moment before answering.

  “Sam,” she said, a sad smile showing in her words, if not on her face.

  Her walls were not to stay down long. She stiffened, as though realizing just how friendly she’d been and was mortified by it. She rose.

  “I’m exhausted,” she said. “I’ve been traveling for two days straight, and just because I got to go shopping in between and Rowan was oddly pleasant doesn’t mean he was any less irritating.” She turned to leave, then halted. Fenna watched as she seemed to war with herself, then reached into her jacket and pulled out something that looked like it had a long, silver chain.

  “I got this in the village,” she said. “There was a jeweler there. He was one of the last shops we visited and didn’t have anything else I we could afford.” She dropped the item into Fenna’s palm. “It’s not quite flashy enough for my tastes, but… I thought you might at least like it.” She gave something resembling a sad smirk. “I’ve seen something like it in your garden.”

  Fenna hadn’t been under the impression Elentiya cared about her garden. But she held the trinket in her hand and found herself smiling. Simple, yes, but beautiful. Crystal fashioned in the shape of an iris, with silver metal gilding the edges and forming a stem at the bottom. If she held it up, she imagined it would glimmer in the light. There was no light to be found tonight, but Fenna did, regardless.

  The smallest of flashes, as though the stars had left the sky only to find refuge in the glass.

  She lifted her head to thank Elentiya, but her unexpected companion had left. Shaking her head, Fenna laid it against her knee and stared.

  Perhaps it was time she accept the inevitable. But, rather than getting closer to being able to do so, she found herself growing increasingly less and less inclined to do so.

  If she could get Elentiya to speak more than one sentence at once, and on such topics, she was fairly certain anything was possible.

The clouds roiling across the sky promised a storm to come. If not in the next hour, then at least in the next day. Gavriel stared up at them, arms folded behind his head, and worried about the fire crackling beside him. If he needed to, he could always spend the night in lion form up a tree. Rainstorms were always more bearable as the lion than as the male.

  As soon as he’d left Doranelle’s borders, he’d breathed properly for the first time in a month. He wasn’t quite at peace. Not yet. But he should reach Mistward by the end of the day tomorrow, if he set out right away. There was a tiny, barely audible voice inside of him that told him to hold on, just that long.

  The first drop of rain fell onto his forehead just as his eyes began to close. All right, the likelihood that he’d have to change forms tonight was rising. But Gavriel barely noticed. He was too busy drifting off as that voice he finally recognized whispered his name across his subconscious, and he whispered back.

  Soon.

Chapter Text

The rains did come, in storm quantity as the skies had promised. Fenna woke to the sound of it pounding on the roof. Fortunately her journey to the kitchens was entirely under cover, but she mourned the loss of a possible opportunity to tend the garden. It was always at the time the garden should be thriving the most that it chose to rain the hardest.

  For that reason alone, she both loved and cursed early spring.

  His Majesty tended to take only one of those views. Before she’d left that morning, he’d curled up in the corner, glaring reproachfully at the open door, as if demanding that she close it at once.

  “You’re telling me you don’t like the water?” Fenna had asked, smirking at him.

  His Majesty hissed in response.

  Shrugging, Fenna had shut the door behind her, muttering, “Neither do I.”

  Now, after a long, long day of working in the kitchens – Emrys had for some unsightly reason allowed Luca to pick the meal line-up for today and he’d selected what were admittedly the most delicious but the most involved meals possible – Fenna was at least glad it had continued to rain. A crowd was gathering into the kitchen, and she was, as usual, crammed against the wall with Aludra on one side, Narcisa on the other. Luca was, unshockingly, sitting at Emrys’s feet, Lilah at his side. Fenna scooted a bit closer to Aludra, who looped her arm through hers. She was always a bit cuddlier when Reuven was on patrol.

  Almost all of her favorite people in one room.

  She watched Elentiya across the room. There were, of course, more dishes to be done tonight than usual due to the sheer volume of utensils required for Luca’s selection. Normally, Emrys would let the most unnecessary ones go until tomorrow, but she’d volunteered to scrub them. She’d barely eaten any of her stew, as well.

  Fenna frowned at the copper pot still bubbling on the stove. There was, as usual, plenty left over. She wondered if Elentiya would partake in it or if she were still trying to punish herself for something Fenna was had yet to figure out.

  She peered where the rafters above the door would be outside, eyes narrowed. Was Rowan where she’d discovered him for the first time all those weeks ago, listening to Emrys tell this tale? It was one of Fenna’s favorites – the Wolf and the Firebird. The Firebird, being magical, always won – but Fenna couldn’t help not hating the wolf. He was too clever to not root for to some degree.

  Emrys finished and let the silence ride for a moment. Fenna couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped her. She never quite hoped the wolf won, but she was always somewhat sad every time he was burned to bits. He showed promise as a villain. She wanted him to wreck more havoc.

  And, quite frankly, having magic be what won all the time was getting a bit old. She almost wanted a world where it was just magicless mortal against magicless mortal. The odds seemed a bit more even that way.

  Emrys glanced around, brow raised for requests. The usual ones rang out – and, as usual, every tale requested about the blood-sworn caused several people to turn back to Fenna, eyes almost knowing. She wondered what Rowan made of that. If he found it amusing, or if he cared.

  She’d have to pin him down after this and see if he knew anything more.

  “Do you know any stories about Queen Maeve?”

  Fenna’s head, along with every other head in the room, swiveled over to look at Elentiya. She’d leaned back against the sink, face hard but determined, as she nailed Emrys with a look that dared him to question her request.

  Fenna heard more than saw the faint smile in Emrys’s voice as he said, “Lots. Which one would you like to hear?”

  “The earliest ones that you know. All of them.”

  Fenna considered Elentiya. So, she was trying to dig for information on Maeve? She could certainly try. Fenna doubted there was anything in the ancient tales that could help her with – whatever she was trying to do. A pinprick of concern for the other girl entered her heart.

  What was Elentiya hoping to accomplish by getting admitted into Doranelle?

  The tension in the room was almost palpable. As far as Fenna knew, Maeve didn’t have any informants at Mistward, but everyone knew it was a possibility. And she had the sneaking suspicion she wasn’t the only one who knew Rowan was just outside.

  After a moment of Malakai shooting him a warning look, which was ignored completely as he eyed Elentiya thoughtfully, Emrys finally said, “Then I shall start at the beginning.”

  Elentiya did finally grab a plate and take a seat in the chair she usually appropriated by the door, as Emrys began.

  “Long ago, when there was no mortal king on Wendlyn’s throne, the faeries still walked among us. Some were good and fair, some were prone to little mischiefs, and some were fouler and darker than the blackest night. But they were all of them ruled by Maeve and her two sisters, whom they called Mora and Mab. Cunning Mora, who bore the shape of a great hawk – “

  Almost instinctively, Fenna cast a look in Rowan’s direction.

  “ – Fair Mab, who bore the shape of a swan. And the dark Maeve, whose wildness could not be contained by any single form.”

  Fenna restrained a snort. Maeve’s wildness could not be contained by any single form? Had whoever wrote this story met Fenrys? He was fairly well contained in a wolf, thank you.

  Her brow furrowed as Emrys went on. What if it wasn’t wildness? What if it was something else entirely?

  She didn’t know where that thought came from, and she was honestly disinclined to pursue it much farther. Not tonight. Tonight, she would simply sit and listen.

  And glean whatever she could about the queen her friends – including the one perched outside the door – were blood-sworn to.

Gavriel had forgotten how far away Mistward was from Doranelle. He’d started as soon as it was light and was still only arriving well into the night. He shuddered as he passed through the ward stones. No matter what Fenna had told him the last time he was here, he was fairly certain he’d never get used to the way they tugged at his magic.

  Much like the last time, however, they let him through. He should probably shift back now. He honestly wasn’t certain he had the energy. He was at the back gate, however. Closer to the kitchens.

  From what he remembered, that was probably where he’d find exactly who he searched for.

  He braced himself for the guards at the gates to ready themselves at his approach – but they didn’t. One of them merely nodded to the other, who pulled the gate open. Gavriel didn’t move. Just stared at them. He was fairly certain it wasn’t the most dignified he’d ever looked, but if they found it odd that a mountain lion was blinking at them in sheer confusion, no one said anything.

  One of them – younger, dark-haired, gave him a small smile.

  “Prince Rowan told us to expect you,” he said. “Welcome to Mistward, Lord Gavriel.”

  He assumed it was a precaution so they wouldn’t shoot at him, rather than any faith that he’d survive, but still, if he’d been in Fae form at the moment, Gavriel might have smiled at how well his friend knew him.

  Still, shifting back was probably a good idea. Gavriel made his way toward the bit of light he assumed was the kitchen window and felt the exhaustion lining his bones still begin to take over. He should shift now, before he truly was stuck in lion form. It might make his purpose in coming here a bit redundant.

  The flash of light that accompanied his shift might have been a lightning strike. He was fairly certain no one in the obviously overcrowded kitchen thought anything of it. It was a natural progression of the storm.

  Eyes falling on the patch of land sunken and walled in under the kitchen window, something resembling a smile touched his face. It disappeared just as quickly, however, at the sound of flapping wings. A hawk soared out from somewhere in the rafters by the kitchen door, shifting midflight. Barely breaking a stride, Rowan met him halfway in the rain.

  Wordlessly, Rowan reached out and clasped his forearm, clapping him on the back.

  “You’re alive,” was all he said, voice barely audible over the rain. “Good.”

  The light in the kitchen window beckoned, but something in Gavriel hesitated. He had no doubt Fenna was inside, but what was he supposed to do – barge in melodramatically and give her friends something to gossip about for weeks? No, he’d try to keep his stay here as quiet as possible.

  He’d see just how plausible that was, if Rowan had told the sentries to be on the lookout for him. But, looking at his friend now, Gavriel felt two necessities pressing in on him – the need to fill what little empty spaces there were left on his upper body with the names of those he’d failed, and the need to feel that solidarity only a fellow warrior could.

  He would see Fenna while he was here, despite Fenrys’s assurances that he didn’t have to. It just may not be until the next morning. A few hours were enough.

  “I’ve been looking for you for six weeks,” he told Rowan, still not used to how hollow his voice sounded lately. “Vaughan said you were at the eastern border, but Lorcan said you were on the coast, inspecting the fleet. Then the twins told me that the queen had been all the way out here with you and Connall and returned with just Connall, and you know how good Fenrys is at keeping secrets…”

  He was babbling, and he knew it. Voice trailing off, Gavriel massaged the back of his neck. Rowan, in a show of comfort Gavriel knew he gave to few, laid an understanding hand on his shoulder.

  “I heard what happened, Gavriel.”

  Gavriel didn’t bother telling him that he knew. That Vaughan had told him he’d been out here. Rowan probably knew all that and was just giving him a way to redirect the conversation. There was usually only one way their conversations went after a week like Gavriel had just had.

  He glanced at the kitchen. There was an exclamation from inside, a gasp. Fenna had mentioned the kitchenmaster here was a Storykeeper. It didn’t take too long for Gavriel to piece together what the gathering in the kitchen was about. Maybe Rowan had been enjoying whatever tale the kitchenmaster was spinning.

  He ran a hand over his face, inhaling deeply. The smell of Fenna’s garden met his senses, and he nearly caved to his resolution. Tomorrow, he reminded himself before turning back to Rowan.

  “I know you probably don’t want to – “

  “Just tell me what you want and it will be done.”

  He didn’t expect the relief to flood him quite so strongly, but it did. He could feel his shoulders slumping and let Rowan lead him onward, toward the torch-lit corridor. As they passed, he let himself glance at the garden. That almost smile surfaced for a moment.

  Even pounded by the rain, she’d truly created something magnificent.

  Gavriel didn’t allow himself the same privilege as they passed the kitchen door.

  Tomorrow.

Fenna had heard Rowan flap off about half an hour ago. She hadn’t thought much of it – considering some of the things Emrys was saying, she’d have been somewhat uncomfortable if she were him, too. It was about ten minutes later that she noticed Elentiya was somewhat restless. She kept glancing out the window where Rowan had gone. Fenna doubted he’d have stuck around, so she wasn’t sure what Elentiya was looking at.

  Finally, after half an hour, amidst another story from Emrys, Elentiya rose, went to the still-half-full pot of stew on the now-dimming embers, filled a bowl, and left.

  Fenna blinked. Emrys was still going on about Maeve. Seeing as the queen was old as mud, it wasn’t surprising there were so many. Still, Elentiya had requested this. Wasn’t it somewhat rude of her to leave in the middle of the tale?

  Curiosity was beginning to get the better of her. Most of the people around her were beginning to yawn. Luca had even fallen asleep on Lilah’s shoulder, and she appeared to be drifting off herself. Fenna figured it wouldn’t be too noticeable if she left now.

  Nudging Aludra, who’d also begun to drift off, she whispered, “Hey, I’m going to leave. It’s been a long day.”

  Aludra snorted. “You’re telling me. I’m going to head out in a minute, too.”

  Picking her way across her friend and then through the sea of people, Fenna wished she’d thought to bring a jacket this morning as she stepped out into the cold, windy night.

  Rain pounded just outside where she stood, but she remained warm. And as soon as she left, she was hit by a strange mix of aromas that she was eventually able to sort into individual scents. Three, specifically.

  The first and strongest, its owner being the most recent occupant of this space, was Elentiya’s lemon verbena, jasmine, and embers. Next strongest, presumably due to its owner being the longest occupier of this space, was Rowan’s pine and snow.

  But there, faint enough that she questioned her sanity but strong enough that Fenna didn’t think she’d ever question the power of Fae scent again, was an individual scent that made her heart stop and start again.

  Cedar smoke.

  Fenna’s knees felt weak, but she didn’t have time to collapse. Leashing something between a gasp and a sob of relief, she took off running for Rowan’s room.

Chapter Text

Rowan had been working for all of five minutes when someone knocked at the door.

  Lying on his back as Rowan had prepared his tools, Gavriel had related most of the details of his latest encounter with the Berellans to his friend but left certain details out. Such as the bit about his bloodline’s fate being bound to the fate of the Berellans. Not that Rowan didn’t understand complicated bloodlines – he was descended from one of the triune Fae queens. Of course, he did. But he was also quick to dismiss superstition.

  Gavriel usually was, as well, but it wasn’t often that his life was saved by one.

  He’d just told him the first name – Edris – when the knock sounded. These tattooing sessions were relatively intimate things in the way that only commiseration between warriors could be, and Rowan’s brow had been furrowed in concentration. The needle slipped in his hands.

  Gavriel hissed as more pain than expected sliced through his chest. Growling, Rowan’s head jerked up toward to door.

  “What?” he snapped.

  The door slid open and a female slipped in. “I thought you might want some stew and – “

  The pain in chest forgotten, Gavriel stared. He couldn’t quite look away, if he were being honest. The female, whoever she was, stared back at him, though he imagined her shock was for an entirely different reason. Likely the fact that he was half-naked.

  He, however, was reeling and trying to recover his normal breathing, already stolen by the pain of the tattoos. Because this newcomer looked exactly like – exactly like –

  “Get out,” Rowan said flatly, rising and setting the needle aside.

  Eyes flicking from him to Rowan, to Rowan’s tools, the female asked, “Do you want the stew?” Even in his current state, Gavriel had to admit he was impressed. It was a rare person who could ask a question that casually under the fury of Rowan’s glare.

  Betraying his hunger, his stomach growled imperceptibly. Gavriel couldn’t quite bring himself to be irritated with it. Whatever was in that stew, it smelled delicious. Rowan glanced down at him, then returned his hard glare back to the female.

  “Leave it,” he said.

  The female, keeping her eyes averted and her features neutral, came forward and set the tray on the bed before walking back to the door. Gavriel eyed Rowan. There was something deeper in his friend’s anger than the interruption. He didn’t quite know what it was, but he’d seen something very similar before.

  Rowan didn’t actually hate this female. And he wanted to keep her at arms’ length as much as he possibly could. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he was quite good at that.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” the female said, glancing at Gavriel again, her eyes taking in his tattoos. He could read it in her face – she knew she’d trespassed on something she had no right to be privy to. Her eyes flicked up to his face, and Gavriel felt that familiar jolt in his chest again.

  Unbidden, his nostrils began scenting. He willed them to stop, but he needed to know –

  She noticed. Casting her gaze at the ground again, she turned and muttered, “Sorry” again before fleeing the room.

  The door hadn’t so much as shut behind her before Rowan unleashed another growl and stormed after her.

  Sitting up and wincing against the pain, Gavriel called, “Rowan!” It was little use, however. The door slammed so hard it reverberated on its hinges.

  Sighing, Gavriel fell back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t gotten much of a scent, but just enough to tell him what he needed to.

  She was definitely an Ashryver, whoever she was. And… he’d never known for certain, but she looked to be around the right age…

  Gods, she looked just like Meira.

  He couldn’t hear exactly what Rowan was shouting, or what the female was screaming back, but either way, he attempted to ignore it. It wasn’t exactly pleasant ambience for this experience.

  He wasn’t going to get anywhere thinking about how much she looked like Meira. He needed to concentrate on something else. So, he ran over the list of names in his head. Rowan would add too many tonight. He hoped he could go at least another century without a session this long.

  Edris… Naima… Lorens…

  Finally, Rowan stormed back in, fuming. He sat heavily in the bedside chair and stared forward for a moment, every ounce of fury radiating through the taut muscles of his shoulders. As he picked up the needle to work again, Gavriel figured he was fine to ask.

  “I take it that’s the Firebringer?” he asked.

  Rowan eyed him briefly before going back to his work. “How could you tell?”

  Gavriel restrained a shrug, gritting his teeth. “No one ever infuriates you so much as your trainees.” He eyed Rowan knowingly. “I’ve never seen you that unhinged, though.”

  Eyes narrow, Rowan shook his head.

  “That one doesn’t know how to differentiate between when she’s wanted and when she isn’t,” he growled. As though realizing what he’d just said, he hurriedly added, “I’ve only managed to get her to shift under duress. She refuses to access the extent of her power. It’s a nearly bottomless well, Gavriel. Bigger than any of ours, maybe even Lorcan’s. And she’s wasting it because of some…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

  Gavriel didn’t ask how Rowan knew the extent of her well. But, considering the one person whose well he was familiar with… the driving each other mad bit somewhat made sense. He let the matter go.

  Rowan had been working in silence for a few moments, and Gavriel had actually begun to believe that they might remain undisturbed, when there was another knock at the door.

  The snarl Rowan unleashed was nowhere near human and quite frankly wasn’t like any Fae Gavriel had ever heard, either. Who else would be knocking –

  Gavriel lifted his head just in time to see who was slipping through the door, undeterred by Rowan’s furor, and felt something tight in his chest give way.

  He didn’t know how she’d known he was here. He didn’t know how she’d known to come to Rowan’s room specifically. All he knew was that Fenna was here and she was easily the best sight he’d laid eyes on in months.

  Her eyes found his within seconds, relief filling them. “Gavriel,” she breathed, his name somewhere between a sigh and a whisper.

  He wouldn’t lie to himself and say all his other concerns were entirely allayed, but they were significantly dimmer in his mind now.

  “Is there no privacy in this fortress?” Rowan growled.

  Her eyes instantly shifting from relieved to furious, Fenna nailed him with a stare. “You could have sent for me,” she snapped right back. Coming around to the other side of the bed, she looked murderous enough Gavriel thought she might actually slap Rowan. All she did, however, was continue glaring. “How long has he been here?”

  “Less than two hours, if you can believe it,” Rowan muttered, setting the needle aside and looking resigned to witnessing… whatever he was about to see.

  Fenna dragged up the second chair in the room and sat in front of him for a moment, staring as though she weren’t sure he was real. Figuring she wasn’t about to break the silence, Gavriel let the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth take form. It was a weak imitation of his usual one, but it was all he had, even for Fenna.

  “Hello,” he said. It was the closest thing to adequate he could think of.

  She let out a choked laugh.

  “Hello,” she replied. Reaching out, she grabbed his hand and held it between both of her own. “Hello,” she repeated, tears turning her turquoise eyes watery.

  Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was every single bit of the last two months he’d been numbing crashing in at once. Gods, maybe it was the remaining burn of the needle. Either way, Gavriel found himself blinking away the sting in his own eyes. Letting out a pent-up breath, he relaxed against the pillows fully and just stared at her, drinking in the fact that she was here and, apparently, moderately glad to see him.

  “I’ve missed you, Fenna,” he said without being fully aware whether he’d spoken aloud or not. It didn’t matter if he had. He could care less if she knew. Never mind that it didn’t begin to convey the truth of the matter.

  Lifting his hand, Fenna pressed it to her cheek, covering it with her own. “And I you,” she whispered. Closing her eyes and turning her face into his touch, she sighed. “Gods, I thought you were dead, Gavriel. Can you at least attempt not to do that to me for another decade or so?”

  Thinking a decade ahead was a risky thing, but Gavriel managed to laugh weakly. “I can’t make any promises there.”

  She was still for a moment, and Gavriel felt a wetness on his hand. He brushed the next tear that fell away with his thumb. Finally, Fenna opened her eyes and stared into his for a moment, then cast a glance over him.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “Did they – are you all right?” As soon as the question was out of her mouth a second time, she shook her head. “Of course not. That’s a foolish question. Obviously, you’re not all right.” She glanced meaningfully at Rowan’s supplies.

  Gavriel had practically forgotten Rowan was there. To his credit, the prince was pointedly staring at a spot on the comforter.

  “They didn’t do anything physically lasting,” he said. Considered. “I can’t say I enjoyed having the air ripped from my lungs, though.” He instantly regretted his words as her eyes widened. “Obviously, it wasn’t like when Rowan does it.”

  Rowan snorted and spoke for the first time since Fenna had glared him into submission.

  “Are you saying I couldn’t keep the enemy alive if I wanted to?”

  Gavriel raised a brow at him. “Are you saying you’ve never wanted to?”

  “Generally not,” Rowan quipped. He turned to Fenna. “The only reason I didn’t send for you, in case you were still interested, is because we have quite a bit to get done, preferably tonight if Gavriel is to return to Doranelle within the amount of time he’s been allotted for leave. So, if you don’t mind – “

  “Stay,” Gavriel interrupted, wrapping his hand around Fenna’s and lowering their intwined fingers to her knee. He spared the not-quite-irate Rowan a glance before turning back to her. “It’ll be late, but – “

  She was already nodding. “Of course,” she said. “Of course, I’ll stay. I don’t care how late it is. It’s already late.” She squeezed his hand gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Letting out another sigh, Gavriel nodded in turn. He felt like thanking her was a good next step in this conversation but found he couldn’t speak around the tangle in his throat.

  Rolling his eyes, Rowan rose and grabbed the bowl full of bloody water. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. Clearly, I have no control over what happens in my own room any longer. If either of you need me, find someone else until I get back. I needed to change this thing anyway.”

  He got up and stalked to the door, once again slamming it so hard the room practically shook.

  Fenna watched him go. “Do you have any idea what he said to Elentiya?” she asked.

  Gavriel raised a brow. “Elentiya?”

  “The girl I presume brought you that,” Fenna nodded to the slowly cooling tray of food.

  Ah, her. Gavriel shoved his misgivings to the side and shook his head. “I heard their… discussion,” he said. “It was somewhat hard not to.”

  Fenna snorted. “That’s unsurprising.”

  “I couldn’t make out any exact words, though,” he said. “These walls are thick.”

  “Trust me, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” Fenna leaned forward, his hand between both of hers once more. “Are you going to eat that at all?”

  His hunger hadn’t necessarily lessened, but eating at this point would require both hands, and one of his was decidedly occupied for a good hour, at least. “Eventually.”

  She shook her head and started to rise. “I don’t care if they didn’t do any lasting damage,” she said. “You look at least ten pounds lighter than last I saw you. You need to eat. Emrys’s stew can put meat on you faster than – “

  “Fenna,” he said, fond exasperation working its way into his voice as he pulled her back down into a sitting position. He covered her unoccupied hand with his own. Now both were occupied for a good hour. “I’m fine. Just… sit with me for a moment. I’ll eat before Rowan starts up again, all right?”

  She peered at him for a moment before deciding that was satisfactory. “Fine.” She scooted forward so that their hands rested on the edge of the bed. Gavriel imagined it was so he wasn’t reaching quite as much. Half of his mouth tilted upward. Clearly, she wasn’t taking into account the fact that his arms were significantly longer than hers. Still, he was better able to relax this way.

  Fenna continued to look him over. “You’re not fine, Gavriel. How are you? Truly.”

  As much as she was the one person he’d wanted to talk to about this, Gavriel wondered how to adequately convey it. There was no way she could know the pain of being commander of a force and having only a few make it home, much less none. He had no idea how to make it work, so he simply sighed and turned his face toward the ceiling, closing his eyes.

  “I’ve… been better,” he said simply.

  He could feel her gaze on him. “Rowan said you’d be here a while,” she whispered. “How many?”

  He swallowed. “Fifty. My entire troop. Not the entire battalion, but – “ He shrugged and turned to look at her once more. “Enough.”

  Fenna let out a shaky breath, and Gavriel was glad to see it wasn’t pity in her eyes, but genuine sorrow. “Fifty,” she breathed. “Oh, Gavriel, I’m so sorry.”

  She eyed his bare torso, the winding design that started on his left pectoral and was spreading toward the right the longer he knew Rowan and the more names he had to add. She ran a hand over the bit Rowan hadn’t touched tonight. Under any other circumstances, the touch might have evoked feelings of a more passionate nature in him, but for now, Gavriel was simply warmed that she avoided the tender spots.

  “There’s so many already,” she mused, as though just fully realizing the weight of what she’d already seen on their journey this winter.

  He nodded, his eyes squeezing shut again. “I always thought this part would get easier,” he said. “When I first started commanding troops of my own. But… it only gets worse.”

  Extracting her left hand, Fenna reached out and brushed her fingers along his jawline. “I can’t imagine.”

  It was his turn to lean into her touch, to breathe it in, close his eyes and savor it. He looked up at her and found her staring right back, her gaze measuring, assessing. Whatever this was, resting between them, hung heavy in the air.

  And if he were being perfectly honest, his first instinct right now seemed a bit irreverent for the conversation matter. He didn’t know what Fenna’s first instinct was, but he figured he’d best speak before either of them acted.

  “Stay,” he asked again.

  The intensity in her eyes flickered, but the confusion that followed was instantly replaced with that tender fondness he’d come to know so well in her. Shaking her head and laughing quietly, she returned her hand to the knot they’d made on the edge of the bed.

  “Gavriel,” she said, fond exasperation of her own evident. “I’m not going anywhere.” She eyed the bowl of stew on the bed. “But Rowan will be back soon, you need to eat, and that’s going to be a lot less delicious cold.” She considered. “Don’t tell Emrys I said that. The kitchenmaster.”

  “I remembered.” Accepting the inevitable, Gavriel gave her hands one last squeeze and sat up, wincing at the pain in his still-raw chest. “Fine. I know when there’s no convincing you differently.”  He pulled the tray to the other side and decided he could eat the bread with one hand for the moment. Reaching back out and grabbing one of her hands again before she could draw them away fully, Gavriel took a bite of the bread, which, despite being significantly colder than when it had first been delivered, was still soft enough to chew. “Satisfied?”

  Her smile told him everything he needed to know. It faded, however, as she stared down at their hands, her thumb running a line over his.

  “What happened, Gavriel?” she asked. “Do you… know what happened, or did the battle just turn?”

  He shook his head. “I was betrayed,” he said. “I don’t know how many were in on it, but I do know who was chiefly responsible.”

  Fenna nodded, tone cautious. “Would I have heard of this person?”

  Shaking his head again, Gavriel knew exactly what she was thinking and rushed to quell the suspicion. “Not Maeve,” he said.

  The dark expression Fenna wore was out of place on her. “No, of course not,” she said bitterly. “She’d done enough, hadn’t she?”

  Even though they were technically safe here, Gavriel found himself glancing at the door. “Fenna.”

  “I don’t care who hears me!” she hissed. “She sent you into a battle she knew you couldn’t win! She’s just as responsible for what happened as whoever stabbed you in the back!”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Gavriel said, holding her gaze. “I’m saying there’s less I can do about Maeve, so there’s not much point in being upset about it, is there?”

  For a moment, he thought she might not budge, then, something infinitely sad on her face, she nodded and returned to staring at their hands and slowly rubbing circles over his.

  “Who was it, then?” she asked.

  Gavriel found his appetite significantly lessened but made himself keep eating. “Cairn.” The name was more of a growl than a word.

  “Who – “

  “No one you’d know.” The very idea of Cairn within ten miles of Fenna made him lose what tenuous hold on his senses he had when thinking of the male in general, let alone the thought of him in the same room as her. “He’s always had more ambition than wisdom. But more than either of those, he’s got… certain sadistic tendencies.” He shook his head. “You don’t want to know the whole of it.”

  “Gavriel,” Fenna said, bringing his hand to her side. He blinked for a moment, confused, before he remembered – her wound from this winter. He wondered if it had scarred. If she remembered the exact spot…

  “You know what I’ve seen,” she said. “You know what I can handle. Don’t try to lessen it for me.”

  Sighing, he nodded. She was right. It was difficult to forget when she remained much as she’d been when he’d first met her. And that was after she’d seen the worst of it.

  “Cairn had a reputation for torturing and raping demi-fae in outlying settlements,” he said. “We couldn’t prove it, but we knew enough to know we weren’t going to beat it out of him. Rowan started training him but ended up pawning him off on Lorcan.” He let that sit for a moment, a wry smile on his mouth. “You can imagine how well those rumors went over with Lorcan. He found proof within a month.” He sighed through his nose. “Unfortunately, that proof was the body of a demi-fae female in pieces.”

  Despite her assurances that she could handle whatever he dished out, Fenna still looked slightly ill. Gavriel almost regretted telling her, but she swallowed and nodded.

  “Why did he betray you?” she asked. “And how?”

  He shrugged. “He’s always been after a spot in the blood-sworn. He must have figured Maeve wasn’t happy with me and seized his opportunity. As to how, I don’t quite know. All I know is the other troops started pulling out, leaving mine without back-up to face the Berellans.” The bread now eaten, he flexed his fist – in and out. “You can fill in what happened from there.”

  I also may have heard your voice as I was blacking out on the battlefield and off and on during my time in prison. And on my journey back to Doranelle. And as I was falling asleep last night. Of course, at first I couldn’t tell whether it was you or my last lover, whose eyes you happen to have, by the way. So does that female who walked in earlier. There are an unusual amount of Ashryver females who may or may not know they’re Ashryver females walking around in this –

  “But the Berellans let you go,” Fenna commented, frowning. “Why? Why did they take you alive in the first place?”

  He contemplated. “That last question… your guess is as good as mine. But the first one…” He eyed her, another wry smile tugging at his mouth. “Do you believe in superstition?”

  She frowned at him, her head tilting to the side. “Depends on what kind.”

  And, though he’d not told anyone, not even Lorcan, exactly on what grounds he was released, Gavriel found himself relieved Fenna was here. She wouldn’t immediately dismiss the idea as absurd, anyway.

  “It’s a bit of a story,” he said.

  Once again enfolding his hand between both of hers, Fenna leaned forward, her elbows resting on the edge of the bed.

  “Well, as I promised earlier, I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

Fenna had thoughts. Many thoughts. But she waited for Gavriel to finish before voicing any of them. She figured, judging both by what she was hearing and what she surmised, he’d earned at least a listening ear. By the time he finished, however, she was having trouble recalling what any of those thoughts were.

  “So… Sorina and the chancellor released you… on grounds of a superstition?”

  “I know.”

  “That’s… incredibly politically problematic.”

  “I know.”

  She couldn’t ignore the other half of it, however. Sighing, she perched her elbows on her knees and rested her chin atop her hands, which were still holding his free one. “And incredibly lucky.”

  Gavriel nodded, eyeing the ceiling. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  Raising a brow, Fenna found a corner of her mouth quirking upward. “And what else would you call it? Besides incredibly politically problematic.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, to be perfectly honest.”

  “Have you told Lorcan?”

  His brow furrowed. “How did I know you would say that?” Giving a sigh of his own, he glanced over at her, smiling wryly. “Believe it or not, Fenna, I don’t tell Lorcan everything. More than he tells me, certainly. But not everything.”

  She wondered if it was more to do with the way both males were as individuals or if it were more to do with the nature of their positions in Maeve’s court. Either way, something about it made her sad. That sorrow must have shown on her face, because Gavriel started to sit up, then, wincing, lay back down.

  “It’s not anything to worry about, Fenna. It’s just the way of things.”

  Yes, it is. That’s why I worry.

  “Did you at least tell him about Cairn?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Not yet.”

  “Gavriel.”

  “I’ll tell him eventually,” he said, looking for all the world as though he were being scolded – and he was. Endearing as she found it, Fenna wasn’t about to let up on that one.

  “I just… there were things I had to do first.”

  She leveled him with the exact stare she would have given Luca if he said something that nonsensical. “I don’t mean to diminish what this means to you,” she said, gesturing toward the just-begun and long-since-inked tattoos covering his bare chest. “But forgive me if letting your commander know someone has it out for all of you seems a bit more expedient than self-imposed penance.”

  Gavriel went still, and Fenna felt the pinprick of her words in her own chest. Of course, that was going too far. She should have known it. And who was she to advocate practicality over sentiment? She’d gotten up in the middle of the night to grow a bush she’d never even seen in reality just to assuage her own survivor’s guilt not one year ago.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just… he tried to kill you. He almost succeeded – even if it was indirect. I meant that I don’t want to diminish this, Gavriel, but it seems for a conversation like that, the tattoos could have waited.”

  Shaking his head, Gavriel was quiet for a moment. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “You really aren’t. But, to be fair” – he eyed her pointedly – “it wasn’t just the tattoos I came here for.”

  Now it was Fenna’s turn to go still – but in an entirely different way. Warmth in all its forms flooded through her. She couldn’t quite meet his gaze as she attempted to keep her smile reasonable and not the huge, foolish grin it wanted to be. She was also fairly glad Rowan was still keeping himself occupied.

  There was one thing niggling at her. She knew what he meant by that – at least, she thought she did. What she didn’t know was just how much of that he meant. It wasn’t that anything she thought was a necessarily unpleasant idea, but… still. Whatever this thing between them was, she didn’t know if she was quite ready to address it yet.

  Then again, when else would it be addressed?

  “This is new,” he commented off-handedly, extracting his hand from hers and gently cradling the crystal iris hanging around her neck in his hand.

  Glad for a change of topic – and an opportunity to delay that decision – Fenna glanced down at the trinket. She could well imagine his thoughts. Where had she had the chance to come by that since they’d last seen each other? Mistward may have a tailor, but one thing they didn’t have was a jeweler, and such things weren’t exactly priority with the caravans coming from Doranelle.

  “It is,” she said. “Almost brand new, actually.” Wanting to take it and examine it herself, much the same way he was, but enjoying the subtle intimacy of the way he held it, fingers just barely brushing her collarbone, she instead explained, “Rowan’s trainee, Elentiya, picked it up on a trip they took to a nearby village.” Trip seemed a light term for what had truly caused the journey… but there had been enough heavy conversation tonight. Fenna was glad for a casual turn.

  Gavriel, apparently, was not. That furrow was back. “What do you know about her?”

  Head tilting to the side, Fenna wondered at his curiosity even as she answered. “Not much. I know she comes from Adarlan. I know she’s not a morning person. I know she’s surly even when it isn’t morning. I know – “ She bit her lip, debating whether to add this next part, then figuring it might amuse him. “I know we’ve brawled.”

  Gavriel blinked. “You’ve… what?”

  Even though the memory itself wasn’t necessarily pleasant, Fenna giggled. “We’ve brawled.”

  Gavriel started to rise again, then seemed to think better of it and stayed where he was. “Who started it?”

  “I did.”

  He stared. “What?”

  “She… said some things I didn’t appreciate. About people I care about.” She shrugged. “And it didn’t hurt that Rowan had just then told me about you being captured, and I was already upset, and… I snapped.”

  Still staring, Gavriel shook his head.

  “What? You don’t think I’m capable of snapping?” She smirked. “Elentiya looked worse than I did by the end of it. To be fair, I think she was holding back. Otherwise, I’d probably be a smear on the kitchen floor.”

  “It’s not that I don’t think you could snap, Fenna,” he said, sounding the closest to laughing he’d been since he’d been here. “It’s that I can’t figure out why you two brawled and her response was to repay you with a gift.”

  Fenna shrugged. “I don’t know, either,” she said. Gavriel had finally let his hand drop to rest on her knee. She took hold of it with one of her own and fingered the trinket with the other. “She said it reminded her of me. I suppose that’s answer enough.” And yet she’d worn it every day since Elentiya had given it to her. “I’m not even sure why I have it on.”

  Because maybe it gives me hope that she has a heart. Because it reminds me of me, as well. Because you can see the stars inside the glass even when the light isn’t shining and it reminded me of you, too.

  She didn’t need to say any of those things out loud. She could.

  But Gavriel was smiling and speaking before she could. “It suits you.”

  Fenna half-smirked. “That’s what Elentiya said.” Sighing, she ran a thumb over his palm. “So… your line is safe from any retribution from the Berellans, no matter what they do. What exactly does that mean?”

  He considered, watching her thumb move on his hand. Fenna wondered if he was even aware he was doing it.

  “It means I’m not telling Maeve,” he said. “I’m already a weapon for her. I don’t want to give her the opportunity to use me against them any more than she already has. Besides” – he frowned darkly – “I’m about the only soldier that wouldn’t end badly for. As we’ve seen.”

  Fenna nodded, resisting the urge to bite her lip and wondering if the next question was too… much. “What about any… well, what about your line?”

  Shrugging, Gavriel looked away from her, back toward the ceiling. As if he could see through the roof and the clouds above to the stars they veiled, and they might give him answers. She’d seen that look from him often enough this winter. He knew what to say. He just didn’t know how to say it.

  “That’s a somewhat pointless thing to contemplate,” he finally said.

  She probably knew the answer, but it didn’t change the fact that she wanted to hear it from him. “Why?”

  Another bout of silence, then –

  “Because reproducing as a member of the blood-sworn is just a generally bad idea.”

  Something inside Fenna went still. Once again, she knew what he likely meant. But still, hearing the whole of it was better than guessing. Better than making her own assumptions.

  “You don’t want children, then?”

  He shrugged again, shaking his head sadly. “It’s not that I don’t want them. If I were in any other walk of life – any other position in Maeve’s court, even – I would. It’s that it’s a bad idea. It’s not that I don’t, it’s that I can’t.” Finally looking over at her, he gave another shrug. “If that makes sense.”

  It did. It saddened her for him, but it did make sense. Fenna didn’t want to acknowledge the part of her that was also a little bit sad for herself. It was a ridiculous part of her. Ultimately, it didn’t change a thing. Even if it did, there were other things that could not be, and she knew that not addressing what she’d wanted to earlier was for the best.

  “Maybe it’s better if my father’s line ends with me,” he said. “My oldest brother never had any children, and he was killed not long after I joined the blood-sworn. My other brother…” He frowned. “He got none of my father’s warrior tendencies, but all of his sadistic ones. I suppose I should be glad he hasn’t seen fit to sire any children, either.”

  “He sounds delightful,” Fenna muttered, satisfied when she drew a snort out of him. “So, if your oldest brother got your father’s warrior tendencies and the middle one got his sadistic tendencies, what did you get?”

  Sighing, he shook his head. “Honestly? Most of who I am comes from my mother.”

  Fenna wanted to ask more, but at that moment the door creaked open. Rowan, with a new bowl of water that should have taken him ten minutes to fetch, rather than the hour it did, entered, a scowl carving furrows in his face.

  “Should I vacate my rooms a bit longer, or are the pair of you willing to let me carry out the entire reason Gavriel is here in the first place?”

  Gavriel’s eyes slid over to Fenna’s. She smiled. If only Rowan knew.

  “You’d probably better keep going,” he finally said, still looking at her.

  Muttering something under his breath that Fenna was very glad she didn’t hear, Rowan took up a position on the other side of the bed and readied his instruments once again.

  “Do you still want me to stay?” Fenna whispered, as though Rowan’s arrival had suddenly called for a hushed atmosphere once again.

  Appearing to feel the same way, Gavriel nodded, and Fenna couldn’t help feeling somewhat relieved. Of course, it meant she was in for a later night than it already was.

  But she didn’t care. She’d have stayed a week if he’d asked her to.

Fenna blinked herself awake. She wasn’t sure when she’d started dozing in her chair, but it was quite evident she was about to fall straight out of it. Righting herself, she looked around. Rowan was packing up, and Gavriel was, remarkably, out cold.

  She didn’t know how he would have fallen asleep with that needle poking at him constantly, but she supposed Rowan might have been done for a bit longer. Figuring she should probably leave him as he was, Fenna reluctantly released his hand, setting it on the bed at his side, and rose.

  She’d only made it halfway to the door, however, when Rowan stepped in her way.

  “You’re leaving?”

  Blinking up at him, Fenna frowned. “Well, yes. I thought – “

  “That I’d want to snuggle with him tonight? No thank you. Note that there’s only one bed. I’ll find somewhere else to hole up tonight – and I’d think you wouldn’t want him to be left alone. Would you?”

  Fenna peered at him. “Let me make sure I understand this correctly. You, Rowan Whitethorn, are giving up your room for the night so I can stay with Gavriel?”

  His face might have been carved from the mountains they’d traveled that winter. “I believe I just said I was giving up my room so Gavriel and I won’t wake up closer than we ever wanted to be. I’m not sure what you heard differently.”

  “Hmm.” She smirked. “Because you know that would mean you were doing something that just proved you aren’t actually an ass, correct?”

  “Absurd.” He turned toward the door and had it halfway open before Fenna spoke again.

  “Rowan?”

  Stopping, back stiff, Rowan still didn’t turn back to her. Fenna didn’t need to see his face, however, to know he was listening.

  “You really aren’t an ass, you know. You should stop acting like one.”

  No response. She hadn’t expected one. Sighing, Fenna wrapped her arms around herself as the chill from the storm seeped into the room.

  “Good night, Rowan.”

  The fact that the door didn’t slam was, perhaps, further proof of her words. After all, why else would he care about not waking Gavriel?

  Speaking of… Fenna turned back to the bed. Well, this wasn’t the first time they’d ended up in this situation. The only difference being she’d been drunk the last time. And, as she understood it, Gavriel hadn’t slept the whole night. But this time she was fully, lucidly sober, and had every intention of falling asleep. If she even could.

  Feeling as though she should be a bit more hesitant but marveling at how natural this all felt, Fenna pulled the sheets back and slipped under them. She couldn’t decide whether it was fortunate or unfortunate that she slept naturally on her right side, because it meant she was facing him.

  Not that she was complaining about the view. But if she planned to sleep, this was definitely throwing a knot in those plans.

  Most of Rowan’s work tonight had been on Gavriel’s chest. Fenna cast a glance over his torso and found that, in spite of that fact, nearly every bare inch of skin was covered in black ink. She’d never learned to read Old Fae – had never met anyone who could have taught her. But she wished she could now – if for no other reason, than to know those names. The ones so old they were beginning to fade and would likely need to be reinked soon, along with the ones Rowan had added tonight.

  She wanted to share that pain, to put names to the numerous faceless figures in her head, even if she’d never know them. Not the way he had. She wasn’t sure she had the right to do so, but if he would let her, she wanted to.

  Of course, she supposed it wasn’t his call whether she learned Old Fae. But there was still something about it that felt intrusive, and Fenna couldn’t figure out why.

  Sighing again, she reached across and grabbed his hand again, drawing it over to rest on his stomach, wound through hers once again. Briefly, she wondered if she’d wake him by doing so, but realized the only thing she cared about if she did was the idea that he might not be sleeping when he needed to do so. She followed the lines of ink along his abdomen, up to his chest, finally up to his neck, and let her eyes go up further.

  She wasn’t one to question Rowan’s personal choices when it came to his own tattoos, but all she could think was thank the gods Gavriel had at least left his face blank. It was fine the way it was. More than fine.

  If his sleep had been at all disturbed by her movements, the only sign of it was the crease of his brow. But Fenna thought it had already been there. She wondered if the furrow was due to dreams, the stress of the last few months, or if he always wore it when he slept. If it was more indicative of life in general than anything specific.

  She didn’t know. All she knew as she listened to the sudden boldness building in her and rested her head against his shoulder, still looking up at him, was that she wanted to ease it away, and didn’t know how. Didn’t know if she could.

  Sighing, Fenna studied the angular lines of his face, memorizing them. She recalled their conversation from earlier in the evening and wondered why the fact that he didn’t plan on having children one day made her sad. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand why it should. She thought she was long past denial on that score, and to continue to play at it would be pointless.

  It might have bothered her, before he came along. The idea of not having children. But it wasn’t that which troubled her. It wasn’t anything on her end.

  It was the idea that, if he couldn’t want that, what if he didn’t want anything else? Anything long lasting, anyway.

  She knew the blood-sworn sometimes took lovers, but from what she’d gleaned, they were usually safe ones. At least, the commonly known ones. And from what she knew of them – at least Lorcan and Gavriel – they’d never put anyone they intended to have a long-lasting relationship with in that position.

  It wasn’t just children. Maeve would use anyone against them, and Fenna knew that. It was simply a fact she’d elected to ignore for a good while. The time for denial was over in all areas, however – and as much as she acknowledged that reality needed to be faced, she also wasn’t ready to do so. It might break her if she did.

  Closing her eyes, Fenna breathed in the blood-and-ink-tinged smell of cedar smoke and tried not to think of how perfect this felt. How right. Yes, being here, with Gavriel, in general, but this. Being here, with Gavriel, in her home, knowing that he was safe, and she was safe, and, at least for the time being, Maeve was far away. She loved having him here like this. She wanted to keep it this way.

  She wanted to keep him. And that terrified her.

  Fenna was at least practical enough to acknowledge that she couldn’t keep him forever, but for now, tonight, she could pretend she might be able to. She could pretend that the hand she held wasn’t attached to a wrist marred by the blood oath scar, that he wouldn’t have to leave in the morning, that what she’d wanted to do earlier and everything that would have come after was plausible.

  She could pretend, and she would pretend. It might make the coming of dawn more painful, but for the moment it only made things sweeter.

  Gavriel gave a barely audible moan, and Fenna opened her eyes, studying his face again. That furrow had deepened, his features hardening. Fenna had no doubt he was still asleep, nor that some dream troubled him, but she wondered if he would wake aware of it or slip back into sleep again and his only memory of it in the morning would be a lingering feeling of gloom.

  She didn’t know if she could do anything about that last part, but she could certainly try. Pressing her brow to his temple, Fenna sighed again as another, sleep-laden sound of distress rumbled in his throat.

  “Shh,” she whispered. “You’re all right. You’re safe, Gavriel.” Maybe telling him would remind her of it, as well. Her own throat closed as she, once again, relived all her fear and worry over the last few weeks and told herself that this was real. He was here with her, for however short a time.

  Lifting her head just slightly, she kissed the spot her brow had just occupied and leaned in again. It was real. He was here. And she didn’t want to let him go come morning.

  Gavriel sighed but didn’t wake, as though feeling her even through the cloud of sleep. Fenna traced his face with her eyes one more time.

  “Thank you for coming back to me,” she whispered.

  Then, resting against his shoulder again, she willed her own mind to rest.

Chapter Text

It was fortunate her body had learned when to wake up every morning, because as Fenna blinked herself awake in the morning, she could feel exhaustion threatening to keep her under for just a bit longer. Did she really have to get up? Emrys was usually fairly understanding of the circumstances when one of them needed a morning off – and neither she nor Luca took one very often.

  Though she supposed she’d be lying if she said the only reason she wanted to stay in bed was because she was still tired.

  Besides, Fenna thought as she stretched her legs under the sheets, she could hardly tell Emrys the whole truth for exactly that reason. I’d like to sleep with this male a bit longer. If you wouldn’t mind. Never mind that nothing strictly beyond innocence had happened – Emrys would come fetch her himself, and he’d probably bring his knife set with him to boot.

  Fenna could picture him requiring Luca to carry it along behind him while he mentally selected the best tool for his intended purpose. Gods help them if Malakai heard of it.

  No, she needed to get up. Needed to go about life as normal and maybe – just maybe – Emrys would let her have at least part of the afternoon off. He didn’t have to know about last night. But something told her he of all people would understand why she wanted to soak up as much time with Gavriel as possible.

  Her stirring had woken him. There was something distinctly more aware of the way he was frowning now, as opposed to the middle of the night. At some point while they’d both been sleeping, he’d wound up facing her. Fenna thought about at least getting out of bed before he woke completely.

  And then she decided she still didn’t care. So, not moving the smallest inch, she waited until those gold eyes of his opened and looked into hers.

  “Good morning,” she said, voice hushed, as though she’d wake the entire fortress if she spoke much louder.

  She could practically see his mind processing the fact that she was in his bed – again, under decidedly different circumstances this time. From there, judging by the brief flicker of panic, she gathered he was registering that she was still resting against his shoulder, still had her hand wrapped around his. Then, he apparently decided he didn’t care either. She could feel the tension in his body ease as that panic dissipated and a corner of his mouth slid upward.

  “Good morning,” he said, closing his eyes again and leaning his brow against hers.

  Part of Fenna wished he’d finish the job, and another part of her knew that if he did, she really wasn’t going to show up to work on time. Sighing, she let her own eyes drift closed and dragged her thumb over his knuckles.

  “I have to go,” she said. “If I’m too late, they’ll start wondering where I am. And… I don’t know how you feel about Emrys and Malakai discovering me here, but – “

  “But if they do, all those questions about my line last night will be pointless?” She heard the rueful smile in his voice.

  She nodded. “Something like that.”

  They both fell quiet for a moment. Fenna sighed and opened her eyes, finding that he’d done the same and was giving her that look that both terrified her and made her feel like she could grow an entire forest of flowers and not be so much as winded. She liked that feeling, even the terrifying part.

  “Do you have to go today?” she whispered. “You couldn’t stay another day?”

  That look turned sad. Shaking his head, Gavriel lifted his free hand, brushing his fingers lightly against her jawline. “I wish it were possible.”

  But it wasn’t. And she knew that. Fenna could be the queen of wishful thinking when she wanted to be – and right now wishful thinking was pouring over her in wave after wave. Some people would say there was no use contemplating what could not be.

  She didn’t care. All she wanted to do right now was contemplate it. She wanted to contemplate it until she ran it into the ground and exhausted every single possibility of how they could make this – whatever it was – work.

  But she did need to go soon. That didn’t mean she had to let this be the end of it, however.

  “You should come by,” she said. “After breakfast, I mean.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “You don’t want the kitchenmaster to know you’re here, and yet you want me to come by and meet him later?”

  “Yes,” she said simply. “I’d like that.”

  Still studying her face as though trying to memorize it as she had his last night, Gavriel finally nodded.

  “All right. I’ll see you then.”

  Fenna felt as though she should do more than just get out of bed and leave. But all bravery had suddenly fled her. So she squeezed his hand one more time and sat up.

  “I’ll see you then.”

  It was just as abrupt and awkward as she imagined it being, and she heard something between a sigh and breath of exasperation escape Gavriel as she stood. For that reason, she avoided looking back at him until she reached the door.

  He was sitting up in bed, the sheets bunched around his waist, his newer tattoos standing out dark against his chest, the older ones fading into the background. Fenna didn’t know how it worked, but she assumed after a few weeks they would all blend together.

  From the looks of things, he hadn’t taken his eyes from her since she’d gotten up.

  With the greatest amount of mental effort she’d exerted in a long while, Fenna shut the door behind her.

Emrys was peering at her over the counter, setting the potatoes out to be systematically dismantled into edible chunks. It wasn’t often she squirmed under the kitchenmaster’s stare, but Fenna found herself doing so now. She’d done nothing to be ashamed of, she reminded herself. Really, she hadn’t done anything to begin with.

  But it was only occurring to her now she probably reeked of male scent. Even if none of them knew Gavriel’s specific one, they could at least detect that much.

  “You left early last night,” Emrys said mildly, glancing back down at the potatoes.

  Nodding, Fenna got out one of the peelers and set about her own pile. “I did,” she said blandly. She could go with the excuse she’d given Aludra… or she could go with the truth. The truth would likely bode better for everyone involved when Gavriel showed up later. So she shrugged.

  “One of the blood-sworn showed up last night. I spent some time with an old friend.”

  “Hmm,” Emrys said, his tone indicating he didn’t doubt the truth of her statement but very much doubted her word choice. “So Malakai tells me. Lord Gavriel, am I correct?”

  She had better not be turning red. Fenna cursed her traitorous, warm face as she said, “Correct.”

  Emrys moved off toward the cooling box, and Luca sidled up next to her, a teasing glint in his brown eyes.

  “Some time,” he said. “Well, judging by the fact that you’re still in the clothes you were wearing last night – “

  Fenna elbowed him, half playfully and half seriously. If Emrys had heard, however, he didn’t react. That meant nothing – he could simply be consoling himself with plotting just how he was going to have his vengeance.

  “A word from the wise, Fen,” Luca went on, voice mercifully lower. “If you’re going to spend the night with a male and don’t want the world to know, at least have the sense to sneak back to your rooms and change in the morning. His scent’ll still be all over you, but less noticeably.”

  “We didn’t – “ Fenna’s voice trailed off, and she shook her head. Something told her Luca would believe her about as far as he could throw her – which was still farther than she could throw him but not much. “How do you know all of this?”

  He eyed her derisively. “Come now. Do you think I haven’t learned all of this in my long, long years of – “

  “I don’t need to know,” Fenna said, holding up a hand to stop him. If for no other reason, because Malakai had opened the door and slipped inside. The last thing she needed was him overhearing this.

  Luca nodded in understanding, but leaned down to mutter, “Just remember – scent sticks in fabric more than skin.”

  She doubted Malakai heard, but he definitely smelled something. He straightened and stared at her for a moment, and Fenna glared him down.

  I’ve already dealt with it from these two. Don’t make me deal with it again.

  His eyes narrowing in a way that said he wasn’t done with her in any way, shape, or form, Malakai nevertheless pulled something out of his pocket and approached his mate. Fenna looked closer and saw that it was a package wrapped in brown paper. Pressing a kiss to Emrys’s temple, Malakai leaned back against the counter and pushed the package into his hand.

  “A caravan came in this morning,” he said casually.

  “From Doranelle?” Fenna couldn’t help asking. She would rather Doranelle stay as far from Mistward as possible today.

  But Malakai shook his head. “Wendlyn,” he said, still in that same casual tone that said he was far too proud of himself for his own good.

  Emrys eyed him matter-of-factly, even as that glimmer of excitement showed through. Four years of being at Mistward had taught Fenna – the kitchenmaster loved gifts.

  “A bit early, isn’t it?” he said.

  Shrugging, Malakai gestured to the package.

  “They’re only just setting up. But they let me peruse some of their wares before anyone else. Said it was a privilege only the headman got or some such notion.”

  “Hmm,” Emrys said, obviously trying to not appear quite so eager as he tore into the thing. Letting the paper fall to the floor, he shook his head, a smile slowly spreading over his face. “Would you look at that beauty.” Staring at it a bit longer, he raised a hand to Malakai’s cheek gently. “Thank you, love.”

  Malakai was grinning like a boy of ten. “All the way from Eyllwe,” he said.

  Fenna made eye contact with Luca, who jerked his head in the older males’ direction. Waiting a moment to make sure they weren’t about to interrupt a moment, Fenna finally nodded, and the pair of them crept around the counter to look at whatever Emrys was now taking out of its box. Identifying the item, Fenna shook her head.

  It would be a knife, wouldn’t it?

  It was a gorgeous thing, though. Even she had to admit it, and knives were not her area of fascination. It looked more for decoration than anything else, though judging by that wicked blade, it wouldn’t be awful in a fight. All she knew was it was certainly not going to be added to Emrys’s collection of kitchen knives.

  Engraved lotus blossoms – the symbol of Eyllwe, from what she’d heard – girded the hilt, and the bottom, where the wielder’s fingers would grip it, was lined in lapis lazuli. Also Eyllwe’s gem. Fenna remembered hearing Emrys saying something a few weeks ago about liking to start a collection of knives from different areas of the world. Of course, that was decidedly difficult to do in a fortress like this one.

  So, Malakai had evidently helped him jumpstart things. Fenna smiled, watching the pair of them. She loved them both so much.

  Now, if only they’d consent to get over those damned protective Fae instincts and like her… whatever Gavriel was. She sincerely hoped the knife would at least be put away before then – though something told her if anyone was going to appreciate it on both an aesthetic and practical level, it would be Gavriel.

  “You should show Elentiya when she gets in,” Luca called over his shoulder as the pair of them made their way back to their assigned tasks. “Knives seem like they’d be right up her alley.”

  Malakai frowned. “A bit late, isn’t she?”

  Fenna froze. Elentiya. She’d almost forgotten about last night in… everything that had happened since. A twinge of guilt flooded her as she realized her own joy had completely eclipsed – whatever that look had been Elentiya was wearing when she’d stormed past Fenna the night before. She’d seen Elentiya surly before, but there was only one person who could make her look that angry and hollow all at the same time.

  Oh, no. Fenna was not nearly finished with Rowan Whitethorn.

  Fenna hadn’t so much as peeled a single bit of skin off the potato in her hand when the door opened. She wasn’t sure who she expected it to be, but it was as though her thoughts and Luca’s words had summoned her, because Elentiya stalked in, not looking at any of them, and made her way to the sink. Normally she’d wait for Emrys to assign her a task, but today, apparently, she was choosing to anticipate. And there were still quite a few dishes there. There always were after a night of Emrys’s stories.

  Malakai, like Fenna, was instantly on guard, as though the anger rolling off Elentiya were as easy to smell as just what Fenna had been up to last night.

  Luca, however, nodded encouragingly at Emrys, and the kitchenmaster, though wary, approached where Elentiya stood. Fenna didn’t like the way the girl just stared out at the garden beyond. Like she was looking but not truly seeing it.

  “Look,” Emrys said, breaking the thick silence. “Look what Malakai brought me.”

  Elentiya stared at the knife, and something shuddered through her. Instantly, Fenna knew Luca’s suggestion was a bad idea. A horrible idea. She should have negated it as soon as he mentioned it, but all she could do was stand there and wait for the fallout as Emrys mustered an encouraging smile for Elentiya.

  The other girl stared at the knife still, her face blank, unmoving.

  Malakai leaned forward, putting on just as much of a show as Emrys, though Fenna knew he had to be watching for any signs of danger. “I got it from a merchant from the southern continent,” he said. “It came all the way from Eyllwe.”

  At the word, that numbness on Elentiya’s face turned into a glare darker than any Fenna had seen. She took a few ragged breaths, then spoke, voice soft, low, but hard.

  “I do not care.”

  Fenna blinked. Even that, she hadn’t expected.

  Elentiya raised her eyes to glare at Emrys, apparently not done. “I. Do. Not. Care.”

  More silence. And despite what she did and did not know, Fenna felt that familiar old protective instinct she’d been cursing earlier rising up in her own chest. She didn’t care what Rowan had said to Elentiya last night. If she continued to speak to Emrys in that way, she’d find herself tackled again.

  But something told Fenna that this time, Elentiya wouldn’t be holding back.

  “Elentiya, don’t be rude,” Luca said, voice just as wary as Emrys’s face.

  Luca. Shut up.

  Elentiya was visibly trembling as she hissed, “I do not care about you. I do not care about your knife. I do not care about your stories or your little fortress.” Again, she pinned Emrys with a stare. Fenna, Luca, and Malakai moved as one, the two males moving across the room to step in front of Emrys, Fenna standing beside him. She knew the other two had their teeth bared, and she wouldn’t be surprised if hers were out, as well, but she couldn’t concentrate over the wave of fury in her ears.

  Forget being tackled. Elentiya was going to find herself with grapevines wrapped around her throat if she wasn’t careful.

  Elentiya’s voice grew in volume until she was full-on shouting. “So leave me alone. Keep your gods-damned lives to yourselves and leave me alone.”

  Luca and Malakai were now growling. Elentiya looked from them, to Emrys, whose eyes were filled with tears, to Fenna. Fenna took a step forward, so that she was now between Elentiya and the kitchenmaster, too. Elentiya’s empty eyes flashed down to Fenna’s neck. Where that iris still hung.

  Fenna didn’t care. She didn’t care that Elentiya had had a few redeeming moments since she’d been here or that she for, whatever reason, didn’t feel the need to rip the trinket from her neck and throw it across the room. Who was Elentiya to her?

  Emrys was easily the best father she’d ever had, and Elentiya was making him cry.

  As though she could read all of that in Fenna’s eyes, Elentiya let out a dry, dead laugh and stalked out of the room.

  Malakai stepped forward, still growling, as though to go after her, but Emrys reached out, a hand on his mate’s arm.

  “Let her be,” he said. “There’s more there than you or I see.”

  And, swiping at his eyes, he went back about his business.

  Luca hadn’t quite lost the snarl on his face, but he looked down at Fenna, shrugged, and went back to his own position, attacking the potatoes with perhaps a bit more anger than usual. Fenna just stood where she was, staring at Emrys.

  Was it just her, or were his tears not for his own hurt?

Chapter Text

Aludra really was a saint, the way she just slipped in to fill in for Elentiya that morning. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t comment on the somber atmosphere, or the way Malakai looked ready to rip off the head of anyone who so much as looked at Emrys crosswise, or the way Luca’s eyes shifted from side to side, or just why Elentiya was absent.

  And, blessed goodness, she certainly didn’t ask why Fenna smelled of cedar smoke. After a while, Fenna supposed it must have dissipated, because even the males calmed down. She’d almost forgotten her invitation to Gavriel earlier until after breakfast had come and gone and the five of them, along with Reuven, were sitting down to eat – finally.

  Reuven was not nearly so inclined to pick up on things as his mate, and glanced back and forth between the kitchen workers, brow raised.

  “So…,” he said, drawing the word out and stirring his gruel. “I notice Elentiya’s missing. Did that prince finally drive her off?”

  “Reuven,” Aludra hissed. Judging by the grunt he gave, she had just shoved an elbow into his ribs.

  No one answered. Just continued shoving food into their mouths woodenly.

  Fenna glared into her food. Rowan would drive himself off, too, if he knew what was good for him. Elentiya might be the culprit this morning, but she was certain he’d inadvertently caused it with the way he’d behaved last night. Anything she’d said to him was officially null. She jabbed her fork into the breakfast casserole and bit into the morsel as though it were Rowan’s neck.

  Eyeing her as though he knew her thoughts, Fenna began to wonder if his only power was Storykeeping when Emrys leaned in and said, low enough that perhaps Aludra and Malakai could hear, but neither of the two younger males, “Fenna. Let me deal with Prince Rowan, would you?”

  Fenna stared at him, blinking. “Why would I – “

  “Don’t pull that on me, little one. I know you’re itching to wrap those grapevines of yours around his neck.”

  Honestly. She’d only ever tripped someone with grapevines before – never strangled anyone.

  “Believe me,” Emrys cast a dark glance at the door, “I can better discuss this with him. There are certain things both he and I are privy to.” He turned that gaze on her. “Things I can’t tell you, little one. Leave him to me.”

  She might have responded, but at that moment the door creaked open and, rather abruptly, Fenna remembered her earlier conversation with Gavriel. And that she’d invited him to breakfast.

  And promptly forgotten that invitation in the wake of Elentiya’s explosion.

  But now he was standing there in the doorway, and they’d all already started eating, and she hadn’t bothered to tell anyone he might be coming, and –

  Gavriel’s eyes swept over the gathering, wary. As though he doubted he were as welcome as Fenna had made it sound earlier. That gaze finally settled on Emrys.

  “Am I… interrupting something?”

  Fenna shot to her feet so fast her knee banged to into the table. Stifling a groan, she reached down to rub the sore spot and was at least gratified to see something of a change in Gavriel’s expression. He looked like he were torn between concern and laughter. That was good, anyway.

  By contrast, Emrys stood calmly. “Not at all, my lord.” His eyes slid in Fenna’s direction. “I take it this one told you to come directly here?”

  Malakai’s nostrils flared, and he whipped rather unceremoniously around, staring at Fenna. She didn’t care, however. Gavriel was looking at her, too, the smile in his eyes larger than the one on his mouth.

  “She did,” was all he said.

  Fenna figured since she was the one who’d jerked upward so abruptly, she should probably do something about the fact that she was on her feet. Slipping around Emrys, she crossed the room to Gavriel’s side. From this angle, she had a better image of Luca and Reuven, both of whom were gaping at this new interloper. Luca was, as always, staring with open mouth flapping like a landed fish. Reuven was a bit more subdued, but nonetheless sufficiently impressed.

  Aludra looked wary, and Fenna didn’t blame her. She was always this way around full-blooded Fae – the events of this winter weren’t as far removed as they seemed sometimes. Emrys was as open and welcoming as he always was – though Fenna wouldn’t have placed money on how he would have acted had he run into Gavriel without her there.

  Malakai, on the other hand, looked as though he were considering taking back his gift to Emrys and putting it to good use.

  Giving him a sharp glare, Fenna then schooled her face into neutrality, hoping she wasn’t turning red again. “Everyone, this is Gavriel. Gavriel, this is… everyone.” She looked up at him, shrugging apologetically. “There’s a lot of them. More than this, actually. You’re just meeting the condensed set.”

  He nodded, still smiling mostly with his eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Waiiiiiitttt,” Luca said, as though finally putting two and two together. “You mean this is – “

  Passing him as she led Gavriel back around the table, Fenna smacked the back of his head. “Of course, it is. You knew he existed, Luca. Calm down.”

  “Ow,” Luca said pointedly, if a bit belatedly. “I know that. I just didn’t realize he was who you – “

  “Don’t mind Luca,” Emrys cut in, sitting down as Gavriel took up a spot on the bench beside Fenna. “You’d think we’d all be used to meeting living legends by now. Some people are tongue-tied when they’re starstruck. Luca is the exact opposite.”

  Seeming to catch the meaning of the pointed glare Malakai was giving him, Luca nodded. “Right. Sorry about that.”

  Gavriel gave Luca a knowing look. “No harm done,” he said.

  It was only then Fenna noticed she hadn’t even thought to point him toward the food.

  “Have you eaten?”

  He nodded. “Rowan and I ate in the mess hall with the soldiers.”

  Malakai snorted. Fenna was relieved to see he appeared much calmer all of a sudden. “Let me guess, my troops were gaping at you just as much as Luca here.”

  “Of course, they were,” Reuven put in.

  Fenna glanced over at Aludra. She’d lost some of the wary look and was now eyeing Gavriel with more curiosity than anything else. But she remained subdued.

  Probably best she didn’t know the whole of what had transpired this winter – or the implications of it on the male to Fenna’s right. Or, for that matter, what had just happened these last few months.

  “What brought you to Mistward, my lord?” Emrys asked, steering the conversation toward its usual trajectory, as was his way.

  Gavriel’s eyes slid over to Fenna briefly, then back to Emrys. “I had business with Prince Rowan. Business that couldn’t wait until his assignment here is finished.”

  Judging by Malakai’s raised brow, he believed that was Gavriel’s sole reason in coming to Mistward about as much as he would the idea that Luca was taking up a monastic lifestyle in a Temisian convent in Akkadia.

  Emrys nodded, giving no sign that he noticed his mate’s expression. “Well, then. Your business is your own. We won’t press. It’s been a long while since we’ve seen you at Mistward.”

  Fenna’s head whipped around to nail Gavriel with a stare. “You’ve been here.”

  He nodded, frowning at Emrys. “Once, several decades ago.” Recognition dawned in his eyes. “I thought you looked familiar. You were one of the males I was sent to assess, weren’t you?”

   Emrys nodded in turn, smirking. “Believe it or not, you did me a favor, telling me I wasn’t ready for Doranelle. That was the last time I ever attempted.” He reached over and took Malakai’s hand. “It helped that my mate was more suited for the soldier’s work, anyway.”

  “If I recall, you weren’t bad,” Gavriel put in. “Especially with the throwing knives.”

  Throwing? Now Fenna was the one raising a brow. She’d never doubted Emrys’s ability with his knives, she just presumed, due to his naturally stockier build, that it came after he’d tackled the victim to the ground and had his way in that scenario. Seeing her look, Emrys shook his head.

  “See how she doubts,” he said, gesturing to Fenna. “I imagine I’m a bit rusty now, but once upon a time…”

  Fenna glanced up to Gavriel, hoping he read her unspoken request for corroboration. He nodded.

  “I wouldn’t have wanted to be his opponent with those things in his hand.”

  Luca leaned forward, eyeing Gavriel with new interest. “If he wasn’t bad, why didn’t you let him into Doranelle?”

  Feeling Gavriel tense beside her, Fenna tried to decide if she had any room to be irritated with Luca for asking the question. She knew him well enough to know he’d probably hated every moment of that assignment. Hated knowing that he’d have to disappoint perfectly good warriors and that the ones who weren’t disappointed would more likely be fated to something less than desirable, not a position in Maeve’s army, as they wanted.

  Barely, so the only person who might notice would be Aludra on her other side, Fenna scooted just the slightest bit closer, leaning into him. If for no other reason, to remind him that she was there. She understood the why of it all, even if Luca wouldn’t.

  When Gavriel finally spoke, his words sounded rehearsed.

  “Our queen has certain… magical requirements she’d prefer those entering her city meet,” he said. “Especially those who wish to be her soldiers. And unfortunately” – here he eyed Emrys, not apologetically, but with firm, unyielding respect – “she doesn’t count Storykeeping as a useful skill.”

  Holding that steady gaze, Emrys nodded, understanding the unspoken message. And she would have appreciated the words anyway, but especially after the rest of this morning… Fenna felt something deep within her swelling as she watched the pair of them. Not caring who would see this time, she slid her hand over to rest on top of Gavriel’s under the table. He didn’t so much as move in acknowledgement – above the tabletop, anyway.

  But underneath it, he rested his thumb atop her fingers, letting her know he was very much aware.

  Luca wasn’t quite done with his interrogation, however.

  “So, what would you recommend?” he asked. “For those of us without any magic at all, who want to get into Doranelle?”

  It was Fenna’s turn to tense. There were days she forgot Luca was actively trying to gain entrance to Doranelle. She didn’t agree with his reasons. She didn’t agree with any of it. But she certainly couldn’t stop him from doing it. And she, too, was curious what Gavriel would have to say.

  She knew what he would want to… just wondered whether his answer would be just as stilted as the first half of the last one.

  Opening his mouth to respond, Gavriel paused. Looked down at Fenna’s hand, then over to her. She didn’t know what was on his mind but nodded.

  Give whatever answer you want. There’s none here who would fault you or report back to Maeve. We aren’t spies. You’re safe here.

  His jaw tightened, and he turned back to Luca, face grim.

  “Don’t,” was all he said.

  Something in Fenna’s heart squeezed at Luca’s crestfallen look, but she wasn’t sorry Gavriel had spoken honestly about the matter. For one thing, she didn’t imagine he was often able to do so. For another, maybe, coming from a member of the blood-sworn, Luca would finally listen and abandon the idea, as Reuven had.

  Sensing the awkward silence after Gavriel’s response, Malakai cleared his throat.

  “We don’t get many magic wielders here,” he said. “Some of us have other forms, but that’s about it.”

  Reuven leaned around Aludra. Fenna noted he also held her hand under the table, rubbing comforting circles on the back of it.

  “Speaking of other forms, is the term ‘Lion’ purely figurative, or…?”

  Emrys glared.

  “Have you not been listening to my stories, lad?” he demanded before Gavriel could answer. “I believe you’d know the answer to that question if you were.”

  But Gavriel was half-smiling, shaking his head as though the question amused him.

  “It’s not purely figurative, no.”

  “Malakai’s the only one here with another form,” Luca put in, his disappointment apparently forgotten. “Well, that we know of.”

  Gavriel raised an interested brow. “Fae or animal?”

  “An eagle,” Malakai replied. “I rarely use it. I rarely have need to do so. In my position, in charge of defending this fortress, there’s times I’d rather have a form like yours, Lord Gavriel.” He considered. “Though I suppose I’d be doing much the same thing – clawing the enemy’s eyes out. I just wouldn’t mind being able to rip their throats out, as well.”

  “That was vivid,” Emrys muttered, pushing his bowl away pointedly.

  Malakai seemed to realize what he’d said. While Fenna didn’t think he had it in him to look embarrassed, he did look somewhat remorseful.

  “Apologies,” he said to the table as a whole.

  That half-smile was back as Gavriel shrugged. “No, it’s not as though I haven’t been grateful for the abilities that come with having a predator as my other form before. You raise some valid points.” He nodded at Fenna. “Fenna can tell you I use them when necessary.”

  She remembered it. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him in his other form, but it was the first time she’d seen him shift. And she hadn’t been necessarily afraid of him, but he’d worried her. There had been something feral in his eyes then – though that was likely due to the threat in question. Funny how when he’d had the same look in Fae form, she’d never been concerned. And she hadn’t been able to bring herself to be worried about the object of his anger, seeing as they’d just stabbed her.

  She still hadn’t figured out, however, whether the feral look that first time had been for her own wound or the threat to Fenrys. Maybe both.

  “Fenna’s probably got another form,” Luca added sagely.

  If she’d been remembering to eat, Fenna might have choked. “I do not.”

  “There’s no way you have as much magic as you do and don’t have another form, Fen,” he said. “Even if it’s just Fae – “

  “Just Fae?” Emrys eyed Luca shrewdly.

  “Malakai doesn’t have any magic,” Fenna protested.

  “Neither does Sten,” Reuven pointed out.

  Luca waved their comments off. “Sten’s other form is a pig. It hardly counts.”

  “Boar,” Fenna, Reuven, Aludra, Malakai, and Emrys corrected in unison.

  Luca glanced around the table, glaring at them all. “Has anyone ever told you that a male can’t win with the lot of you around?”

  Hearing Gavriel’s low laugh beside her was well worth Luca’s insinuation, Fenna decided.

  It wasn’t that she minded the idea of having another form, it just wasn’t a part of her magic she’d ever wanted to explore. She was quite good at it in human form, thank you.

  “Never quite mastered the shift anyway,” Malakai finished, shrugging. “Even Emrys has only seen my eagle a handful of times.”

  “Usually when some noise startles you in the night,” Emrys quipped.

  That got a laugh out of everyone involved. The look Malakai sent his mate wasn’t quite irritable.

  “I’m a light sleeper,” he protested.

  As she laughed, Fenna realized she was leaning even closer to Gavriel. In fact, she was almost pressed as close to him as Aludra was Reuven. Not quite. But almost.

  He fit here. Whether he realized it or not, he fit here. Fenna was almost, almost allowing herself to hold onto that thin thread of hope that maybe, maybe… maybe things didn’t have to be awful. Maybe she didn’t need to resign herself to pining.

  She’d never put that word to what she’d been doing the past few months, but… it wasn’t an inaccurate descriptor.

  But when Gavriel turned back toward her again, his expression was tinged with sadness, and Fenna knew her thin thread of hope had frayed and snapped.

  “I should probably head back,” he said, addressing the group but not taking his eyes off her. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Leashing her sigh, Fenna dropped her own gaze. Well, it had been wonderful while it lasted. Now, how to finally accept the fact that it wasn’t to be?

  Emrys’s eyes slid over to Malakai before he cleared his throat.

  “Fortunately for you,” he said, “Fenna happens to have the afternoon off. And she knows the fastest way back to Doranelle.”

  Her head whipped upward. She had what?

  Emrys looked far too satisfied with himself for his own good. He was grinning like one of the children who came to drill with Malakai in the mornings, looking more like Luca than he ever had. Inclining his head to her, he cast a sideways glance at Gavriel before coming back to nail her with a stare again.

  Go. Someone in this kitchen might as well have a good morning.

  “You’d best be going, then,” he said, waving toward the door.

  Gavriel looked over at Fenna, as though uncertain what to make of what he’d just heard. She gave him a half-smile of her own.

  Don’t question it. Emrys was about as subtle as a screeching hawk.

  Speaking of…

  “And if you happen to see Prince Rowan before you go,” Emrys added, “send him my way, would you?”

  At least having the sense to drop Gavriel’s hand before standing, Fenna followed him toward the door. She needed to find some way to thank Emrys for giving her more time. Even another hour would be well worth it. Though, considering they were definitely going to stop by Rowan’s room before leaving, she didn’t envy the prince once Emrys finished with him.

  They’d just gotten outside and Fenna nearly had the door closed, when Luca’s voice carried across the space.

  “So that’s Fenna’s male. Huh.”

  Fenna froze as four other voices hushed him.

  “What? I liked him.”

  She was turning red. She was definitely, by no stretch of the imagination, turning red and there was no way Gavriel didn’t hear that, and she wasn’t sure why she had issue with that, after all, they’d been close enough last night she highly doubted there was much room for speculation as to what she’d be very much all right with their relationship progressing toward, and she was rambling in her mind to avoid having to say anything, but even so it was taking everything in her to look up at him and meet his gaze after that…

  She should have known better. “Her male,” as Luca called him, wasn’t quite grinning as hugely as Emrys had been a moment ago.

  But it was fairly close.

  Sighing and shaking her head, Fenna finally brought herself to say, “That’s Luca for you.”

  Gavriel shrugged as they began walking back down the corridor. “Well, for what it’s worth, I liked him, too.”

  Her own smile starting to bloom, Fenna looked up at him appraisingly. “Most people find it hard not to.”

Chapter Text

“Why do I have the feeling you’re taking me the long way around?”

  The look Fenna gave him was decidedly slyer than Gavriel was used to seeing from her. As though she knew exactly how believable her words were about to be and held not an ounce of remorse for it.

  “Whatever gave you that impression?” she asked innocently.

  Deciding playing along was his best option, Gavriel eyed the treetops and shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that it’s taken the entire morning and the better part of the afternoon to get this far, and I’m going to have to double back eventually once I get into the mountains to take the most direct route back to Doranelle. Not to mention you stalled back when we stopped by Rowan’s – “

  “Oh, all right, fine then,” Fenna said, her tone irritated but for the smile that was creeping into it. “I might have taken you on a more roundabout way than usual. And I might have decided Rowan needed a bit of a lecture back there – “

  “Which he barely heard.”

  Shaking her head, that smile blossomed into reality, and Gavriel thought in that moment he’d give anything to keep it there. It dimmed a bit, however, as she glanced over at him.

  “Can you blame me?”

  No. No, he couldn’t. And it wasn’t as though Maeve had said “Be back on this day, at this exact hour.” He figured he was well within his rights to push things a bit. But not too much longer. In fact, if he remembered from his last time here, they were getting closer to what everyone – including Fenrys – called “Fenna’s river.” He figured he could head up into the mountains from there and start backtracking toward the most direct route to Doranelle.

  But gods, he didn’t want to. And he should probably come up with some sort of answer to Fenna’s question – sooner, rather than later.

  As it turned out, he didn’t have to. She was already moving on.

  “You said last night most of who you are comes from your mother,” she said. “Explain that to me.”

  He eyed her sideways, shoving his dread of the inevitable parting out of his mind. “You find it hard to believe I didn’t get many character traits from my father? Knowing the history?”

  “No. I just want to know more about your mother. You’ve never spoken of her before last night, and I mean, I assumed you had one. I just don’t know anything about her.” She paused. “And I’m sure if what you said is true, she’s worth knowing about.”

  Gavriel let his mind travel back two centuries. Where did he begin?

  “My parents were mates,” he said. It was something he’d never been able to wrap his head around, but he supposed that if anyone was fated to have to handle his father, his mother had been a good choice. “I never really understood until years later, but… I think by the time I came along, my mother was starting to fully comprehend just what my father did. My brothers were both older and starting to show some… well, some of what would persist into the rest of their lives. They were born with his gifts, not hers.” It felt somewhat melodramatic, but he summoned some golden tendrils of healing magic to wind through his fingers. “And then it became evident I was.”

  Fenna was staring at the golden light in fascination, as she always did. “She was a healer?”

  Nodding, Gavriel let the light die. There wasn’t much use in wasting it for show.

  “It wasn’t just magic. She embodied the calling. And yet, being the mate of a nobleman… well, there were certain expectations placed on her. One of which was not having occupation, beyond running things at home.”

  To his surprise, Fenna snorted. Seeing him staring at her, she shrugged.

  “What? Everyone should have occupation. Not that homemaking isn’t an occupation – it is. We understand that at Mistward. But if she wanted to do anything else – “

  “I never noticed that she did,” Gavriel said. “But then again, I didn’t understand any of this at the time. Perhaps I just wasn’t looking.” He thought about it. “She didn’t let anyone else raise us, though. A lot of her peers did that, but she did it herself. And she brought that calling into it. Especially with me, I think.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “From what I know, my parents were relatively happy when they first started out, but as I said, there were certain things that happened which made my mother start to understand just what my father was. It was harder to see than you’d think. He wasn’t a horrible father, actually.” Gavriel could hear his voice shrinking as he spoke. “And even with the tension with my mother, I didn’t ever notice him being an awful mate, either.”

  “What do you think made her realize… well, the more unfortunate side of him?”

  Oh, this was a question he didn’t want to answer. He didn’t know for sure, but he had plenty of speculation. And he just wanted to let it be. He didn’t want the subsequent questions that would follow – but then again, Fenna couldn’t know the larger implications of this one. There was no way she would know. Would she?

  She’d asked, however. He could lie and say he didn’t know, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her. Not now. So, he shook his head and eyed the slowly clearing sky again.

  “I can’t be sure,” he said. “But I suspect it was the Lunarian genocide.”

  Fenna blinked, then closed her eyes and nodded. “Right. That would do it.”

  “It was a bit of a deviation from his usual tactics,” Gavriel put in. “People talked about it more. I think she just didn’t ask most of the time, but when a war general goes from more obviously brutal tactics to biological warfare…”

  He bit back the shudder that came with what he knew about the Lunarian genocide – what he’d filtered through the portrayal of it as a Fae victory. Apparently, his father had found some way to disease the water. It had affected the peasants and field workers disproportionately.

  What he’d never figured out, knowing about the timeline of the genocide and about how old Lorcan was, was just how Lorcan had survived it. Of course, it hadn’t been a complete eradication, but still… it had been close.

  Sighing, Fenna must have sensed that he didn’t want to linger here.

  “You wouldn’t have been born yet. At the time of the genocide, I mean.”

  He nodded. “Like I said. By the time I came along, I think my mother saw me as an opportunity for a second chance. Both of my brothers were being fed the lie that my father was a hero. Both of them wanted to be exactly like him. And while she never wanted me to hate him, she taught me to value more than just the warrior’s life.” Shaking his head at his own young stupidity, he said, “Of course, I honored that lesson by following in my father’s footsteps just the same.”

  “You’ve hardly done that.”

  Gavriel wasn’t so certain. “Believe it or not, there may be expectations for noblemen’s wives, but there’s relatively few for their sons. In the area of occupation, anyway. I could have gone into more than just battlefield healing.” There were days he thought it might have suited him better. No, actually, those days were every day.

  “You wanted to honor your father’s memory, as well. You didn’t know what he was then.”

  Nothing she said was untrue, but it didn’t change anything he’d done.

  “One thing my mother taught me that I never thought I’d have to use on a battlefield,” he added, figuring it was time for an upturn in conversation, “is that apparently, healing magic works just as well on menstrual cramps as open wounds. You’d think more females would take advantage of that.”

  A corner of Fenna’s mouth tilted upward. “Bless her for it, anyway.”

  They fell into silence for a moment, and Gavriel found himself watching her. He couldn’t really think of a better way to fill that silence.

  It wasn’t often he let that regret he’d just voiced take on a life of its own, but today he did. Would this have been easier if he’d gone into healing? Possibly. It definitely would have been easier to leave Doranelle. And that was an idea that grew more and more appealing every day. But then again, if he’d gone into healing, he likely never would have met Fenna in the first place.

  It was a cruel trick of irony, that what led to him meeting her was exactly that which prevented him from doing anything about it.

  The sound of rushing water reached his ears, and that cruel irony poked at his heart a bit more persistently. Judging by the quiet acceptance on Fenna’s face, she knew this was the best stopping point, as well.

  He didn’t have to behave as though imminent doom was on the horizon, however. Leashing a sly smile of his own, he said, “I think we’re getting closer to your river.”

  As predicted, she rolled her eyes so high he wondered if they’d roll back into her head entirely.

  “Please,” she said. “I hate the thing. I wish people would stop calling it ‘my river.’”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Fenna’s River has a nice ring to it.”

  She eyed him through narrowed lids.

  “Are you, Lord Gavriel of Doranelle, ignoring my wishes?”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Not at all. Just pointing out a fact.”

  “Fine. You’re right. It does flow rather nicely – and no, that was not a pun, so don’t go there.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “So, find something else to name after me, and we’ll call it even. All right?”

  He’d name every single star in the sky after her if he could, but he figured she meant something a bit more specific. And that she wasn’t being serious. He had every intention of following through on that, however. The only question was whether she’d ever hear about it.

  Coming here had been fine – once. Just once. But making a regular habit of it was simply a bad idea. He knew this. Knew it from experience. And Fenna would figure it out eventually, and when she did, she wouldn’t want him back. They’d already discussed enough that she should be able to infer that it was a bad idea.

  So, what he didn’t know was what came after this moment. With the pair of them standing on the banks of this river and neither of them wanting to address the fact that he really did have to leave.

  But one of them had to.

  “Fenna – “

  “I know.” Her lower lip caught between her teeth as she blinked rapidly. “You have to go now, don’t you?”

  He nodded, blinking away the sting in his own eyes.

  She sighed and stepped closer, lowering her voice as though they might be overheard. Then again, it occurred to Gavriel he didn’t know. Just because the forest seemed still meant nothing.

  “You will tell Lorcan about Cairn, won’t you?” she said, her turquoise gaze surprisingly clear. “He needs to know, Gavriel.”

  Nodding again, if for no other reason than because he knew she wouldn’t let him go until he agreed to it, Gavriel said, “It might not make any difference if I do, Fenna. Maeve’s already let Cairn be sent away once. He has too many qualities she values to allow it to happen again.”

  “I know.” She bit her lip again. “It’s just… Cairn tried to kill you. Lorcan needs to know. Promise me you’ll tell him.”

  And as much as he’d had a point, so did she. Gavriel looked her in the eye, placing his hands on her shoulders.

  “I will.”

  Fenna drew in a deep breath, as though he’d just taken a weight from her. “All right.”

  She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head against his chest. Embracing her in return, Gavriel cradled the back of her head with a hand, pulling her closer to him. Breathing her in. He didn’t want to forget the scent of her – not that he could. He just wanted her to linger with him as long as possible, even after he left.

  He could feel her taking another deep, shuddering breath, and held her even tighter. Her voice was so muffled he could barely hear her. But her words made everything in him stop functioning for a moment.

  “Will you be able to come back?”

  It was a horrible idea. But… she wanted him to come back. Maybe one day she’d figure out how dangerous this was. Maybe one day she’d decide she didn’t want him coming around and risking not only her, but everyone she loved, as well. Maybe it would happen.

  But for now, she wanted him to come back. And Gavriel had no idea how he was going to make it happen, but…

  Bending down and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, he whispered, “I’ll try.”

  Another shuddery breath ran through her, and when she drew back to look up at him, he could see those tears she’d been fighting back earlier having free reign. Sighing, he leaned his brow against hers once more, letting his eyes close. Continuing to breathe her in.

  “You’d better,” she said.

  He couldn’t stay forever, and if he didn’t leave now, he never would. So, kissing her hairline this time, Gavriel stepped away, putting some distance between them. Anything more than he’d just done was a bad idea… for now. It would never stop being a bad idea, actually.

  But he’d only promised to try. Finishing things would just feel like a promise of more, and it was one he didn’t know if he could give right now. But he could promise to try.

  And one day, maybe he could give Fenna more than that.

  She’d wrapped her arms around herself, as though missing him already. He certainly missed her.

  “Be safe,” she whispered.

  He nodded, looking briefly in the direction they’d come before returning his eyes to where they belonged. “And you.”

  Then, because that conviction that if he didn’t leave now he never would was eating at him, Gavriel turned and began making his way toward the mountains. He only turned back once, when he’d put at least fifty feet of distance between them.

  Fenna hadn’t moved. She still stood there, looking as though she were trying to hold herself together, watching him go.

  With that image in mind, remembering what he had to come back to, Gavriel was already plotting how to get away again. Fortunately, it wasn’t exactly something he was unexperienced in.

Fenna had stayed there until Gavriel disappeared from view. She’d allowed herself to linger for a moment – but only for a moment, remembering what Elentiya had described to her the other day and remembering what had caused this river’s formation in the first place.

  Of course, she’d made it past all of five trees before having to back up against one, sink to the forest floor, and cry her fill.

  She didn’t know why she should be crying. She’d gotten what she’d wanted, hadn’t she – proof that he was, in fact, alive, a few more hours with him, gods, she’d even gotten somewhat closer to what she’d been wanting to do since this winter. Though a part of her, slipping past the seriousness of the whole situation, had dearly wanted to ask is that it? when he’d backed away.

  She’d even gotten more of a promise than she had the last time they’d parted ways. He’d try to come back. It wasn’t a certain thing, but it was definitely a… well, something. So why did she feel more gutted than she had then?

  She didn’t know, but she knew she wanted to get all of this out before returning to Mistward. So, she drew her knees up, buried her head against them, and let herself weep, reliving the feel of his arms around her, his lips on her brow, her head on his chest.

  Gods, he may prove to be the most dangerous risk she’d ever taken, so how was it that she felt safest when he was close by?

  Eventually, she’d exhausted all her tears and rose. Emrys may be able to tell when she got home. Most people would be able to tell – but at least she’d had the moment out here. She wasn’t opposed to people knowing how she felt. She wasn’t opposed to comfort.

  But it was going to fall hollow today. Besides, she didn’t know how she would explain that he was potentially coming back. A twinge of guilt hit her as she realized that this might endanger Mistward, as well. And that she would do it anyway, for as long as possible.

  She was nearly back to Mistward when she realized she hadn’t unwrapped her arms from around herself, trying to recreate some of that feeling, trying to recall the scent of cedar smoke in a way that you just couldn’t do with a smell unless it was present. She’d have to pull herself out of this eventually. Life would have to move on.

  But for now, she was alone in the forest and for now, she would relish in the fact that she could wallow as much as she –

  Shouts from the east, toward the mountains, drew her attention. Mostly because she recognized the voice that was shouting the most – cursing, praying, and generally babbling on.

  Fenna stared as Luca, followed closely by Elentiya and Rowan, came crashing out of the forest toward her, shouting something about a sea monster.

Chapter Text

Fenna froze for a moment, then figured that if there was anything making Elentiya and Rowan run that fast, she’d better be running, too. They all had sufficiently longer legs than her, and none of them were wearing skirts. For a moment, she worried about keeping up.

  That would prove to be less of a problem than initially thought, however, when Luca grabbed her by the arm and began hauling her along.

  Fortunately, she had just enough Fae grace in her to keep her footing as she shouted, “What in the name of all the gods happened?”

  Luca shook his head. Fenna was honestly surprised he had enough air left in him to say anything as he jerked his head over his shoulder and managed, “Ask – him – “

  Fenna shot a look back at Rowan, who looked genuinely shaken, as though whatever had happened was not entirely his doing. It didn’t change the fact that once she figured out just what he’d done to her Luca, she’d strangle him. But the way Elentiya glanced from her to Rowan and back told Fenna that whatever end she could devise for Rowan may not be pleasant, but whatever Elentiya had in mind would be infinitely worse.

  In fact, she was fairly certain Elentiya was snarling.

  “Just go,” she panted, still shooting death glares at Rowan intermittently.

  Finally, Mistward came into view, and the only thing preventing Fenna from barreling on ahead was Luca pulling her to a stop. Apparently, Elentiya and Rowan felt it was safe to pause. Immediately upon halting, Luca released her arm and bent over double, chest heaving. It was only then Fenna noticed he and Elentiya were both sopping wet – and the cut on his face. It wasn’t horrible. But it might scar, and while Luca would probably think that gave him a swashbuckling air, Fenna couldn’t help but feel it might be useful to have some healing magic on hand.

  And was then reminded just how thoroughly not in the mood for this adventure nonsense she was.

  Stepping in between Luca and the others, she nailed them both with a glare and growled, “What. In the name. Of Temis, Mala, and Hellas himself. Happened.”

  Elentiya’s head pivoted slowly to Rowan again. Her voice was low and deadly as she replied, “You heard Luca. Ask him.”

  Fenna’s own glare became exclusively for Rowan as she looked to him and waited for an answer. Luca, however, was proving to be very fast in giving it.

  “There was – we were in a cave – and – that thing was huge – “

  Brow furrowed, Elentiya stepped forward. Fenna was still between her and Luca but seeing as he was at least a head and a half taller than her, there was no mistaking who Elentiya was addressing as she hissed, “The pair of you get back to the fortress and you – keep your mouth shut about what happened up there.”

  Fenna had had enough. She’d just said goodbye to her whatever-Gavriel-was for an indefinite amount of time, she’d already cried her eyes out and ran full-out today, and she was not in the mood to be denied basic information when she’d stumbled into something like this. So, figuring she would give Elentiya some of her own medicine, stepped directly in front of Luca.

  “Like. Hell,” she snapped, wondering if she still had the ability to speak in sentences or if it was to be halting words like this from now on.

  Elentiya’s gaze swept over her and, if Fenna wasn’t mistaken, softened. But only in the most imperceptible increment. Her sigh was visible but inaudible as she turned back to Luca.

  “Fine. Tell Fenna. But no one else.”

  “Why?”

  Elentiya hesitated, casting her eyes to the side as though she were looking at Rowan, even though he remained behind her. His face was, as always, unreadable, but Fenna thought he might look worried. His jaw looked ready to snap.

  “Because,” Elentiya said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I want everyone to think I kicked his ass of my own accord.”

  And Fenna found that she couldn’t oppose her on that. Turning and grabbing Luca’s arm, she said, “Come on.”

  She may not be happy with either of them, but if Elentiya was planning on beating Rowan, she would not stand in her way. No, Rowan Whitethorn may have saved her life last winter. He may have her defense most of the time.

  But in this, he was decidedly on his own.

Fenna applied the adhesive to Luca’s cheek and frowned.

  “So you’re telling me Rowan had no idea you were sitting on top of a monster’s lair?”

  Luca shrugged, still wincing and putting on quite a show, even after she’d finished cleaning the cut.

  “I mean, I wouldn’t put it past him. But he did seem just as rutting terrified as Elentiya and I, if it makes you feel at all better.”

  It really didn’t. And Fenna wasn’t certain she wasn’t going to strangle him later. But at least it was something.

  “Are you ever going to stop glaring, or – “

  “No, I very well am not going to stop glaring!” Fenna hissed. “Putting Elentiya in harm’s way is one thing. You, on the other hand – you’re not his trainee. He crossed so many ethical lines today, so many moral lines, so many of my lines!”

  The kitchen was quiet. She had no idea where Emrys and Malakai were, not to mention Aludra, but she knew that it was dim, and the biggest fire would be roaring there. Luca had not only been panting, cursing, and soaked when she’d found him, but he’d been shivering. It hadn’t taken too long for her to figure out just why that was. Luca had told her everything.

  And she wasn’t sure how putting Luca in danger was supposed to bring Elentiya’s shift out, but apparently it had worked, because now that he’d mentioned it, her ears were as pointy as Aludra’s were round. Human ears were part of Elentiya’s natural form, unlike Fenna. And it hadn’t been something Fenna had even noticed – before today.

  “I’m going to murder him,” Fenna muttered, taking the bowl of water over to the sink and wringing out the cloth.

  “No, you’re not.”

  She whirled on him. “You think I wouldn’t do it?”

  Luca shrugged. “Not that I think you’re incapable of doing it, Fen. And I’m touched. But I mostly said no because I think Elentiya’s going to take care of it for you.”

  He had a point there. Suddenly exhausted, Fenna leaned against the sink and buried her face in her hands. How was it that it had already been a long day and they hadn’t even started preparing dinner yet?

  Even if Elentiya dealt with him, she might find some way to resurrect him and do the job again. Rowan Whitethorn, for all her protestations that he wasn’t an ass, had stepped over so many boundaries when he’d brought Luca into it. Fenna didn’t know how to make it clear to him that in this mission of his, using any of hers was an option that was off the table. Permanently.

  “I mean… it was actually pretty magnificent, when you think about it,” Luca said. Fenna’s head shot up to stare at him, but he was staring dreamily into the mid-distance. “The monster, the shift, she even got a properly magnificent sword out of it. I’m jealous. I wish I’d thought to grab… literally anything that was laying around in that cave.”

  Fenna gave a choking laugh. “I don’t know what I expected from you.”

  He eyed her knowingly. “You all right, Fen?”

  Was she all right? He asked after nearly freezing to death, practically nearly drowning, and then nearly being devoured by some monster from the deep? But it was Luca’s way, and his eyes didn’t have a trace of hauntedness in them, so she figured she was all right to respond. Giving him a tight smile she was sure didn’t meet her eyes, she shook her head.

  “Not really.”

  Luca jerked his head at the other chair beside him, the fire roaring. Fenna sat and, though she wasn’t nearly as freezing as he was, let it warm her bones.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  She sighed. “Yes… but I don’t know where to start.”

  “You want me to ask questions?”

  Yes and no, but the yes was stronger than the no. Fenna nodded.

  “So, when did you figure out that one was your favorite?”

  She eyed him teasingly. “Who said anything about favoritism?”

  Shrugging again, Luca said, “You’re telling me he’s not? Don’t worry. If I ever have cause to run into Fenrys again, I won’t tell him. But he’d be a fool to not notice anyway.”

  She shook her head, going back to the question. “I don’t know. Not really, anyway. It just sort of… progressed until I realized he was someone I wanted to keep around. And I can’t. Not permanently, anyway. So… I’m not sure what to do with that, but I’d like him to be around as much as possible. And I think he would also like that. And… there are so many complications.”

  Luca nodded. “And, like a good denier of reality, you’re electing to ignore them. Correct?”

  She laughed weakly. “Evidently.”

  He was quiet for a moment, oddly pensive for his usual demeanor.

  “You know, Fen… I’m not quite as dense as I let myself seem.”

  Her smile, while still weak, was genuine. “I know.”

  “And I’m not completely blind to the implications of what could happen here. But I’m also obviously not completely against risk-taking.” He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Now, do I like being consulted before taking them? Yes. Am I a fan of being left chained out on a frozen lake with a carnivorous being swimming directly underneath me? No. But… if they’re worth it, whether it’s just for the thrill or for something bigger, I tend to say ‘go right ahead.’”

  Fenna held his gaze a bit longer. “So you’re saying…?”

  A pair of very familiar voices came down the hall toward them, and Luca winced. As did Fenna, thinking of what would happen when Emrys and Malakai found them here. Despite having calmed down significantly, Luca still reeked of fear and Fenna was fairly certain she’d smell of it, as well. Not to mention Luca’s freshly cleaned wound.

  “I’m saying,” he said in a low voice, “that next time he’s here, you might want to do more than just spend the night with him chastely and invite him to breakfast the next morning.”

  She frowned at him. “Luca. How do you know it was chaste?”

  Shaking his head, Luca rose. “Fenna. I could smell him on you. That is a far cry from you smelling like you’d just – “

  She grabbed a towel from the counter and threw it at him. Laughing and catching it easily, he held his arms open. “You know you want one.”

  Luca did give remarkably good hugs. Emrys and Malakai trailed in but waited until Fenna stepped back. They knew. They knew she needed it, just as much as Luca likely did.

  It didn’t mean, however, that as soon as the embrace was done, Emrys didn’t exclaim in a voice several octaves higher than usual, “All right. What the rutting hell happened?”

The evening meal was long since done when Rowan and Elentiya slinked in – together. Fenna blinked. Obviously, it wasn’t the first time she’d seen them in the same room, but it was certainly the first time she’d seen them so clearly… together. As though whatever had happened after she and Luca left had sealed something she didn’t know needed to be sealed between them.

  She’d just wanted Rowan to stop beating Elentiya quite so badly. But more than that, there was something in the way he watched her now, something in the way the pair of them operated in the same room, even if they weren’t touching – it was similar to the way he eyed the blood-sworn, eyed Fenna, and yet was different.

  Whatever had happened, Elentiya had officially cemented herself as one of Rowan’s. And looked as though a huge burden had been removed from her shoulders.

  Not a moment too soon – because from the look of them both, it had been quite the brawl. And Elentiya hadn’t held back with Rowan.

  Emrys threw a towel over his shoulder and crossed his arms, glaring at them both. Biting her lip to suppress her smile, Fenna decided apparently obedience to his earlier request to leave Rowan to him had worked. She’d continue to let him do so.

  “I’ve never seen such a sorry sight,” he hissed. “Blood and dirt and leaves over every inch of you both.”

  Fenna’s eyes slid over to Luca, who was also suppressing a grin. His eyes widened, however, as he looked them over again. Following his gaze, Fenna rolled her own. Elentiya was still in Fae form. Honestly, did he really think Emrys and Malakai would care? Malakai’s own ears were pointed as the day was long, as were Fenna’s. Honestly, they’d probably be more concerned about that limp Elentiya was sporting. Not to mention her split knuckles, along with Rowan’s bleeding lip and two of the most brilliant black eyes Fenna had ever seen.

  Emrys was not done.

  “No better than alley cats, brawling at all hours of the day and night,” Emrys continued, slamming two bowls of stew Fenna hadn’t seen him dishing up down in front of them. “Eat, both of you. And then get cleaned up. Elentiya, you’re off kitchen duty tonight and tomorrow.”

  Elentiya made a small, scoffing noise, as though to object, but Emrys held up a hand to forestall her protestation. “I don’t want you bleeding on everything. You’ll be more trouble than you’re worth.”

  Hesitating for all of a moment, Elentiya finally slunk over to the bench Rowan already occupied and sat down next to him. Rather close, for how much they apparently hated each other. Fenna raised an eyebrow. All right, that had been quick.

  Elentiya swore filthily as she sat, rubbing her leg, and then, looking at Rowan, swore again. Fenna bit her lip and turned back to the sink as Emrys snapped, “Clean out your mouth, too, while you’re at it.”

  “Hypocrite,” Luca muttered.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Nothing.”

  Fenna glanced over at Luca, whose eyes were still trained on Elentiya and Rowan. From the sound of it, Rowan was digging into his stew in a way that suggested the warrior side of him, rather than the princely side. But judging by the way Luca was frantically tapping his ears, Elentiya noticed.

  A few moments passed, followed by a few moans from Elentiya as she ate that made Fenna almost wish she did have a Fae form. If your senses got better, didn’t it stand to reason things might taste better, too? Then there was a flash of light – similar to what she’d seen when the blood-sworn shifted – and Fenna turned around.

  Elentiya had changed, but only incrementally. Her features were less sharp, the top of her head maybe a few centimeters shorter, and those ears were now decidedly rounder. But she still looked a mess. That much, at least, did not change. She just wouldn’t heal quite as fast in this form.

  Still moving with short, angry movements, Emrys slapped a loaf of bread down in front of the two combatants and said, “Makes no difference to me whether your ears are pointy or round, or what your teeth look like. But,” he gave Rowan a side glance here, “I can’t deny I’m glad to see you got in a few punches this time.”

  Rowan might have choked. Either way, he was staring at Emrys as though he couldn’t believe the kitchenmaster had dared.

  Emrys still was not finished. Brandishing a spoon at Rowan just as fiercely as he might have a knife, he demanded, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough of beating each other into a pulp?”

  Malakai’s eyes darted back and forth frantically between the prince and his mate, but Fenna wasn’t worried. She knew Emrys would have to go a lot farther than this to push Rowan into harming him.

  “What good does it accomplish, other than providing me with a scullery maid whose face scares the wits out of our sentries, not to mention my other workers? You think any of us like to hear you two cursing and screaming every afternoon? The language you use is enough to curdle all the milk in Wendlyn. And Doranelle.”

  It may have been a bit of an exaggeration – Fenna had never heard them screaming. At least, never enough that she could make out what they were saying. But if Emrys was serious, she was rather glad of that. But she found her mouth inching toward a smile nonetheless.

  And, to her surprise, Elentiya’s was, as well.

  Rubbing her eyes with the back of a hand, Elentiya let out a sigh and stared at Emrys for a moment before getting up, going to him, and getting on her knees.

  Fenna shot a look at Luca, who was just as wide-eyed as she was. Well, it may be a bit melodramatic. But it was fittingly so. Fenna watched as Elentiya, eyes trained on the floor, sighed again and began to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “For everything. For the way I behave, for this morning, for all of it.” She raised her eyes to Emrys, then Luca, Fenna, and Malakai in turn. “You don’t deserve it, none of you. And it’s not me, the person you’ve known.” Something in her tone told Fenna she meant more than that just the behavior. And it occurred to her she still didn’t know the girl. Not in the smallest bit.

  “Not that who I normally am isn’t a bit of an ass, as well,” Elentiya said. “She is. And arrogant, and cruel, and all of those awful things. But… she would never have said those things. She was wretched, but not nearly as wretched as I’ve become. I can’t promise you I’ll get back to her.” Her voice trailed off. “I’m not sure if I can, or if I want to.” Taking a steadying breath, she glanced back at Fenna, then looked Emrys in the eye again. “But I can promise I will try to be better than who I am now. And I can promise that I will never, never speak to any of you that way again.”

  Emrys eyed her warily for a moment. Fenna wondered if he was actually going to turn down the apology. He and Luca, of all of them, would be well within their rights to do so. But he didn’t. He simply sat down on the bench across from Rowan and peered at her.

  “We can ask no more than that,” he said.

  As though his words themselves were a form of magic, a rush of calm flashed through the room, dispelling the tension. Fenna inched a bit closer to Luca and sighed, leaning against his shoulder. It was a much friendlier gesture than it might have been with a certain other person, but… Luca was still remarkably good at giving hugs. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed.

  She was glad to have this family of hers. She was glad Elentiya, though a bit of a latecomer, might slowly become part of it, if she would allow herself to be drawn in. Perhaps it was too much to hope Rowan might, as well. But she hadn’t completely given up on him, either.

  She hadn’t given up on any of them.

  Emrys beheld Elentiya cautiously a bit longer. His eyes slid up to Fenna, then back down to the other girl.

  “I know who you are, you know,” he said. Glancing over his shoulder at Malakai, he sighed. “We both do.”

  Elentiya stiffened but said nothing.

  “There’s none who will harm you here,” he said. “You’ve nothing to fear from any of us. But… it won’t endear you to Maeve. Most likely, she will want to use you.” He looked now at Rowan. “Prince Rowan knows that, as well. You might be better served abandoning your quest altogether.”

  Elentiya shook her head. “I can’t.” She looked back at Fenna for a moment. Fenna wasn’t sure what was playing through her head just there, but whatever it was, it was something Fenna couldn’t begin to understand.

  Lowering her head, Elentiya asked, “How did you know?”

  Giving a sad smile, Emrys replied, “Your eyes gave you away. If nothing else. You look just like her.”

  Fenna stared at him, blinking. Elentiya’s eyes – Elentiya’s eyes were her eyes. If her eyes gave her away…

  What might Emrys know about her?

  “Your mother worked to help us, long before you were born,” he said. “Offended Maeve quite severely in the process. I imagine she kept on offending her, as well. The question is… have you inherited your mother’s spirit?”

  Though she couldn’t see her face, Fenna could hear the smile in Elentiya’s voice as she said, “I imagine I’ll offend the Queen of the Fae quite a bit before I’m finished with her.”

  “Yes, well,” Emrys said, standing suddenly. Still guarded, even after revealing that bit of information. “You’d do well to keep your identity to yourself, even if none here would harm you. Word gets out rather quickly, and there are plenty in this world who would.” He held Elentiya’s gaze firmly. “For all of our sakes.”

  Fenna didn’t understand what passed between the old male and the young female, but either way, Elentiya nodded and accepted the hand Emrys held out, going to finish her meal beside Rowan in silence.

  Turning back to her task at hand, Fenna began scrubbing at another dish. What… what could Emrys have meant? Who was Elentiya’s mother? Curiosity ate at her, but she knew she couldn’t ask. Emrys hadn’t mentioned names. He wouldn’t mention them, she knew, if it might endanger Elentiya.

  But if Elentiya had her mother’s eyes… whose eyes did Fenna have?

  It was a question that wouldn’t let her sleep tonight, that was for certain. But at least it distracted her from what else would have kept her wide awake.

Chapter Text

No decent person should ever rise at this gods-damned hour, but Celaena wanted to be the first person in the kitchen this morning. She had questions for Emrys. Questions that perhaps Malakai could overhear, but not Luca. And certainly not Fenna.

  She’d tried again and again to puzzle out just what it was that could keep Fenna from remembering her, and only come to one conclusion – Maeve must have done something when Fenna had been sent to her. A cruel blow on Evalin Ashryver’s part – to deny the child Maeve was truly interested in and send a substitute in her place.

  It wasn’t that Fenna didn’t have magnificent magic. Celaena had always liked it, even if she never would have admitted it out loud. It was that it didn’t appeal to Maeve’s fascinations.

  There were rumors that the queen could take memories, even alter them. And while Celaena hadn’t been privy to all the reasons for sending Fenna here, she knew enough to know that perhaps that hadn’t been a drawback. Either way, she needed to find out what the kitchenmaster knew.

  And if there was anything to be done about it.

  She’d been wary to have Emrys even so much as tell her he knew. But now, she’d be addressing it directly. Now, she’d be bringing it out into the open.

  She didn’t directly have to say anything, she reminded herself. She could very well just… say it as vaguely as possible and get it out that way.

  The trouble was, she’d gotten all the way to the kitchen door, the heavenly aroma of coffee filling her nostrils, and she realized she had no idea how she was going to do that.

  Wishing for her Fae form suddenly, if for no other reason than to see if the coffee smelled even better, Celaena pushed the kitchen door open and breathed a sigh of relief to find that it was, in fact, just Emrys in the kitchen.

  He didn’t look any happier to see her than she’d expected him to be. In fact, she didn’t expect him to be happy to see her for a good long while. But his objection, once voiced, caught her somewhat off-guard.

  “I thought I told you that you were off kitchen-duty today.”

  Celaena blinked. It was definitely a different sort of anger than she’d expected. And she hadn’t seen the sheer level of concern coming – though maybe that just showed what a fool she was.

  “I am,” she said. Giving a weak laugh, she added, “And if you think I won’t be going immediately back to sleep after I’m done here, think again.” When he raised a brow, she clarified, “Rowan’s given me the day off, too. I think he needs it almost as much as I do.”

  “Hmm.” The tip of Emrys’s mouth quirking upward looked almost… proud? Celaena found it hard to believe but went with it. Her bed was calling, so perhaps she should get to the point.

  “You know who I am,” she said. “And you’re still calling me Elentiya.”

  He shrugged. “That was the name you gave me. Should I call you anything different?”

  “Rowan insists on calling me by my real name.” She shook her head. “I honestly don’t know what that is anymore.”

  “Whichever you’d like it to be. Depends how you want to identify yourself. But I will not call you by the name your parents gave you unless you tell me explicitly to do so.”

  She was grateful for his understanding, even if it was beyond anything she’d ever been able to fathom. She sat down at the table and, catching his eye, gestured to the spot across from her. Raising a brow, Emrys came and sat across from her. The resigned look in his eyes told her he knew what she was about to ask.

  “You know who I am,” Celaena repeated. “Do you know who Fenna is, then?”

  He stared at her a moment longer before nodding.

  “Ever since she first came to us,” he said. Eyeing a knot in the table, he added, “Granted, I had no idea how she would have come to be living in a village in the north. Nor did I know how she’d gotten to this continent in the first place.” He peered at her. “To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t even aware she existed before she arrived here.”

  Celaena shook her head. “Not many people were,” she said. “They wanted… to keep her in the shadows. For her own safety.” Biting back tears she was loathe to shed, she asked, “How did you know for certain?”

  “Well, for one thing, there is the matter of scenting bloodlines. I knew she was definitely an Ashryver. But to be perfectly honest, I didn’t know for certain who Fenna was until you arrived.” He smiled wryly. “Don’t worry. Not many will be scenting for it, and bloodline is definitely something you have to search for. But I did. The pair of you… you smell exactly the same.”

  Sighing, Celaena leaned back in her chair. She honestly hadn’t quite dared to believe it until just now. After all, there was always the possibility she was incorrect and the person she’d been dealing with the past months had been someone who looked remarkably like Fenna. And had the same name. And those damning eyes.

  “Yes, you were a bit more obvious,” Emrys said. “Fenna isn’t quite as much of a dead ringer for the Ashryver line but for the eyes. I assume that’s the Galathynius blood in her?”

  Celaena nodded. “She always looked more like – “ Remembering her vow to be as vague as possible, she shook her head. “If you don’t know how she ended up where she was before now, then you wouldn’t be able to tell me why she doesn’t remember me, would you?”

  Shaking his head sadly, Emrys said, “No. That’s not something I’m privy to. But… Story Keepers are not Memory Keepers. However, I can somewhat tell when someone has been touched by one. She’s been touched by at least two. Once before she arrived at Mistward. Then after she came back from her adventure with the blood-sworn this winter. I would have known that much even if she hadn’t told me.”

  Celaena frowned. “How is it that Story Keepers can tell when someone has been touched by a Memory Keeper?”

  “We both deal in memories,” he said. “All Story Keepers are carranam compatible with all Memory Keepers. It’s easy to tell that way – our magics speak to each other. But while Memory Keepers deal in individual memories, Story Keepers deal in the memories of the world.”

  That was incredibly beautiful and poetic, and Celaena would have to write it down somewhere when she remembered. But it also wasn’t what had brought her here. She eyed Emrys pointedly.

  “But you have an idea of who the first one was, don’t you?”

  His stare told her he had no idea, but his brow furrowed. “Maeve?”

  Celaena nodded. She could practically see that territorial Fae instinct rising up in him and found herself feeling it as well.

  “You understand, then… why I would prefer to keep my identity, and our… connection secret, for now?”

  Emrys nodded. And Celaena knew, whatever else may rest between them, she’d just secured an ally. She had no doubt she’d have little difficulty convincing Rowan to ally in it, should he ever care to search for her bloodline scent. He’d had no cause for it. He knew who she was. But if he found out just how she and Fenna were related, he’d understand the implications of the fact that she’d been touched by Maeve’s memory magic.

  But for now, her ally was Emrys, and they were determined in much the same vein – keeping Maeve as far away from Fenna as possible.

Fenna caught Rowan just outside his door. Things had calmed down significantly the night before, but she’d woken this morning with a fury in her that, no matter what Elentiya had spent on him, she had her own piece to say as well.

  She had no idea what she’d do, what she’d say. So, it was really no surprise that as soon as she saw him, she hauled back and slapped him across that stiffened jaw as hard as she could.

  As soon as her hand made contact with his face, Fenna gasped and pulled it back. It had been more instinct than anything else. She didn’t know how she’d expected him to react. However, staring at her as though he wasn’t sure what sort of creature she was had not been it. He stood there and blinked, looking down at her without a trace of emotion other than confusion.

  Remembering why she’d come, Fenna straightened to her full height – still over a foot shorter than him. “I’m not sorry,” she said.

  No, especially considering the fact that he wasn’t even pretending she’d done any damage. He simply continued to stare at her.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to be.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” she hissed at him. “Beating Elentiya to a pulp is one thing, but Luca? If you wanted to get her motivated, you could have taken me! At least I know how to deal with you. But Luca? I might just poison your food tonight!”

  “You wouldn’t. You’d poison the entire batch if you did.”

  “Don’t use logic on me right now, Rowan Whitethorn!”

  He was quiet for a moment before responding. “You know you aren’t telling me anything she already hasn’t punched into me, right?”

  And it had been immensely satisfying to see him just as bloodied as Elentiya usually was. But Fenna was finding it increasingly less satisfying the longer she stared at it. Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head.

  “I know,” she whispered, voice tiny.

  Rowan didn’t seem to know where to go from there.

  “It wouldn’t kill you to apologize, you know,” she said. “I don’t imagine Elentiya feels much differently about me than Luca. If you thought of no one else, you could have thought of me.”

  And maybe it was stupid of her to think that he would. But she was suddenly livid that he would dare to touch someone that she loved for something as arbitrary as getting Elentiya to shift.

  “I did,” he said simply.

  All right. Apparently, he thought it would have been preferable had he not put her through what he’d done Luca. And he wasn’t necessarily wrong – Luca had bounced back from it rather quickly. But Fenna wasn’t willing to let the part of her that was somewhat touched Rowan considered her off-limits have sway.

  Rowan would apparently apologize to her the day he died.

  “Did Gavriel get off all right?” he asked.

  Another wave of emotion threatened to take her out entirely, but Fenna nodded, her glare lessening just slightly.

  “Without incident, if that’s what you mean.”

  Rowan looked as though he was trying to find something to say and coming up empty. Finally, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

  “You know he was always going to go back,” he said. “It’s the one thing we can’t escape – going back to Maeve at the end of everything. We can spend as much as she allows away from her, but in the end… her service is the thing our lives spin on. Her service is what our lives mean, Fenna.”

  She stared up at him. “You’re many things, Rowan, but you’re not an automaton. And if you don’t want me to slap you again, at least sound somewhat angry when you say that.”

  His face hardened again. “What if I’m not angry about it?”

  “You’re telling me you’re content this way? Being bound to one person for the rest of time? A person who would honestly mean nothing to you if you hadn’t sworn some foolish oath centuries ago?”

  Some of Elentiya’s flames sprang up in his eyes. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I feel no loyalty to Maeve. She found me when I was nothing. Do you understand me? Nothing.”

  “Lorcan found you,” she growled. Rowan froze and blinked at her. “I don’t know the whole story, but Gavriel told me on the way back here last winter. He told me quite a few things about Lorcan, however, and all of that tells me you should feel more loyalty to him than that witch on the throne!”

  Rowan glanced about as though afraid Maeve were crouched around the corner, then turned back to her. “Be careful what you say,” he warned. It was no longer anger but fear that filled his tone. Some of that anger crept back in and hardened his tone to flint as he said, “I owe Lorcan nothing. And if Gavriel thinks differently, he’s a fool.”

  Fury of her own coursing through her – again – Fenna drew herself up again and prepared to respond, but Rowan had turned around and started stalking away from her.

  “Nothing other than your life,” she muttered. “Several times over.”

  She didn’t know if that Fae hearing would kick in. But it did. Rowan’s back stiffened, and he turned around halfway.

  “This is the way it is, Fenna,” he said. “Convincing me I owe Maeve nothing isn’t going to change the fact that I am bound to her. So is Lorcan. So are Fenrys, and Connall, and Vaughan. So is Gavriel. And no matter what we do, that fact will catch up with us eventually.” There was something resembling desperation in his voice now. “And those connected with us. The sooner you realize that, the safer you will be.”

  And, having delivered his decided negation to Luca’s encouragement, he went off to who knew where. Fenna didn’t care where he went. She was just glad, for the moment, that it was away from her.

  For all that he and Elentiya seemed to have reached an understanding, she wondered if she and Rowan had just broken theirs.

Chapter Text

Maeve or no Maeve, Lorcan was going to take Cairn apart and take immense satisfaction in doing so. There were other things he and Gavriel needed to address. Such as just where, exactly, he’d been this whole time.

  Lorcan didn’t think it coincidence that Gavriel had had an audience with her and went on leave immediately before she released Fenna’s memories. He truly hadn’t known Fenna had given her memories to Greynar, but to be fair, he hadn’t exactly put in effort to keep her separate from the Berellan chancellor once he’d found out about the Memory Keeper’s gift.

  Honestly, nothing would have delighted him more than if someone beat his queen at her own game. He didn’t know why, but Maeve’s way with memories had always troubled him. Well, more than the many other things wrong with her had. He knew in theory why he was uncomfortable with it – the way she chose to use it.

  Memory Keeping could be harmless. It could be helpful. Or, in the hands of someone like Maeve, it could be a tool used to make lives more complicated. He didn’t know what she’d had in mind with Fenna’s memories – likely still had in mind – but it couldn’t be good.

  All of that would be dealt with. None of it served to make him calmer as Gavriel related the tale of his defeat – in full.

  “It’s not something to deal with immediately,” Gavriel was saying now. “But something to be aware of.”

  Lorcan stared at him blankly. He could feel every muscle in his body tensing as though he were ready to pounce. The trouble was, there was nothing and no one to pounce on at the moment. Fortunately, that was a fact that could quickly be remedied – he knew where Cairn’s apartments were.

  “Not something to deal with immediately?” Lorcan demanded. “A soldier who’s barely an officer – practically a grunt – organizes a full-scale coup on a member of the blood-sworn and is aided by other high-ranking officials in the army? What part of that doesn’t strike you as immediate?”

  Already selecting just how he was going to torment Cairn, Lorcan started toward the door. Gavriel grabbed him by the arm.

  “Look, Lorcan. You know he’s always been one of Maeve’s favorites. You know now that she’s gotten him back here, she’s not going to let him go that easily. And after this winter, she may want me out. If she’s going to eliminate anyone for him, it’s going to be me or Vaughan and you know it. And Vaughan hasn’t offended her recently enough.”

  He was right. Lorcan and Rowan were too powerful, and she would get rid of Fenrys and Connall only when someone better-looking came along. Which was unlikely to happen any time soon. Lorcan hated it, but he was right.

  It didn’t mean he had to admit it. And if he went and flayed Cairn alive, as he wanted to, it would only end in Maeve getting rid of him and placing Cairn in a position where he could do maximum damage. Including – Lorcan shuddered here – commander of the blood-sworn. Maeve could technically do it. They were her blood-sworn. She didn’t need to go through all the rank-and-file nonsense she had to get him to the top, she just normally chose to.

  With Cairn, she wouldn’t hesitate. His character traits were too useful for her ruthlessness to ignore. And he wasn’t the most intelligent creature on the planet, which would make him remarkably easy to bend to her will.

  Lorcan only pretended to be stupid – when it pleased him to do so. It made him easy to underestimate. He may have the twins fooled. He may even have Rowan fooled. Vaughan… well, compared to Vaughan, he was an imbecile, so Vaughan didn’t count.

  But there were two people who’d known him long enough that he had long since stopped being able to fool them – Gavriel and Maeve. Which meant Maeve might be looking for an opportunity to have him out.

  In a way, Lorcan wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d plotted this whole thing to get both him and Gavriel out. Cairn didn’t possess the mental capacity to come up with it on his own. Maeve had certainly had some hand in it – and maybe she’d known Lorcan would murder Cairn afterward, thus giving her reason to have him executed.

  But that would mean she was down one Cairn, as well, which inherently negated his theory. Gods, he was starting to sound like Vaughan.

  “Lorcan,” Gavriel said, voice as hard as Lorcan had ever heard it, “calm down. We’re all still alive – for now. Cairn isn’t getting anywhere near this position until that’s done, unless Maeve decides to go against systems she put in place. So, breathe. You can deal with him the next time he steps out of line.”

  “And if the next time he steps out of line is to slit one of our throats in our sleep?”

  Gavriel held his stare, unflinching. “We start sleeping with our doors and windows locked.”

  Lorcan could practically feel the blood draining from his face. “You don’t sleep with your door locked?”

  They were all going to die, most likely Gavriel first.

  “I live in Maeve’s palace. I haven’t had cause to feel insecure until now. My sleeping habits are beside the point, Lorcan.”

  Lorcan jerked away from him. He hadn’t quite released his grip on the knife in his hand, but walked away from the door, anyway. He’d already decided Gavriel was right. He’d probably act like it in a moment. But for now, he was still fuming.

  “Cairn’s a bastard who needs to be dealt with anyway,” Lorcan growled. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t take that opportunity.”

  “Because getting yourself killed isn’t going to help the rest of us. Think, Lorcan.” Stepping back, folding his arms, and scoffing under his breath, Gavriel shook his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you. I only did it because – “

  Oh, now he had Lorcan’s attention. Whipping around to stare at him, Lorcan asked, “Because what?”

  And, like a much younger male – say, a teenager – Gavriel looked him straight in the eye, jaw jutted out defiantly, and replied, “Nothing.”

  Lorcan could have cheerfully choked him and saved Cairn the trouble.

  “Where were you the last five days?”

  “I already told you. I was visiting relatives in the north.”

  “I thought it was the west.”

  Gavriel blinked. “Right. The west.”

  “You don’t have relatives in either the north or the west, Gavriel. Your brother, any extended family you have, lives in Doranelle.”

  “My mother had a cousin living in the western provinces.” From his tone, it wasn’t entirely false. It was just also not entirely false, either.

  “And how many times have you met this cousin?”

  Gavriel glared at him, but Lorcan wouldn’t budge. Even if her scent wasn’t completely entwined with his – a fact Lorcan was decidedly not going to make Gavriel aware of – there was only one other person who might convince Gavriel to reveal information he didn’t think was worth the effort. One person who would know beyond a shadow of doubt that Lorcan needed to hear it.

  And as grateful as he was for her sensibility in the matter, right now Lorcan wished he’d never heard the name “Fenna of Mistward.”

  There was no point in accusing Gavriel at this point. The other male knew Lorcan was onto him, and judging by the way he was glaring, was going to be just as hard to move on this topic as he’d been the last time.

  How had Lorcan actually thought he’d realized Lorcan – and Meira, for that matter – had been correct was beyond him.

  “You’re a fool,” was all he said.

  Gavriel’s jaw twitched. “There are worse things to be a fool for.”

  “I can’t believe you’re actually considering doing this – again. Did last time teach you nothing?”

  Another jaw twitch. “Don’t go there, Lorcan. We’ve established I’m not angry for the role you played in that. You had a point then. You have a point now. But I shouldn’t have cared then, and I don’t care now. There are things worth sticking your neck out for.”

  “Have you run this by Fenna?” Lorcan demanded. “Have you let her know it’s not just your own neck on the line? Have you thought about this?”

  Lorcan also didn’t know why he usually forgot his resolution to only make Gavriel angry once a century until he’d done so. In the three centuries he’d known him, he’d never once done that successfully. It was more like twice a century. He supposed he should just be glad Gavriel wasn’t across the room with his hands around his throat by now. As it was, he was visibly trembling, hands fisted at his sides.

  “Stay out of it, Lorcan. And stay away from Fenna.”

  He was probably twisting it in his head somehow to make it sound like let-her-make-her-own-decisions rather than make-sure-she-has-all-the-pertinent-information. Lorcan felt the gag order tugging at him so tightly it made him nauseous.

  He could tell Gavriel everything he knew – at least part of which he was almost certain Gavriel had already figured out. Why else would he be fighting him so hard on this? He could tell him Maeve had had her eye on Fenna long before this winter. He could tell him that under the best of circumstances he might get her killed in any number of horrific ways. Gavriel was just noble enough to not care about himself in that area. Lorcan wouldn’t get anywhere with that. He could tell him that under the worst of circumstances, Maeve had something even more horrendous in mind.

  Except he couldn’t. Because he had an order ten years standing, that he hadn’t had any interest in finding a way around until just now. Because he could also twist this to make it seem like he was letting Gavriel make his own decisions. But the fact of the matter remained, it was a matter of Gavriel not having all the pertinent information.

  He knew what he’d figured out. But he had no idea of the rest of it.

  And Lorcan couldn’t enlighten him on the matter. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. Because knowing Gavriel, rather than leaving Fenna alone, he’d go to some crazy length to keep her safe that would ultimately end in him martyring himself.

  Lorcan doubted even Fenna was persuasive enough to curb him of that instinct.

  So, he simply glared Gavriel down and said, “Fine. If you want to get her killed, on your own head be it. Just don’t blame me if what actually happens turns out to be infinitely worse.”

  It was the closest he could and would get to breaking that gag order.

  Gavriel glared back at him for a moment before stalking out, slamming the door so hard Lorcan wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire stone palace shook. Lorcan waited for the sound of his footsteps to fade down the hall before throwing the knife into the headboard with all possible force, picturing Cairn’s eye socket.

It was rare Lorcan provoked him that much. And Gavriel had paced his rooms for all of two minutes before realizing he wasn’t going to calm down here. But the idea of doing anything else to take his mind off the altercation with Lorcan just made him go even crazier.

  Sitting down on his bed, he’d rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his head into his hands, inhaling deeply a few times, his fingers digging into his hair. He’d tried to think of what normally calmed him and one thing overwhelmingly eclipsed his thoughts. It terrified him how much he already needed Fenna, and he’d only been away from her for a few days.

  And yet he was completely and utterly convinced her presence was the only thing that could calm his racing mind and heart. Even as he’d leaned over, he could feel every fiber of his being calling for her, as he’d done in the Berellan prisons.

  He needed to think. And suddenly it had occurred to him what the next best option to having Fenna here with him was.

  So here he found himself, in one of the quieter, more unfrequented gardens in Doranelle. A hidden bench in a corner served as his thinking spot. Breathing in the scent of the blooms around him, Gavriel leaned against the stone wall at his back and sighed.

  Well, it wasn’t lavender and evening mist. But it was something.

  Lorcan wasn’t wrong, about any of it, and Gavriel knew all of that. What Lorcan didn’t seem to realize was he’d been telling himself that for the last few months, and it hadn’t dampened the pull at all. If anything, it had only made it stronger.

  It felt inevitable, that even without the attack on the Berellans, he would have ended up sneaking off to find Fenna again eventually. He was fairly certain he knew exactly what he was getting himself into. And he was fairly certain he was willing to step into it.

  He might have been a fool. But he’d rather be a fool for this than anything else. And if Maeve got wind of it, if she went anywhere near Fenna or Mistward…

  He’d have to break the blood oath to do it, but he’d kill her. There were worse things to die for. And this was nothing other than the conclusion he should have reached twenty-five years ago. He wasn’t sure who to thank for a second chance.

  But regardless, he was grateful. Somewhat terrified. But grateful.

  Gavriel was just thinking that he should have come to the gardens long before this when someone all but materialized to his left.

  “Have you developed a sudden appreciation for growing things, or -?”

  Nearly falling off the bench was probably not the most dignified thing he’d ever done in his life, but it didn’t change the fact that he had to regain his balance as he turned to find Connall standing over him, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smirking.

  “You could say that,” Gavriel said. He eyed the younger male, who, despite the smirk, looked as though he had just suffered an intruder. Gavriel thought it was more the other way around. “What brings you out here?”

  Connall raised a brow at him. “Do you think I don’t spend a fair bit of time in the garden, Gavriel? I don’t think it’s a secret I like pretty things. You happen to have stolen my favorite spot.”

  Right. It would make sense, as he didn’t come here all that often, that he might have been in someone else’s space. Gavriel started to rise.

  “Sorry about that – “

  “Gavriel, sit,” Connall said, waving him over and taking a seat on the bench as well. “I don’t mind company. Unless you want to be alone.”

  A moment ago, he’d wanted to be, but oddly enough now… Gavriel shrugged and shook his head. “Not particularly.”

  Connall looked as though he had an objective in mind. He eyed a particularly large blossom hanging directly in front of his face and seemed to think about how best to phrase his question.

  “So… how was your time off?”

  That was not what Gavriel had expected to come out of his mouth, but all right, then. If he had to come up with some reason for why his response was the way it was, he would. But he didn’t feel like being another other than honest with Connall right then.

  Letting a smile tilt his mouth upward as he remembered, Gavriel replied, “Better than I could have asked.”

  Connall gave him a look. “Uh huh.”

  That was also not how Gavriel had expected him to respond. “I mean… it had been a few decades since I’d been to see my mother’s cousin, so of course it was good to – “

  Connall began laughing, low at first, then rising to a semi-controlled cackle. “You are a horrible liar, did you know that?”

  Gavriel stared at him. It wasn’t that he disagreed, he just wasn’t sure what Connall was getting at. Or how he could know.

  “Gavriel. You head off for five days. You leave traumatized and come back looking like someone’s hit you over the head with a club in a good way. Lorcan’s not happy about whatever it is. You should have seen him in the hallway just now. He looked like he was about ready to rip the head off whoever spoke to him next just because they were conveniently there. On top of it all” – he eyed Gavriel knowingly here – “you’ve got a female scent wound with yours.”

  Gavriel blinked. He had… what?

  “Don’t worry. I’ve learned over the last century or so how to hide it – which you’re going to need here soon, if you make a habit out of this.”

  Fenna’s scent was wound through his. Most people didn’t regularly scent themselves, but still… Gavriel couldn’t quite believe he hadn’t noticed. He would contemplate that – and all its implications – later.

  There was absolutely no getting around it. He was caught. Gavriel glanced back and forth down the pathway. They were in a relatively hidden corner, but the unfortunate side of that was that someone could technically sneak up on them at any moment. And anyone else overhearing this conversation was the last thing he needed.

  “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?” Connall hissed, grinning, looking as though he’d just opened a box of the finest chocolate from Rifthold. When Gavriel didn’t respond, he prompted, “Aren’t you?”

  Casting one more glance down the path, Gavriel replied, voice low, “Yes and no. It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Tell me. Tell me everything. You have no idea how bored I’ve been the last decade, Gavriel. I need a good romance to shake things up every once in a while.” There was an avaricious gleam in his eye that might have made Gavriel somewhat uncomfortable if he didn’t know Connall was more or less harmless.

  “Who is it?” Connall insisted. “Someone at Mistward?”

  “Mistward?”

  Both males jumped, adding further to Gavriel’s growing sense of indignity, as they turned to find a tiny, familiar female looking at them. Judging by the look on her face, Gavriel wondered just how much she’d heard. Fortunately, he trusted her enough to not be concerned by it.

  “Good morning, Essar.”

  Essar’s smile grew. “Good morning, Gavriel. Connall.”

  Connall managed a tight smile, looking politely uncomfortable. “Essar.”

  Glancing back and forth between the pair of them, Gavriel tried to remember when things had begun growing tense. They’d been friends at one point in time, as he understood it. And he didn’t think it had ever been anything more than that, but he thought it was around the time Essar and Lorcan had begun seeing each other that things changed.

  They hadn’t changed back afterward, so Gavriel had no idea. He hadn’t asked, however. For one thing, he’d still been reeling from everything with Meira at that point. For another, it was none of his business. Things weren’t exactly tense now, but Gavriel knew he was probably going to be the only one in this conversation who didn’t know exactly where any awkwardness stemmed from.

  “I just overheard the pair of you discussing Mistward,” Essar said, eyeing Gavriel warily enough that he was certain she’d overheard at least part of their conversation. “I’ll be staying there in a few weeks’ time. Anything I should know?”

  Gavriel let a corner of his mouth tip upward. “The food is excellent and you should ask about their gardens.” This was one person he thought Fenna would get along with swimmingly.

  Essar’s smile matched his. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  “What’s taking you to Mistward, of all places?” Connall asked, and Gavriel had never been more grateful for the derision in his voice, though he thought some of it might have been forced.

  “I’m part of a diplomatic mission,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s a nice way of saying Maeve asked me to be Remelle’s companion. She must want it to go well.”

  Ah, Remelle. An ex-lover of Rowan’s whose position as lead female attaché to Maeve Gavriel had no idea how she acquired. Most likely bought it. Either way, Maeve only sent Essar with her on missions she desperately needed to succeed. Remelle was fine until you got some wine into her, and at that point, she’d let you know exactly how low of scum she thought you were.

  Which was when Essar usually stepped in to smooth things over. Well, he was glad if they had to put up with Remelle at Mistward, they’d at least have Essar. They did not share the same view of demi-Fae.

  “Who else is in the party?” he asked, leaning forward. Normally, it might have seemed an out-of-character question, but he did have a vested interest in Mistward, after all.

  Essar raised a brow. “Benson.”

  The only person who might have set him off more was Cairn. Gavriel sat straight up, staring at her. “Benson?” he demanded. “Didn’t he get put on leave after the last one?” Something about harassing the daughters of the lord he’d been sent to convince to lend aid to Doranelle.

  Essar’s face told him she was about as happy with it as he was.

  “Don’t ask me why Her Majesty does what she does,” she said in a low voice. “She always has her reasons. Whether they’re good ones, of course…” Her voice trailed off, and she let them fill in the blank. Essar hadn’t made a secret of her dislike of the queen… with discretion, of course. Gavriel suspected he, Connall, and Lorcan were some of the few outside Essar’s family who knew.

  “I’ll see the pair of you,” she said, starting to head off. “Most likely after I get back. I’ll let you know what I think of Mistward’s… gardens.”

  Gavriel had no idea how she knew what that had meant. But she’d definitely heard them before interrupting.

  “Good luck,” Connall called. There was something sad in his eyes as he watched her go, but not anything that made Gavriel question the nature of their relationship before Lorcan. He didn’t quite understand what had happened. But something had.

  Benson was going to Mistward… and his type was tiny, impressionable females who didn’t look as though they’d put up much of a fight. He’d tried his advances on Essar once… and was quickly stopped by Lorcan. In fact, now Essar was one of the only people who could glare Benson into submission. The male had a fetish for females who were virgins. As though he were collecting them.

  Gavriel suppressed a shudder – and the urge to trail the diplomatic party and then walk into Mistward after them, unannounced, letting his mere presence in the kitchens declare to Benson just how welcome his advances were. But then again, he didn’t know. Maybe Benson would behave.

  And maybe Essar, a known pacifist, would renounce her vows and go to war the next time it came at her sister’s side. Gavriel was at least glad she’d be there. Fenna needed an ally – besides Rowan. He had no doubt Rowan would intervene, if he noticed.

  He just had no doubt Essar would notice.

  “All right, she’s gone,” Connall hissed. “Will you tell me who now? I think I know. But tell me.”

  Gavriel glanced around again. It surprised him how much he wanted to say yes. He couldn’t talk about this with Lorcan for obvious reasons. Vaughan was… well, not someone he wanted to talk to about things of a romantic nature. He understood them on a very cerebral level. And Fenrys… it wasn’t that he didn’t trust the younger male. He just… didn’t want Fenrys to get as happy as he likely would about it.

  Connall, as far as Gavriel knew, had no attachment to Fenna whatsoever, beyond what Fenrys had told him. He’d be excited purely for the story’s sake.

  He wanted to say yes. But he didn’t like how easily Essar had snuck up on them, without even trying. Looking back and forth one last time, Gavriel whispered, “Not here. Are you free tomorrow night?”

  Connall’s grin stretched wider than Gavriel had seen it in years.

  “I’ll bring the chocolate.”

Chapter Text

There were many times Fenna had regretted not asking the Berellan sentry who’d discreetly gotten her those herbs what the herb was, and what its natures and properties were that made it helpful for menstrual cramps. She could, in theory, grow an herb that looked just like it, but it would be useless unless she knew what went into it.

  Today was one of them. Aludra’s cycle had started the day before, and she’d been cramping horribly all afternoon. Emrys had sent Fenna out to get something that might soothe the pain. As Fenna searched for the proper herb – of which she had many that were useful but none of which were foolproof – she cursed her own lack of foresight then.

  Of course, she had been distracted by the impending battle, among other things.

  But naturally she’d also forgotten to ask the actual healer she’d had on hand if he knew anything about the properties of the herbs.

  Then again, she thought as she snipped some lavender and grew it back into place, she wondered if Gavriel had ever even bothered to learn about herbs. If it was something his mother had taught him, or if it was something that was rather useless when you could just hover a hand over a female’s abdomen, send a pulse of golden light into her, and ease her pain in a moment’s time.

  Brushing a sweaty strand of hair out of her eyes, Fenna smiled as she remembered how livid Tyron had been when he’d found out Fenna had dared to have a visitor with healing magic and didn’t bring him by the hospital wing. He’d come bursting into the kitchen and never minded Emrys’s protest that they were too busy for this nonsense as he’d glared at Fenna.

  Fenna had half-smirked at him. “It’s not like he wasn’t also a member of the blood-sworn, Tyron. Did that at all catch your interest?”

  Tyron waved her off.

  “If you settle, when you get to be as old as I am, if you’ve met one blood-sworn, you’ve met them all. However, do you know how often I get the opportunity to utilize someone with real healing magic? They never come from the compounds down the way. I could have – “

  “Utilize?” Luca muttered out of the corner of his mouth as Tyron rattled off all the ways Gavriel might have been useful. “He makes him some like some kind of contraption.”

  Thinking that a rather accurate descriptor of Tyron’s word choice, Fenna attempted to give him a proper listening ear, but all she could truly think was that if Tyron thought he’d be getting an iota of her time with Gavriel, at least this round, he was sadly mistaken.

  Depending on if he was able to come back, and for how long… well, she might consider lending him for an hour or so next time.

  Emrys had had quite enough by that point. Squaring his fists on his hips, he’d looked at Tyron and growled, “Tyron. How full has your hospital been the last few days?”

  Tyron had blinked at him. “Well… not full at all.”

  “Hmm. And of the injuries, which of them requires healing magic to heal properly?”

  The healer had actually dragged a line along the stone floor with his toe, as though he were a schoolboy being reprimanded.

  “None.”

  “I see. Then would you kindly restrain your berating of my workers to their off-work hours, especially when your complaints have no grounds in sensibility?”

  Tyron had muttered something Fenna couldn’t understand under his breath – most likely “Fair point” – and then beat a hasty retreat. Fenna didn’t blame him. When they were running behind schedule, Emrys had a tendency to be in a foul mood.

  Occasionally, foul was an understatement.

  Tyron had, however, taken him at his word and found Fenna after dinner that night.

  “Really, though,” he’d said. “Tell your friend if he ever finds cause to be honorably discharged from the blood-sworn, he’s welcome in my hospital wing. Presuming he’s good at what he does, of course.”

  As it always did, Fenna’s hand had unwittingly gone to the scar on her side. “Trust me, he is.” Something Tyron had said caught her attention, however. “Tyron… you’ve been around for a while. Have you ever heard of anyone being honorably discharged from the blood-sworn?”

  He’d snorted. “I didn’t mean that seriously, Fenna. It’s not unheard of, but it usually comes after dismemberment in the line of duty.” A brow raised, he’d added, “My guess is you’d prefer him whole.”

  That she would.

  Still, Fenna thought as she moved from the lavender to the raspberries and clipped off some of the leaves, Tyron had a valid point. Having a healer with the corresponding magic around wasn’t a bad idea.

  As soon as the thought entered her head, she shook it off. She was being absurd. The most she could hope for at this point were scattered visits here and there. She couldn’t plan for the future with this. It hit her then with stunning clarity that there really wasn’t a future here.

  And while there was some hollow part inside of her that hurt at the idea, she also didn’t think she cared. She would rather have a present than a future, in this case. Whatever that present looked like. She still didn’t have an answer to Luca’s question – when things had started for her. But all she knew was that she’d hit a tipping point, and there was no –

  “What do the leaves do?”

  Fenna jumped. Honestly, what was the point of being part Fae if those heightened senses allowed people to sneak up on you? Turning, she saw Elentiya standing over her, looking somewhat as though she had no idea what she was doing there.

  Squinting against the sun, Fenna patted the spot beside her on the ground. Elentiya crouched and then, seeming to decide on being there for a good long while, sat, her eyes on the leaves of the red raspberry bush.

  “They ease menstrual cramps,” she said. “So does ginger, technically, but the raspberry leaves will do. Besides, they’d taste terrible together. I add lavender in to give it an extra soothing kick, but all it does is calm the senses. It doesn’t do anything for the pain itself.” She eyed Elentiya. “You’re welcome to it. I don’t know about you, but I’m a terrible cramper.”

  Elentiya gave a low laugh. It occurred to Fenna she’d never heard her laugh genuinely before. Rather than the dead, hollow thing of the morning she’d snapped, it actually sounded… amused. Not quite what it could be but amused, nonetheless.

  “Mine get pretty bad, too.” She shuddered. “And the nausea… do you have anything to help with that?”

  Fenna considered. Aludra didn’t experience the nausea that came with cramps, and neither did she, but if Elentiya did…

  “I’d probably give you lavender and ginger, instead of lavender and raspberry leaves. Ginger will help settle your stomach.”

  Elentiya smiled, though it was a small thing. “That much, I did know.”

  Eyeing her as she grew the leaves back, Fenna asked, “What, were you an apothecary in your previous life?” She doubted it somehow. Pausing, Fenna noticed Elentiya staring at the fresh leaves where the raspberry bush had been bare before. She realized then she’d never used her magic in front of Elentiya before.

  “Earth magic,” she said. “At least, that’s what I call it. You didn’t wonder why there were so many out of season plants blooming here?”

  Elentiya stared for a moment longer, as though she hadn’t heard entirely, then shrugged.

  “I didn’t know which ones were in and out of season. I… definitely was not an apothecary in my other life.”

  Fenna considered, supposed ginger as a stomach settler was fairly common knowledge, and continued about her business. Aludra was still waiting, after all.

  But for now, she and Elentiya were out here, and the sun was shining, and they were at ease, and she needed to make conversation. On the same topic…

  “You’re familiar with the Berellan people, yes?”

  Elentiya blinked at her. “So, Luca was serious about that? You really went to the Berellans this winter? They’re real?”

  Snorting, Fenna clipped another bit of leaf from the bush and replied, “Oh, they’re real, all right, and not nearly as mystical as they’re made out to be. Although, they are pretty powerful. I met another earth magic wielder there who could make the ground shake without so much as a thought.”

  The way Elentiya’s eyes widened was so unlike her Fenna almost laughed.

  “Can you do that?”

  Fenna shook her head, “Maybe if I had a Fae form. But I don’t, so it’s less concentrated magic. I’d love to try one day – I almost grew a tree once.” That did get a light laugh out of her. “It got to be a very small sapling before I fainted. Anyway, the Berellans have an herb that works better than almost anything on menstrual cramps than anything I’ve ever seen.”

  Better than almost anything except healing magic. Fenna shoved the thought away, but only momentarily.  

  Quiet for a moment, Elentiya finally said, “Rowan and I were talking today, and I realized something. His friend who came here the night before…” Her voice trailed off, and she barreled onward. Fenna didn’t blame her. “That was your Gavriel, wasn’t it?”

  Her Gavriel. Gods, it sounded good, and Fenna wasn’t even sure it was technically true. Still, because she wanted it to be, she didn’t correct Elentiya. Just nodded.

  Elentiya smiled, even if it was a small one and not nearly the wicked grin Fenna imagined her capable of. “I’m glad he survived.” She hesitated again, and when she spoke, there was a catch in her voice. “I’m glad he came back to you.”

  Unlike Sam, who didn’t come back to you?

  She didn’t need to ask. The comparison was already there. Fenna hated the way Elentiya still couldn’t meet her eyes and decided that if anyone was going to bridge that gap, it would have to be her. Reaching out, she grabbed the other girl’s hand. Slowly, slowly, Elentiya raised her eyes to Fenna’s.

  “Thank you,” Fenna said. “I am, too.”

  Another moment passed before Elentiya said, “I’d like to hear about your adventure this winter. And see more of your magic. If… if you want to share.”

  Fenna eyed her, weighing her next words. “Very well. But I have a request.”

  Elentiya raised a brow and waited.

  “A story for a story. I’ll tell you how I came to travel with the blood-sworn this winter, and maybe give you another side of them than what Rowan tells you. I’ll even show you what I can do out in the forest. If you will tell me about Sam.” She held up a hand even as her voice softened, seeing the walls leap up in Elentiya’s eyes. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Just a story. And…” She smirked. “I’d like to see your magic, as well.”

  After a moment, Elentiya gave her a smile that was still hesitant, but inching closer to that imagined grin in Fenna’s mind.

  “You singlehandedly stopped a genocide. Do you want to hear about how we leveled a pirate town – and freed two ships of slaves in the process?”

  Now that sounded like Fenna’s kind of story. It was her turn to grin.

  “And magic. Though, you could show me some of it now. It’s only fair.”

  Elentiya shook her head. “Oh, no,” she said. “Trust me. You don’t want me burning your garden to the ground. But…” She stood, holding a hand out, and let flames dance among her fingers. “This is a bit of it.”

  It probably wasn’t even half of what she was capable. Fenna’s grin grew.

  “Fortunately for us, tomorrow is my afternoon off.” 

Chapter Text

“Tell me about your family.”

  Fenna’s heart pinched at the question, but she shoved the pinch away and nailed Elentiya with a hard stare.

  “You remember the deal. An answer and a demonstration for an answer and a demonstration. You haven’t held up your end entirely.”

  Frowning, Elentiya shook her head. “I’m not… Rowan and I have really only just started working with my magic. I probably can’t do half of what you can.”

  Fenna shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to see it. Go on, then.”

  Elentiya sighed and held her arms out at her sides, lighting the tops of them ablaze. Fenna had to admit, she was mildly impressed when the other girl extinguished her flames to reveal that her clothes weren’t even singed.

  Being a child of the forest, Fenna had never necessarily been fond of fire. But she also had to admit she found Elentiya’s blaze beautiful. Maybe it had more to do with its being magical than real.

  Glancing around, Fenna wondered if Elentiya could pull her fire back in like that if any sparks were to stray and catch something not… well, on her. She was sure Rowan took that into account when he trained her out here. At least, she hoped he did. She would be significantly happier with him if he did.

  When she looked back, Elentiya was smirking and shaking her head.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve already seen him circling around here. He’s usually quick enough to put out any of my fires before they get so big the wind feeds them, instead.”

  Feeling somewhat better, Fenna allowed herself to acknowledge the demonstration.

  “I can’t believe you aren’t even burned.”

  Elentiya grinned at her. “The control is the hard part. Honestly, that’s what we’ve been working on the most. All right, I’ve given you your show. Your turn. Tell me about your family.”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, there was something guarded about Elentiya’s expression as she asked, as though she wanted to know and didn’t, all at once.

  “There isn’t much to tell,” Fenna said. “I grew up in a small village in the northern territories, this side of the mountains. It’s about a two days’ journey from here. I was one of ten, the fifth oldest. They were all killed this winter in the same genocide that sent me to the Berellans.” There really wasn’t much to tell. “I do miss them sometimes but… we were never close.”

  “Why?”

  Raising a brow, Fenna lifted a tree root directly to Elentiya’s left. The creaking of the wood echoed through the forest and made the other girl whirl to see what might be about to fall on top of her head. The relief as she saw that it was only a risen root was almost enough to make Fenna laugh. As it was, a corner of her mouth quirked upward as she lowered it back to where it was.

  “One question at a time. Not that I won’t answer. I will. We just had a bargain.”

  Elentiya muttered something about “taskmistress” under her breath and waited expectantly.

  “Tell me about Sam.”

  Something in Elentiya slumped, as though defeated. Fenna almost regretted the question before she began speaking.

  “He was wonderful. And a stubborn fool, and prouder than he’d like to admit, and so gods-damned stupid, and I loved him.” Her mouth tipped upward in memory. “He was warm, too. Everything about him – I could be freezing and all I’d have to do was scoot a bit closer and be fine. He looked warm – his eyes looked like wood right after it’s thrown on a fire, before it’s all crumbling and red.”

  For a moment she seemed quiet, content. Then shadows moved in behind her eyes, and she snapped a whip of fire across the air before pulling it back in and looking to Fenna again.

  “Why weren’t you ever close to your family?”

  Fenna contemplated how to answer that. “I wasn’t one of theirs. Not really. They didn’t take me in until I was seven, and while they raised me, I always felt more like the ward than anything else. Besides, I was demi-fae. I had magic. And you know how suspicious people can be.”

  Elentiya snorted. “I grew up in Adarlan. Believe me, I know.” She frowned. “They were unkind to you, then.” It wasn’t a question.

  Remembering a scene from eight years past, feeling the sting of the rock against her temple, and hearing children’s taunts, Fenna shook the image off and tried to remember that it hadn’t been her family who’d done that. “Not especially. They just didn’t understand. They took me in because they couldn’t turn a child away, not even demi-fae. So many of our residents here weren’t nearly so lucky.”

  Judging by her face, Elentiya hardly considered that lucky. But Fenna wasn’t in the mood to incriminate her family any more than she had. She had an idea.

  “You know that bush at the back of my garden – the one that looks bare in the sunlight?”

  Searching her memory for a moment, Elentiya nodded.

  “I grew one of those in memory of them. They plant them for their dead in the Tigana region of the southern continent. I’ve never seen one in person, but I can grow them from what I’ve read. Watch this.”

  She sprouted a moonlace bush. Unlike the first time she’d grown one, it was brown and drab, but would glow white in the moonlight. Now, a passing traveler might be somewhat worried about what a foreign plant was doing here, but that was the other thing Fenna had found about her magic – it never caused plants to spread. So her additions would never become invasive. They would always just stay where they were.

  Elentiya shook her head, jealous – and something else Fenna couldn’t quite interpret.

  “You know so much about your magic,” she said. “You’ve studied it, can control it. I wish I were half as comfortable with mine as you are with yours.”

  Fenna shrugged. “Like you said, you grew up in Adarlan. I imagine before magic disappeared, you gave your parents a fright every day, setting things on fire.”

  Her jaw tightening, Elentiya simply nodded. Fenna made note – this was not the time to ask about Elentiya’s family. She would one day – it was only fair. But she’d pressed one sensitive topic already and was about to press further. Perhaps they could make a habit of this – coming out here and throwing their magic around. Rowan probably wouldn’t mind. It would be good practice, wouldn’t it?

  But it was her turn, so she pressed that topic again.

  “How long did you have Sam?”

  Another sigh as Elentiya’s eyes closed.

  “A month.”

  Fenna blinked. “A month?” To listen to Elentiya talk, they’d spent many years together, but then again… she’d never told her how many.

  “It was a good month.” Elentiya shook her head. “We were trying to get out. And I was so stupid – I didn’t want to leave. And he was stupid, too. We took a job killing the biggest crime boss in Rifthold besides our former master.”

  In answer to Fenna’s first question earlier – what she’d done before she’d come here – Elentiya had explained that she was an assassin. It hadn’t necessarily shocked Fenna. Somewhat disturbed her, but not shocked her. She’d figured Elentiya’s past had involved violence, and somehow, she hadn’t thought her to be a soldier.

  “He wanted to take him out himself. Some ridiculous protective instinct – you’d probably know something about that. Being around Fae males as much as you are.”

  Fenna raised a brow. “You know, Fae females have it in spades, too.”

  “Fair enough.” Elentiya shook her head. “And I fought it on him until I realized nothing would get done if I didn’t give in, and I let him go, and they took him apart.” Her voice faltered into almost nothing. “I could barely recognize him when they brought him back to me.” She shook her head. “No, they didn’t even bring him back to me. They brought him back to Arobynn. No one knew we’d broken away yet, but he wasn’t Arobynn’s, he was mine.” She shook her head again, her fists beginning to flame. “And they took him from me.”

  Fenna decided to count the flaming fists as her magic demonstration and waited. She didn’t want to trespass on that pain. She didn’t have the right to. She wondered if, somewhere, Rowan was listening, and wondered if he’d heard any of this yet.

  Though, judging by how much chummier they’d seemed the last week or so, it wouldn’t have surprised her, either.

  Elentiya’s face cleared rapidly, and she nailed Fenna with a stare, her fists extinguishing as though there had been no flame whatsoever.

  “So what are the Berellans like?”

  Giving a light laugh and shaking her head, Fenna said, “Oh, they aren’t nearly as perfect as they’re made out to be. But they’re all pillars of morality, the lot of them. And most of them live up to the façade. Their chancellor is a Memory Keeper.” She didn’t know where that bit of information had come from, but as long as she was explaining that, perhaps she might as well keep going. “In fact, he’s lending me a hand.”

  Elentiya opened her mouth as though to ask a question, then realized that would violate the grounds of their agreement. She gestured for Fenna to go on.

  “I… don’t remember anything before I came to live with my family at seven,” she said. Elentiya had gone still, and while it wasn’t exactly an uncommon reaction to that revelation, it also seemed different somehow. “Chancellor Greynar… well, he took a look at my memories and told me he thought I’d been touched by another Memory Keeper. He’s searching for the memories, but likely won’t be able to find them until whoever has them releases them.”

  Raising a brow, Elentiya violated the agreement, but Fenna didn’t mind.

  “So he’s going to just… hike across country to return them to you when he’s found them?”

  Fenna shrugged. “And that… tells you about everything you need to know about the Berellans.” She grew a climbing ivy vine around Elentiya’s leg.

  The other girl yelped and yanked free. Fenna grinned and waited for her to be steady on her feet again. Irritation mixed with amusement on her face.

  “All right. Your turn.”

  Considering what all she wanted to know, Fenna finally settled on what was, perhaps, the most important question.

  “Why are you truly here?”

  Elentiya paused, as though searching for how to answer. She finally shook her head.

  “Officially? I’m here to kill the King of Wendlyn. And the Crown Prince. I might have done it, too, but…” She shook her head again. “Where I was when I first reached these shores, I couldn’t have gone through with it. I’ve let worse men than them go. I suppose it’s a good thing I was so rutting low. But… I was also here on a mission of my own.” She held Fenna’s gaze, glanced around, then apparently decided she didn’t care if Rowan overheard.

  “I’m here to see if Maeve knows anything that could overthrow the King of Adarlan and free magic.”

  Fenna blinked. Well, that was… grand and epic and perhaps the biggest thing she’d ever heard of. The King of Adarlan was a tyrant menace across the greater part of his continent. It shouldn’t shock her that Elentiya wanted to see him fall. It shouldn’t shock her that Maeve would have knowledge that could be the key to his undoing. And it really didn’t. But still… one world threat was enough for one year, wasn’t it?

  “There’s nothing else you can tell me, is there?”

  Shaking her head, Elentiya said, “Believe me. It’s better you don’t know – better for you. And the fewer people that know my real purpose in being here, the better.” She held up a shield of flame. “Now, throw a stick at me and see what happens.”

  Fenna stared at her. “Wouldn’t it just burn up?”

  Elentiya grinned wickedly. “You’d think. But look.”

  Bending down to pick one up, Fenna tossed it at Elentiya and blinked when it bounced off the shield before disintegrating to ash.

  “All right. That’s pretty good.”

  “Exactly. Now, just how is it that you know healing magic helps with menstrual pain, and, considering the look in your eyes every time you talk about it, does it have anything to do with your tattooed friend?”

  Rolling her eyes, Fenna protested, “That was two questions!”

  Fortunately, they were both questions she was more than willing to answer.

At some point, Rowan must have come back to the fortress, because he was waiting in the kitchens for them when they were done. His face was, as always, carved from stone, but Fenna thought it softened a bit when they walked in this time.

  He stood, gesturing to Elentiya. “You’re not off the hook for the day. You’ve got some practice in showing off. It’s still sloppy. And trust me, by the time Beltane gets here, I’m going to have plenty for you to do in the way of control.”

  Rather than glaring at him, Elentiya merely tilted her head and smirked. “What are you going to do if I fail? Beat me into a pulp?” Her eyes slid toward Emrys. “I think the opinion of the general public on that approach is pretty well known.”

  Emrys said nothing, merely chopped some chives with a bit more vigor than usual.

  Rowan’s glare wasn’t quite as dark as usual as he pointed at the door. “Out. Again.”

  Shrugging, Elentiya went with much less bitterness than usual. Before she left, however, she turned back to Fenna.

  “Anytime you want to throw magic at each other… just let me know. I like watching yours.”

  Fenna’s smile for her was dimmed as Rowan stalked out after her, not so much as glancing in her direction.

  Apparently, Luca noticed the tension. Taking a handful of chives and sprinkling them over the cold dish they were preparing for dinner, he asked, “What’d you do to him?”

  Fenna shrugged. “I mean, I did slap him. But nothing else.” She leaned against the counter and shook her head. “We did fight afterward. And no, I don’t want to talk about what caused it. But… I think we may no longer be friends.” If that was what they had been beforehand, anyway.

  Things were quiet for a moment before Emrys said, “Do you know, I think there may only be one other person besides that girl whom Prince Rowan truly cares about in this fortress?”

  Fenna stared at him. “Who?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, a corner of his mouth tilting upward. “You, little one.”

  She blinked.

  “Don’t be too quick to assume Rowan’s displeasure means his shunning, Fenna,” Emrys said. “I think you’d have to do something far worse than what you’ve evidently done to plant yourself on that male’s bad side. He’s still just as willing to take a blade for you as he was this winter.”

  And Fenna didn’t know how he knew that, but when Emrys spoke, she was inclined to listen. She believed him.

  Now how to get Rowan to act as though that were true? Not that he ever fully had. But still, she missed whatever understanding they’d had.

  Before, of course, he’d had the audacity to use her Luca as monster bait.

Chapter Text

The door had barely shut behind Connall before he began speaking.

  “It’s Fenna, isn’t it? It’s absolutely Fenna. It has to be – seeing as it’s her scent all over you. Tell me I’m wrong, Gavriel. You’ll be an absolute liar.”

  Though he kept his voice low, Gavriel tensed, glancing toward the equally tight-clasped balcony window.

  “Good to see you, too, Connall,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs. “How has your morning been? Would you mind not shouting her name to the skies, I’d like to keep this relatively quiet.”

  Connall at least had the sensibility to remain silent until Gavriel had taken the other chair. But there was no mistaking his satisfaction. He was grinning like a fool.

  “I knew it.” Shaking his head, he also cast a glance out the window, as though someone might be hovering outside. Unlikely, seeing as they were on the third story of the palace. “I knew it. Tell me everything. From the beginning. I mean, obviously I know how you met, but recount the whole thing for me. And so help me, don’t leave out a single detail.” He held up something small and brown. “Chocolate?”

  It was only then that Gavriel noticed the box sitting on Connall’s lap. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he’d bring chocolate. Then again, why was Gavriel surprised? Connall never kid about chocolate. He’d be offended by the idea.

  It was also only then Gavriel noticed the white fluffy thing curled up beside the long, gold box. He shook his head and sighed.

  “You brought the cat.”

  Topaz, her golden eyes reproachful, arrrrred at him. Her master’s expression was just as censoring.

  “Of course, I brought the cat. She enjoys a good romance just as well as anyone, don’t you?” He scratched her behind the ears, earning a reproachful look of his own, followed by an immediate loving butt against his hand.

  Gavriel would never understand the cat’s temperament. She went from growling and irritable one moment to affectionate and attention-seeking the next. He didn’t mind constantly grumpy cats, or constantly affectionate ones – though he acknowledged one was significantly more common. It was just the lack of consistency that perturbed him.

  However, he wouldn’t call himself a dog person. Probably fortunate, seeing as Fenna apparently had a cat he had yet to meet. He didn’t imagine, if he were able to make it back to Mistward, he’d get away with that for much longer.

  “As I said, tell us everything. I can already tell you I’ve spent at least a day with Fenna and I approve. Wholeheartedly. If you were looking for my – wait, where are you going?”

  It took Gavriel a moment to realize he was remaining right where he was and therefore Connall wasn’t talking to him. Topaz, on the other hand, had jumped down from Connall’s lap, trotted over, and leaped up onto the arm of Gavriel’s chair before settling down into his.

  Connall glared at her. “Traitor. It’s because I’m a dog, isn’t it?”

  Gavriel had never understood why whichever god that crafted Fae forms had chosen to give Connall a canine one, but he supposed continuity was the main issue there. And of the pair of them, one could hardly make Fenrys feline. Connall was the more adaptable of the two, even if people didn’t always realize it.

  He didn’t mind the warm weight of Topaz on his knee. However, he’d be significantly less relaxed telling this story if he was just waiting for her to dig her claws into said knee.

  “From the beginning. What I don’t know, anyway.”

  Oh, he was going to love this. Gavriel smirked, mildly surprised at how much he was relishing this tidbit of information. Not for the information itself, necessarily, but for Connall’s likely enormous and emphatic reaction.

  “What you don’t know… I’m going to have to go a little farther back.”

  As predicted, Connall’s eyes widened, the chocolate in his hand halfway to his mouth. “What?” He shot bolt upright. “You’d met before?”

  “Not exactly… but yes.”

  Connall stared at him, eyes wary. “I’m confused.”

  Shrugging, Gavriel adjusted in his seat, satisfied when Topaz didn’t attack him or leap away, but simply shifted with him.

  “It was about ten years ago – “

  “Disgusting.”

  Gavriel blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She would have been a child, Gavriel. You’re telling me you – “

  “No!” The very implication made him nauseous. “Gods, no. Would you let me tell the story? It’ll all be clear then.”

  Still somewhat glaring at him but looking a bit more trusting, Connall gestured for him to continue.

  “It was about ten years ago. A little more. I was on a mission to a town in the western foothills, and it put me… on edge.” He hoped Connall, despite his desire for excess details, wouldn’t ask for them here. Connall didn’t know about Meira. None of them but Lorcan did. And he wasn’t here to talk about Meira, he was here to talk about Fenna.

  Fortunately, Connall didn’t press. Periodically, missions left them all on edge, and while Connall had been on a minimal number of them, he at least somewhat understood that. He simply nodded, and Gavriel felt safe to go on.

  “I was on my way back and in lion form,” he said. Most of them knew that was how he preferred to travel when he was as on edge as he had been then. Connall didn’t seem fazed. “And I passed by a village in the northwest. Not close enough to be seen, mind you.”

  “Of course not. That’s a good way to get yourself speared.”

  “Exactly.” Spending most of his time in Doranelle or not, Connall did understand the drawbacks that came with travelling as a large predator – especially among humans who couldn’t tell the difference between a Fae in animal form or real carnivore. “Anyway, I wasn’t close, but there was a child wandering in the woods on her own near where I was.”  

  Connall frowned. “Well, that’s… irresponsible.”

  “To hear Fenna tell it, no one much noticed when she slipped away like that.” His own frown mirroring Connall’s, Gavriel suddenly had a thought that was more or less disrespectful to the dead. He wished he could kick some sense into his past self. Namely, shifting back into his Fae form, escorting eight-year-old Fenna home, and informing her parents just what he thought of their ability to keep track of their children.

  Then again, they had had ten of them.

  “Please tell me she reacted like a sensible child,” Connall said. “Tell me she ran away and the only reason you know it was her is just a gut feeling. It’ll be a leap of logic, but at least my faith in her will be restored and it’ll at least be somewhat swoonworthy on your part.”

  A corner of Gavriel’s mouth quirked upward as the thought hit him that if Lorcan knew Connall had just used the term “swoonworthy” to describe this situation – or in general, for that matter – he’d probably throw the younger male from the balcony. Into bushes, of course. And from a lower floor. Nowhere he’d be harmed permanently. But still, the commander wouldn’t be pleased with how much Connall was “encouraging” this.

  It was still a better alternative than Maeve knowing about it.

  “Actually, she almost reacted like a sensible child,” Gavriel said. “But not in that she ran. That’s actually the worst thing you can do when you’re faced with a predator – especially if you’re small. It triggers the prey instinct – “

  “All right, Vaughan,” Connall grumbled. “Get back to the story.”

  His smile fully formed, Gavriel at least had enough mercy on Connall to do that.

  “She stood her ground. Shouted at me, like she was supposed to. And honestly, if I’d been thinking, at that point I should have been the one running. Who was to say she was truly alone and there wasn’t someone larger nearby with that spear you mentioned earlier? But… something kept me there.”

  Connall, who’d been steadily popping chocolates into his mouth this whole time, froze.

  “Wait. Something. You mean like – “

  “I don’t know,” Gavriel interrupted. Voicing what he’d long suspected out loud made it real, and it was best for it to remain a vague speculation – for now. “But there was definitely something that kept me rooted there, and it was overriding common sense.

  “Then she started walking toward me. Actually walking toward me. As though she wasn’t afraid at all. I mean, I saw her face, so I knew better, but… this tiny demi-fae child is approaching me with her hand out, and what am I supposed to do?”

  Connall raised a brow, but even he didn’t have a response for that one.

  “Tell me she didn’t pet you. At least tell me she spared you that indignity.”

  Most Fae with predator forms shared the same dislike of being treated like pets in said form – even Fenrys. Though he was somewhat more selective about whom he’d allow to do so. Honestly, Fenna was lucky she hadn’t run into Connall in the woods. He probably would have snapped her hand off.

  There was absolutely nothing in the veiled secondhand irritation in his posture that made Gavriel think differently as he responded.

  “She did.”

  As predicted, Connall let out something between a groan and a howl that made Topaz leap off Gavriel’s lap, back raised and hissing at Connall.

  Her owner ignored her.

  “Are you serious? Child.”

  “Do you want me to get to the rest of the story, or…?”

  Sitting up to demonstrate his eagerness, but not going so far as to set the chocolate aside, Connall nodded. “Go on.”

  “Even if there hadn’t been that pull keeping me there, I don’t think I would have been able to move. The way she operated in spite of her fear… it was fascinating. It’s just fortunate that was actually part of her magic, being able to compel animals. Otherwise, there are several encounters she’s told me about that might have gone very differently.”

  Connall snorted but said nothing.

  “And then I let myself actually look at her. And I took off running the minute I saw her eyes.”

  Brow quirking again, Connall asked, “Her eyes? What about them?”

  Gavriel could have kicked himself. He hadn’t been thinking. That part had just slipped out. Of course, he couldn’t explain to Connall why it had been Fenna’s eyes that had sent him running. Not if he couldn’t explain what had put him on edge in the first place.

  He could, however, play it off relatively easily.

  Giving Connall a well-practiced stare, he said, “Connall. You’re telling me you didn’t notice she has Ashryver eyes?”

  The younger male considered. “Now that you mention it… yes. Still not sure why that was what made you leave, however.”

  And every excuse he could come up with was a lame one. Lorcan was right. He’d perfected the art of this when it came to Maeve, but when it came to anyone else… he was a horrible liar.

  He peered at Connall. Could he trust him with this much? None of the others besides Lorcan knew, not even Rowan. And he knew Rowan well enough to know the other male wasn’t about to betray him.

  But Gavriel considered Connall. He might not have bothered to keep his voice down in the garden, but… it was Connall. He’d come here today because he’d wanted a good romance. He’d come here because he’d wanted something to break up the monotony. He may be an arrogant ass sometimes, but he was also sitting here in front of Gavriel, eating chocolate while listening to the story Gavriel had wanted to tell someone for longer than he’d realized, and he’d brought his cat.

  And he hated Maeve just as much as the rest of them, even if he was just as good at pretending it was an honor to serve her as they were. More on both counts, even.

  So Gavriel sat back in his seat and nailed him with a stare.

  “I… had a lover. About twenty-five years ago. She was an Ashryver.”

  It was the most halting way he could think of to describe what he’d had with Meira, and he hated that he couldn’t do it more justice. But the way Connall looked at him now indicated he wasn’t looking for a deeper explanation. He didn’t need one.

  He of all people would know how vital it was, if you were going to take a lover – especially one that was human royalty, however minor – to keep it secret.

  “And I’d just been to her city when I ran into Fenna in the woods.”

  Connall nodded for a moment.

  “So… Fenna’s definitely got Ashryver blood in her. That can’t be a coincidence. And… you weren’t quite over whatever happened between you and your lover yet, were you?”

  No. It was odd how fifteen years hadn’t been enough to settle his heart on the matter, and yet ten years added onto that had. Maybe it would never have happened if not for Fenna. He honestly couldn’t say that he didn’t still carry some of the hurt with him – especially when he considered how pliable he was when Fenna asked him to stay.

  But he didn’t say any of that out loud.

  “I wasn’t. So, I ran off, and thought about the child in the woods periodically. But never thought anything of her until a few months ago when Rowan and Fenrys showed up to our rendezvous point with her in tow.” He smirked at the delighted grin on Connall’s face. “I know. How’s that for fate?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in fate.”

  “I believe in fate selectively, Connall. And I have no other explanation for what happened that day. Anyway, you can imagine I was something of a mess, and I was completely determined she wasn’t going to see my other form. I didn’t imagine something like that was something you’d forget on the other end, either.”

  Connall shook his head. “No. Normally, it seems like it would be somewhat traumatizing, but you didn’t try to maul her, so I can see where there would be room for error.”

  Gavriel gave something between a scoff and a laugh at the memory. “Let’s just say the fascination with her was… inherently different this time. I recognized her right then, of course, even if she had no idea who I was. Or reason to suspect, for that matter. But there she was. Same face, same cautious curiosity in her eyes.”

  “I presume those were the same, too?” Connall asked, half-smirking.

  Laughing, Gavriel replied, “Yes. Same eyes, as well.” He sighed and shook his head. “Just older. And the most beautiful person I’d ever seen in my life, if you can believe it.”

  “Trust me, I do.” Connall considered him. “So, when did you kiss her?”

  If Gavriel had had anything in his mouth, he would have choked on it. “Pardon me?”

  “Oh, come on, Gavriel! You’re telling me you haven’t yet? You were there for all of twenty-four hours and you didn’t seize the day?”

  Gavriel stared at the younger male. “I mean… you have a point.”

  “Of course, I do.”

  But he stood by his reasons for not having done so yet. If he were able to get back… he would. Eventually. But he knew what had happened with Meira. He knew his own weaknesses, and he was determined to place Fenna in as little danger as possible still.

  “But if I had, I would have stayed. And you know very well why I can’t do that.”

  The atmosphere in the room darkened considerably. Connall was glaring at the floor, his mind somewhere Gavriel didn’t know. But there was deeper understanding there than Gavriel would have thought possible. Did Connall know exactly what he was talking about? Had Connall tried this before?

  And it was one thing for Gavriel to do it. Maeve had lost interest in him long ago, even before Fenrys or Connall came into the picture. But for Connall… it wasn’t just practically suicide. It was suicide.

  He didn’t bear the hunted look, however. He bore the haunted one. So, who was it who had inspired him to take such risk, and who was it that had put a stop to it?

  Gavriel had at least two guesses to the latter question. Considering the fact that Connall was even still breathing, one of those guesses was significantly more likely than the last option. He remained determined to keep Lorcan as far away from Fenna as possible, for as long as possible.

  She was well aware of what she was getting herself into. She didn’t need Lorcan to convince her it was a stupid decision when she already knew.

  Gavriel didn’t know what Connall was thinking about. And he didn’t think it was his place to press. This was a sensitive area for the younger male to begin with. If he ever were to know about it, Connall would have to volunteer that information himself.

  But this was meant to be less serious than this. And it had been good, however briefly, to relate the beginnings of his… whatever this was with Fenna without having to couch it in terms of impending doom. To act, however briefly, as though this were a good thing. A very good thing.

  Because it was, despite its more complicated aspects.

  So he gave Connall a tight smile. “Thank you, by the way.”

  Starting as though he’d forgotten Gavriel was there, Connall tilted his head to the side as Topaz jumped up into his lap again and promptly began bathing herself. “For what?”

  “This.” Gavriel’s smile turned tired, if more amused. “Believe me, you’re a better conversation partner on this topic than Lorcan.”

  Connall, who did have something in his mouth, very nearly choked on it. After clearing his throat a few times, all of which earned him a reproachful glare from the cat, he demanded, “Lorcan knows?”

  “He knows somewhat. He doesn’t know all of it. But… everything I’ve just told you, he was there in theory for, with the exception of seeing her as a child.” He gave Connall a hard stare. “He knows all of the rest of it.”

  Connall stared at him, eyes going dark. “Was he the one who made you break things off with the Ashryver female?”

  Shaking his head, Gavriel said, “He tried. But not even he could convince me at that point. No.” He could feel his own gaze darken. “She was the one who asked me to stay away. Because she’d figured out how dangerous it was – and don’t get me wrong. I’m fairly certain Lorcan did speak to her as well. But he wasn’t the one who convinced her either. That wasn’t Meira’s way. She was… endlessly logical.” He was at least able to smile again as he added, “Like Vaughan, but more… socially adept. She knew continuing to see me would bring danger to her and her city. And her people were more important to her. So… she ended things.”

  Quiet for a moment before responding, Connall finally said, “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “Fenna… well, it’s not that she’s not logical. It’s just not what she’s going to bow to. She’s willing to risk it all for this – whatever we have. As far I know, anyway.” He scoff-laughed again. “I honestly can’t quite wrap my brain around the fact that that’s real. She’s well aware of what she’s getting into and isn’t in denial about it. I just… worry that she might change her mind when it gets too difficult.”

  Or if Lorcan talks to her. It might be a good idea to keep the commander in Doranelle for as long as possible. Gavriel didn’t like this tearing of loyalties. He would die for both Lorcan and Fenna, but when it came down to the pair of them… it was getting increasingly more obvious which one was his priority. And he hated that.

  “I don’t think she will,” Connall said. “That’s not her way.”

  Gavriel stared at him. “You knew her for a day.”

  Shrugging, Connall said, “She understands this, Gavriel. You should have seen her when Maeve asked her which one of us she found best-looking.”

  Again, Gavriel was glad he hadn’t taken Connall up on his offer of chocolate. “Maeve asked her what?” Oh, that was a bad sign. A very bad sign.

  “Hmm. She’s a smart female, because her automatic answer wasn’t you. You could tell she wasn’t telling the truth when she answered Fenrys and Rowan first, naturally. And then when she got there” – here he huffed a laugh – “her answer was ‘and I suppose Lord Gavriel has a certain quality some might find appealing.’”

  Gavriel smirked, even as worry nudged at him. “You know, I can hear her saying it.”

  “It was adorable.” Connall grew serious again. “You also should have seen her when Maeve… implied what you did for her before I came along.”

  Gavriel went still. “Maeve what?”

  Connall nodded. “You heard me. I was just glad Fenna had some semblance of self-control. I wasn’t looking forward to having to defend Maeve if she tried to strangle her.” He was quiet again for a moment. “You don’t have to worry about Lorcan, Gavriel. I think Fenna’s made of sterner stuff than you realize.”

  So, Fenna knew. Gavriel didn’t necessarily mind her knowing. She was going to have to know eventually, but the fact that Maeve had been the one to tell her… even if she’d only implied it, it felt unfortunately like boasting. Posturing. Some sick pleasure that she’d gotten to him first.

  Remembering that it was technically breaking the blood oath to murder one’s sovereign, Gavriel clenched a fist on the chair’s arm.

  He’d have to deal with it later, however. At that moment, a knock came on the door.

  “Gavriel? Are you there? Connall’s not in his room, and I can’t find Topaz, either.”

  And there was Fenrys. While he’d probably be giving some update on Fenna, it certainly wouldn’t be anything like this. He gave Connall an apologetic look.

  “We’ll pick this up later.”

  Connall raised his brows.

  “You’d better believe we will. I haven’t even heard half the story yet. And if you don’t give me a time, remember I can move past walls.”

   That was a dire warning. Gavriel shook his head and opened his mouth to respond, but Fenrys interrupted him again.

  “Gavriel?”

  Giving a longsuffering sigh, Connall glanced over his shoulder as Topaz growled low and deep.

  “I’m in here, you idiot.”

  Fenrys opened the door, brow furrowed.

  “You’re here?” he asked. “With Topaz?”

  “Just because she’s an inside cat doesn’t mean I don’t occasionally bring her with me when I’m visiting a friend.”

  Fenrys peered at the pair of them, as though he were trying to figure out since when Connall and Gavriel spent time together without him. And admittedly, it wasn’t often.

  Eventually, his brain seemed to tire of figuring it out. Positioning himself on the arm of Connall’s chair, he eyed Gavriel.

  “So how was, ah, visiting your relatives?” He cast a furtive glance in his brother’s direction.

  Connall rolled his eyes. “I know about Fenna.”

  “Oh, good.” Fenrys tunnelled forward as though he’d been straining against weights that had been instantly removed. “How’s Fenna, then? Still growing things? Did you meet her cat? Was he just as much of a terror as he was the last time I was there? Did he climb your leg, too?”

  Shaking his head, Gavriel prepared to give a significantly less thorough update than he’d just given. But thorough, nonetheless.

  He didn’t quite want Fenrys to know the extent of his feeling for Fenna. But Fenrys at least deserved to know how she was doing. She was practically his carranam, after all.

Chapter Text

The busiest days of the year in the kitchen were always the day before festivals – they prepared everything beforehand so, besides the few hours required to get everything out and serve it, everyone could more or less have the day off.

  Which made festival days themselves Fenna’s favorite days of the year.

  “Tell me you’re bringing your girlfriend to meet us all tonight,” Fenna said as they cleaned up from dinner, aiming her question at Luca. She resisted the urge to add finally. Honestly, Gavriel had met everyone long before Lilah, and he didn’t even live at Mistward.

  Not catching her trace of irritation, Luca raised his brows and smirked.

  “I am, as a matter of fact,” he said. “She’s looking forward to it… sort of.” His smirk turned into a fond smile. “She’s somewhat shy.”

  “So, the pair of you balance each other fairly well?” Aludra commented, pointedly not looking at Luca.

  That he did catch. Eyeing Aludra in mock offense, he shook his head.

  “And just when I thought you were the sweet one here. Clearly, the more fool me.”

  Aludra shot Fenna a wicked grin and carted the last of the dishes to where Elentiya was scrubbing at them with a fury. Rowan had given her the day off, too, as far as Fenna knew. She’d come in for both the brief lunch and dinner shifts, even though she wasn’t required to be at them today any more than before. Leaning against the sink beside her and folding her arms, Aludra cast the much-friendlier-than-she-used-to-be girl a glance.

  “Are you coming tonight, Elentiya?”

  Pausing long enough to think about it, Elentiya finally shook her head.

  “No. I thought about ditching Rowan, believe me. But he’s got something planned for me tonight – some kind of training.”

  Luca’s squawk of outrage was so loud Fenna imagined they heard it in the hospital wing.

  “But it’s a holiday!”

  “It’s Beltane,” Elentiya replied, a rueful smile in her voice. “Perfect time for training someone with fire magic, don’t you think?”

  It was fair. Fenna was at least glad the rain had held off – the massive bonfires were somewhat complicated in the torrents that had been plaguing them lately. More of Emrys’s stories were good, but a canceled festival… no one here much believed that it pacified the gods to hold the festival anymore, seeing as the last few years had been fairly good regardless of the amount of fires lit or revelry engaged in.

  But still… Beltane wasn’t Beltane without everything that came with it.

  Considering Elentiya, Fenna thought about what was coming up tonight and asked the other girl, “I imagine Beltane’s one of your favorite times of year.”

  A nostalgic smile lit on Elentiya’s face as she said, “It used to be, yes. I haven’t celebrated it since I was a child, but…” She shot a glance over her shoulder. “You weren’t wrong when you said I used to give my parents a run for their money. My magic has always been so hard to control. I was almost glad when it disappeared ten years ago on that continent. I set everything on fire – especially books.” Elentiya shook her head. “I loved them so much, and the librarians were always so concerned that I’d set them aflame that… I seemed to do it automatically. As though their fear just brought it out in me.”

  Fenna glared. She would have liked to have a word with those librarians.

  “Anyway… Beltane was the one night I belonged in the world. The one place a girl who shot sparks from her fingers could run around and not be afraid of setting something on fire that she shouldn’t.” She smirked. “Or could at least blame it on one of the fires around her.” She sighed, her eyes fixed on some distant memory. “We used to have thousands.”

  No one spoke for a moment. There was such sorrow in her voice, to respond seemed disrespectful somehow.

  Suddenly, too suddenly to be real, Elentiya’s face brightened, and she handed Aludra the scrub.

  “Speaking of Beltane, I’m meeting Rowan early. Running some drills before the festival begins.” She raised a brow. “I imagine I’ll see you all at some point while we’re there.”

  Striding for the door, she seemed both eager to leave and as though she would have liked to have said more. Fenna didn’t often question Elentiya’s odder moments. But now she wondered at her.

  And, even more, wondered just what Rowan had in mind for her tonight. Considering his last unconventional training exercise, she resolved to keep a close eye on Aludra and Luca tonight, just in case. Not that she thought Rowan would do anything so stupid again. But one could never be too cautious.

  “Do you think she’s royalty?” Luca asked offhandedly.

  Fenna was about to immediately dismiss the question – until she saw the way Emrys stiffened over the fireplace. Remembering Emrys knew who Elentiya was and therefore perhaps she shouldn’t discount Luca’s observation, she turned toward Luca and frowned.

  “What makes you say that?”

  He shrugged. “Royalty or at least nobility. I mean… librarians.”

  “That’s not necessarily an indicator of royalty,” Aludra commented over her shoulder.

  “Not necessarily,” Luca agreed. “But think about most people who access to libraries – or who deem it important enough when they do that the fact that their child literally burns things to ash wouldn’t deter them from bringing her in. We’ve got a library here, but no librarian. Narcisa’s the closest thing to that, and even she doesn’t know where everything is.”

  It was a point. But not an inescapable one. Fenna wasn’t quite ready to accept it as certain, unless she counted Emrys’s reaction. Which she was certainly inclined to do.

  “It’s not just that, though,” Luca went on. “Did you hear how many Beltane fires she said they had?”

  “Thousands,” Aludra commented.

  “Exactly. We’ll have fifty, at most. Smaller cities might have hundreds. But thousands? You want to know my theory? She’s at least noble from one of the larger cities on the western continent. And she’s probably noble, rather than royal, because Adarlan hasn’t celebrated Beltane in ages, even before magic was gone. Do you know who did, though?”

  Terrasen. Fenna had always thought Elentiya’s accent was a bit off – Adarlan, but with a hint of something else to it. She hadn’t questioned it too far. But Luca raised valid points.

  She mentally ran through what she knew of the western continent’s geography, specifically Terrasen. Perranth had been a large enough city. She might have been a noble from Perranth. But something told her Luca was getting more at the capital city – at Orynth. Which would have to make Elentiya noble, because all the Terrasen royals were dead.

  Why did the thought of Beltane at Orynth and the image of Elentiya as a child running amongst the flames stir something inside of Fenna, as though it were a memory hidden deep inside of her and unlocked? Perhaps she could just picture it so clearly because of how long she’d dreamed about Elentiya. And that was an entirely different thing in and of itself to puzzle out.

  Emrys straightened from before the fireplace and turned around to look all three of them in the eye.

  “I will tell you this, all of you, only once,” he said. “You may find it intriguing to contemplate Elentiya’s past. And I suppose I can’t stop you from doing so. I can’t control your thoughts. But do everyone involved – not least of all her – a favor and keep your theories, whatever they may be – to yourselves. All right?”

  Unsurprisingly, the three of them worked the rest of the time in silence.

The night was chilly, but Fenna hardly noticed, not with all the bonfires blazing around her. It was just the kitchen workers she was spending time with tonight – Emrys and Malakai, along with Narcisa, were with the soldiers, and Anastacia and the children were spending the evening with Shyah. Seeing as the children probably wouldn’t make it much past a few hours, anyway, Fenna thought that best.

  But she was starting to seriously wish that Elentiya had been given the evening off, as well. Because once Lilah showed up, she was feeling very much like a fifth, unneeded wheel.

  Reuven peered at the newest couple among them and asked, “So… Luca and Lilah. That’s an interesting combination of names.”

  Aludra elbowed him as Lilah blushed and looked away.

  “What? I’m just saying. Some couples’ names flow together. That one’s very repetitive. It’s not a bad thing, love, just an observation!”

  “You have a point,” Fenna said. “It’s not a bad thing at all.” She looked at the two in question. “You sound like a pair of characters from a children’s story.”

  “See, that’s how you make an observation like that,” Aludra pointed out, glaring up at Reuven reproachfully.

  Finally settling into being reprimanded, Reuven sighed and turned to Lilah.

  “Sorry about that.” 

  She shrugged, smiling quietly. How could one smile quietly? Fenna knew she herself was quiet sometimes, but she was sincerely beginning to wonder if this girl talked at all.

  It was interesting that she didn’t know Lilah already. She thought she knew most of the people in the fortress, even if it was just enough to greet them when they came through the breakfast line. Then again, since she was wondering if she spoke right now, perhaps it wasn’t that surprising. What was surprising was how she’d caught Luca’s eye.

  “How did you come to be at Mistward, Lilah?” she asked, then winced inwardly. Great. She’d asked the one question that was the most sensitive thing for most of them here.

  But, to her surprise, it was one Lilah was able to answer relatively well. She gave Fenna a small smile and said in a voice about as quiet as Fenna would imagine,

  “I was born here. One of the few. It’s been home my entire life.”

  She glanced up at Luca, who was ripping a hunk out of a leg of mutton. They technically served dinner on festival nights as well, but not many took advantage of it, seeing as there was plenty of food served at the festival itself. Luca, unsurprisingly, had eaten both places and was continuing.

  Sensing Lilah’s gaze on him, Luca swallowed and frowned. “What? I’m still growing.” 

  Shaking her head and leaning into him, Lilah muttered something about him being more effective than a trash fire and fell quiet again.

  “And what do you do?” Fenna asked. “Or what does your family do?”

  Lilah eyed her warily, as if sensing she was being interrogated.

  “We’re flower sellers,” she said. “In the market.”

  Fenna blinked. Of course, she knew that was an option, but it had never occurred to her… she’d thought her garden was one of the only ones in Mistward. One of. Not the only one. Even so… she stared at Luca’s girlfriend as though seeing her for the first time.

  “And do you want to keep doing that, or do you have another career in mind?” 

  Shaking her head, Lilah smiled again.

  “No. I’ve never wanted to do anything different.” Her smile grew. “Luca says you garden. Actually, he says you’ve got magic that helps you. Would you tell me about it?”

  Oh, this was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Fenna could, but she was loathe to grow anything this close to the fires. It was safe enough for them to be there, but the heat… she didn’t want to bring anything to life only to have it shrivel from proximity.

  Reaching out and grabbing Lilah’s hand, she smirked at Luca. “Mind lending her to me for a moment?”

  The way his arm tightened around Lilah suggested he did. The grin on his face suggested he didn’t.

  “You want to?” he asked.

  Lilah nodded, disentangling herself from his arm.

  “We’ll be back,” Fenna promised, then pulled the other girl off into the field a ways.

  Once they were distanced from the others and, more importantly, the flames, she grabbed Lilah’s other hand and asked, a grin of her own painting her face, “What’s your favorite flower?”

  Lilah considered, then settled on, “Irises.”

  Fenna’s grin grew. “Mine, too. I can’t stand lilies, though.”

  “Oh, of course not,” Lilah said, voice loudest Fenna had heard it thus far. “They remind me of funerals, and not in a good way.”

  “Exactly!” For one thing, Fenna was glad to find someone who shared her opinion on flowers and which ones were worthy of admiration and which ones were not. For another, she was glad that someone understood there was a good way to be reminded of funerals.

  All right. She didn’t know how Luca had taken notice of this girl, whose voice possessed all the decibels of a mouse, but she liked her. Why had it taken him so long to convince her to come meet them all?

  “Watch this.” Fenna pulled out a good chunk of magic and made a circle of irises sprout around them, two feet thick and knee-height.

  Lilah smiled in delight. “Beautiful. But,” she frowned here, “do we have to walk over them to get back?”

  Considering her question, Fenna realized perhaps she’d given into the show a bit too much. There was no reason to have not made a walking path through the circle of irises. She’d just wanted some symmetry to the whole thing.

  So much for not growing them close to the flames. They may not shrivel and die, but they’d be trampled on after not five minutes of life.

  “Well… we’ll deal with that in a moment,” Fenna said. She jerked her head over her shoulder at the fires. “You know, I love Beltane, but sometimes it’s nice to get away from all that heat, don’t you think?”

  Lilah eyed her warily again, then apparently decided it was fair enough. She looked almost relieved as they sat down in the middle of the irises.

  “So how did you and Luca meet?” Fenna was starting to understand why Lilah had caught his eye. She was sweet, and pretty enough, and Fenna was fairly certain the novelty of flowers that weren’t hers might have drawn him in from the beginning.

  “Well, he lives just behind me,” Lilah said. “So, we’ve somewhat known each other for a long while. Well, I mean I’ve watched him more or less suspiciously from my window. Not that I was suspicious, I was being suspicious. You understand.”

  Oh, she did, in fact. Watching someone while they were unaware had been her specialty for a month or so this winter.

  “Anyway, I don’t know what it was. Just… something a few months ago made him notice me, too. Maybe it was his mother. She’s always been friends with mine, ever since they showed up here.” She considered. “Actually, yes. I’m almost certain it was his mother.”

  It could very well have been you, too, you know, Fenna considered saying. But decided against it.

  “Well, I think you’re good for him,” she said. It was true. Luca was calmer around her. Still himself, but more settled. Less likely to lose the attention he was paying to the conversation at hand – and Lilah certainly kept his attention. Fenna didn’t think she’d seen him take his eyes off her once but to take a bite of that leg of mutton and avoid chewing in her ear.

  “Thank you,” Lilah said, blushing again and glancing down at her hands. After a moment, she looked up at Fenna, brow furrowed in not quite a frown. “Do you have a mate?”

  “Do I – what?” The question caught her off guard. She thought about it and gave an honest response. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  That furrow deepened into a full-on frown. “Oh. I just… you just seemed like you did. There’s a look to people who are mated, you know.”

  Fenna considered opening up and decided it couldn’t hurt.

  “I mean, I do have a… well, it’s complicated.”

  Lilah’s mouth quirked upward. “I know. Luca told me.”

  He had? And yet Lilah had still asked… did that mean Luca suspected? Fenna had no idea that he would have already started making conjectures in that direction. She hadn’t even started making them. She’d… she’d know for sure, wouldn’t she? Wasn’t it supposed to be some inherent instinct?

  “How – “

  She didn’t finish. Someone shouted something. Someone very familiar.

  Fenna whirled to find Rowan rushing past them, not even casting a glance in their direction, Elentiya in his arms.

Chapter Text

Fenna turned back to Lilah, her heart pounding.

  “Get back to the others.”

  Eyes wide, Lilah obeyed wordlessly.

  She’d mourn the irises she trampled later. For now, Fenna was focused on falling into step beside the pair of female healers following behind Rowan – revelers come up from the healing compound, she had no doubt. They came up to run shifts during the Beltane festival so Tyron, normally on constant duty, could enjoy the festival to a degree.

  “What happened?” Fenna demanded breathlessly.

  Rowan and one of the healers were too focused on running to answer her, but the other turned to her and briefly panted, “Burn out,” before turning her attention to the situation at hand.

  As they ran, Fenna stared at Elentiya. She’d experienced burn out before, but never seen it. Elentiya’s body was shaking with panicked sobs, face contorted in pain. Fenna wondered why it remained hot this far from the fires and realized the intense heat was coming from Elentiya’s convulsing form.

  She was willing to bet she hadn’t done that this winter.

  “What can I do?” she asked as they reached the back doors of the fortress – closest to the bathing chambers.

  As they slipped inside, entering the chilled stone chamber, the healer who’d spoken to her before glanced over her shoulder and frowned.

  “Have you any healing experience?”

  Frowning and regretting it for not the first time in her life, Fenna shook her head.

  “Just be here. We may need an extra set of hands – to do exactly as we say without question. And quickly.”

  She could do that much. The air was already growing warmer in here. Fenna nodded and watched as Rowan lowered Elentiya into one of the tubs, full of cold water. Her trembling fingers clung to his shirt, and Fenna was surprised with what efficient gentleness he pried them off.

  Fenna crouched beside the tub, in between Rowan and the healer who had addressed her. The other healer crouched across from Fenna.

  Elentiya settled into the water, leaning her head back against the stone, and Fenna nearly breathed a sigh of relief – until steam started rising off the surface. She swore with enough vehemence that Emrys might have swatted her with one of his wooden spoons.

  “Freeze it, Prince,” the heretofore silent healer commanded. “Now.”

  Rowan stretched a hand across the water, and Fenna saw a brief, icy sheen across the top. A blissful sigh shuddered from Elentiya’s chest, her head drifting toward Rowan’s knee, eyes still clasped tightly shut. If Fenna wasn’t mistaken, the heat that had permeated the room ever since they’d entered ebbed slightly.

  Then Elentiya’s briefly peaceful face twisted once more, her body arcing up through the ice, and to Fenna’s horror, the water began bubbling.

  “Oh gods!” she cried.

  “Get her out!” the same healer shouted, and Rowan reached in, yanking Elentiya from the water. Though she imagined he didn’t need help, Fenna moved upward, hovering, trying to see if there was anything to be done.

  She reached out to touch Elentiya’s cheek, and thought that if the rest of her body were like this, she didn’t know how Rowan could stand to carry her. She was burning – would probably burn to ash, if they didn’t get her cool again soon.

  Fenna tested the water in the bath immediately next to them, worried perhaps the heat had rendered it useless, as well. The stone floor felt warm under her feet, but the water itself was just as cool as before. She gestured to Rowan.

  “This one!”

  Rowan lowered Elentiya into the water and began freezing the water immediately. This time, the thin icy sheen became a thicker, pure white layer, one that would not have been safe to stand on in a larger body of water but thick enough to not melt immediately.

  Immediately. It turned transparent and disappeared.

  Kneeling beside Rowan at Elentiya’s head, Fenna reached out and eased a massaging hand over the other girl’s shoulder. She winced a bit at the heat but figured she could deal with burned fingers later. They weren’t nearly out of danger yet, any of them.

  “Breathe,” Rowan said, bending so his mouth was beside Elentiya’s ear, not ceasing in his magic’s battle with Elentiya’s out of control power. He was still unable to form ice enough. Elentiya drew in breath after ragged breath, and somehow, Fenna didn’t think this was what Rowan meant.

  Her own burnout had been slow, dark, cold. Other than a roaring pain in her head, she hadn’t hurt this way. She hadn’t roasted in this way.

  Fire was a terrifying, horrendous thing in that moment. Fenna couldn’t believe she’d found it beautiful ten minutes ago.

  “Let it go,” Rowan continued. “Let it out of you.”

  Steam began to rise from the water, but Elentiya took one deep, shuddering breath. And Fenna couldn’t tell what it was, but something about that seemed much less terrifying than the hyperventilating, short ones she’d been taking.

  “Good,” Rowan said, out of breath himself. Ice finally began to form on the surface of the water again. It reached that thick layer of white again before almost immediately beginning to melt.

  “Damn it,” Rowan growled.

  One of the healers looked up at Fenna. “Get some cloths and wet them in cool water. Quickly.”

  Fenna tore herself away and ran carefully among the sunken stone tubs, taking care not to slip. The storage room was fully stocked with towels and handcloths, as every part of Mistward had prepared extra for the festival. Not knowing how many they needed, Fenna grabbed a handful and went to the nearest tub. It happened to be farthest away from Elentiya, so probably the coolest water would lay there.

  After wetting the cloths in her hand, Fenna clipped along back to the group huddled around Elentiya. Things seemed to be going much better. Her face still twinged in pain, her cheeks still flaming red, but she was breathing regularly, and when Fenna dipped a finger into the water, it was warm. Not boiling. Warm.

  She dabbed Elentiya’s forehead as the first, kinder healer said, “We need to get those clothes off her.”

  Fenna eased Elentiya’s head up as the healers stripped off the clothes. Rowan leaned back for a moment, breathing, eyes closed and head tilted toward the ceiling. From the look on his face, he was just as relieved as Fenna.

  Despite having experienced it herself, Fenna knew relatively little about burn out. Yet she was certain of one thing – this had been an incredibly close call.

  Standing, she went to get a bucket of water, in case the cloths needed to be wet once again, and returned to find Rowan kneeling at the head of the tub, cloths in his lap and at the ready. He was speaking in a low voice.

  “Are you in danger of flaring up again?” he asked Elentiya.

  Fenna could barely hear her response. “No.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “Yes.” The water steamed in response.

  The healers stood. “We will prepare a tonic. Just keep her cool.”

  Fenna reached for one of the cloths, but Rowan stopped her with a glare, grabbing the bucket and dipping the cloth in himself. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Fenna decided she couldn’t resist her curiosity any longer.

  “Why didn’t you heal her with magic?” she asked.

  Rowan’s eyes slid to hers as he laid the cloth on Elentiya’s forehead. A sigh escaped the exhausted girl’s lips, and something in Rowan went incredibly still before he responded.

  “Fire magic and earth magic manifest themselves differently,” he said. “Your magic is easier to control, therefore burn out will simply kill you as though you were fading from age. Fire magic… it burns you from the inside out. No amount of healing magic can calm it. It needs to be cooled first.”

  He took another cloth and wrung it over Elentiya, water dripping over her hair and neck. Fenna didn’t know why, but she felt as though she were intruding on something intimate. Perhaps she should leave, see if there was anything she could do to help prepare the tonic… but she didn’t want to leave Elentiya, either. So, she drew her knees up to her chest, resting her chin atop them and watching.

  “The burnout,” Rowan said, voice barely audible. “You should have told me you were at your limit.”

  Elentiya’s eyes creaked open. She seemed to hardly notice that Fenna was there, only staring at Rowan as he wrung the cloth over her brow.

  “If you’d gone on any longer, the burnout would have destroyed you. You must learn to recognize the signs – and how to pull back before it’s too late.” He shook his head. “It will rip you apart inside. Make this…” Another head shake. A vague gesture to Elentiya’s limp, naked body. “Make this look like nothing. You don’t touch your magic until you’ve rested for a while. Understand?”

  It reminded her so much of what Gavriel had said to her that day when she’d come to in the Berellan war tent that Fenna had to fight back the twinge in her chest. She didn’t doubt what Rowan said – that no amount of healing magic could have stopped what happened to Elentiya. That it had to be cooled down. It didn’t stop her from wishing Gavriel had been here.

  Though she supposed that could have just been an after effect of the constant desire always roiling within her.

  Elentiya’s head rolled over to look at her. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but Fenna doubted she had the energy. Besides, she didn’t have to. Fenna understood her intent well enough.

  Rowan abruptly slung the cloth over the side of the bucket and stood.

  “I’m going to check on the tonic. I’ll be back soon.”

  He only left once Elentiya nodded.

  Figuring that left things up to her, Fenna moved to his position, rolling her dress up around her knees and dipping her legs into the water on either side of Elentiya. As she dripped cold water over Elentiya’s neck, the other girl lifted her legs and groaned. Fenna was amused when she turned her head toward the candles and glared.

  “You know we do need light in here, right?” she asked wryly.

  Elentiya laughed, a dry, cracked, tired sound in the silence. She leaned forward, her forehead resting against her knees.

  And that was when Fenna saw them. The thick, ugly scars marring her back.

  She couldn’t help the light gasp that left her mouth. Elentiya didn’t move, but a sigh heaved her shoulders upward.

  She’d expected the mangled hands Elentiya showed her that first day in the kitchens, but this… something told her that while this may be the direct result of Elentiya’s profession, it had very little to do with it.

  The door opened, and Rowan came striding back in, bandages across his arms and peeking out from underneath his shirt. Fenna wanted to warn Elentiya to sit back up, but she didn’t know how.

  Rowan made it halfway across the room before halting, his breath catching just as Fenna had. And that, the sound of surprise from that ancient warrior, was what finally made Elentiya glance over her shoulder.

  Rowan didn’t move. His jaw tightened so much Fenna wondered that he was even able to speak at all.

  “Who did that to you?”

  Elentiya sighed again, as though she were considering lying and hadn’t the energy to do so.

  “A lot of people. I spent some time in the Salt Mines of Endovier.”

  Fenna’s heart went still. She remembered stories of those mines – one of the two labor camps under Adarlanian control. Calaculla was by far the worse of the two… but no one who went into either camp ever came out.

  Yet Elentiya had.

  Still not flinching, Rowan asked, “How long?”

  “A year. I was there a year before… it’s a long story.”

  “You were a slave.”

  Elentiya nodded, and Fenna thought her heart was about to crack in two.

  Without a word, Rowan turned and left, just as swiftly as he’d arrived.

  Fenna wanted to roll her eyes at him. Wanted to scream and rail and demand that he come back and face whatever guilt he might be dealing with like the grown male he was.

  But she also knew him. And she knew he probably needed to fly the whole thing off.

  So, it was left to her to continue doctoring Elentiya.

  Speaking of doctoring, she should probably take a look at her fingers. They weren’t nearly as badly burned as Rowan’s arms and chest would have been, but still, she’d had fairly direct contact. And if she were down a hand, she’d be all but useless in the kitchen.

  “I burned him,” Elentiya whispered, voice raw. “Burned you both.”

  Dripping water over those ragged scars, Fenna shook her head. “Mine are nothing, and his have been taken care of. Don’t worry. We’ve both been worse off.”

  They sat there in silence for a moment. Elentiya leaned back against the stone wall of the tub again, her head resting against Fenna’s knee.

  “I know you’re probably too tired to tell me today,” Fenna whispered, the gravity of the conversation seeming to merit no louder of a tone. “But… will you tell me eventually?”

  Elentiya hesitated, then, slowly, nodded.

  Another few moments of silence. Fenna wasn’t uncomfortable with silence, but this one was begging to be filled. But Elentiya clearly didn’t have the energy to talk. And she needed comfort. So Fenna offered what she could.

  “Can I do anything else, or do you want me to stay here?” She hesitated. “Or do you want me to go?”

  Elentiya shook her head. “Stay a while,” she croaked.

  Nodding, Fenna continued her ministrations. She considered rubbing Elentiya’s shoulders again but thought perhaps friction was not the best idea. They could work out the soreness later. Still, she ached to do more – though what that more was, she had no idea.

  “Fenna?”

  Her name, so tentatively spoken and yet so loud in the quiet room, made Fenna jump. Calming herself, she replied, “Yes?”

  “Would you sing?”

  She didn’t know how Elentiya knew she could. Or perhaps she just made the assumption. But she didn’t bother to respond before obliging. She sang an old song. An ancient one. They were about the only ones she knew. A song of comfort, of trust, of two people resting securely in the loyalty and care of each other.

  And though their budding friendship was significantly different than the relationship of the two in the song, Fenna thought some of the message got across to her new, unlikely friend.

Chapter Text

Elentiya did tell Fenna everything, but it wasn’t any time soon. Namely, because Rowan returned after a few hours to find Elentiya sleeping against Fenna’s knee and wordlessly scooped her up, carrying her off to what Fenna presumed were his rooms, as Elentiya’s were decidedly empty.

  For a few days, in fact.

  After the third day Elentiya had shown back up in the kitchens, and Fenna had shaken her head after giving her new friend the once over, just to make sure she was in fact all right. Why were Fae such territorial creatures? Not that Fenna herself was much different. But still… it just seemed the full-bloods took it to an entirely different level.

  In between shifts in the kitchen and starting to work on her magic again with Rowan, Elentiya opened up to Fenna about how she’d wound up in the Salt Mines of Endovier. How she’d gone to avenge Sam’s horrific death. How she’d been trapped and woke up in the royal prisons, sent to face the King of Adarlan himself, who clapped her in the Salt Mines.

  What had finally snapped her into attempting to escape.

  And Fenna had listened, only somewhat tearing up. She’d known she would weep upon returning to her room later. But for the moment, she knew Elentiya needed her compassion, but not her tears. And as she listened, a question had popped to her mind.

  “Do you think the King knew you were demi-fae?” she’d asked, her voice quiet.

  Elentiya had looked at her for a moment, frowning.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “True, you were the most feared assassin in the land, but the charge they brought you in on was slaughtering a crime lord,” she pointed out. “Salt mines seem a bit of a serious sentence.”

  “What would you have preferred? Death? There is no positive alternative. I was turned in not for slaughtering Ioan Jayne. I was turned in because that bastard Farran knew I’d take him apart, as well, and turned me in for all of my other crimes. Besides, the King of Adarlan isn’t the most lily-white of monarchs when it comes to his judicial dealings.”

  Fenna had had to give her that one.

  “And demi-fae – or Fae – don’t go to the salt mines,” Elentiya had gone on. “They’re cut down mercilessly. Most of them were burned, along with all other magic users. Now the King feels he doesn’t have to make the point. He can just behead them and have done with it.” She’d glared straight ahead darkly. “No. He doesn’t have a clue who I really am.”

  Who, she’d said. Not what.

  “And who are you?”

  She thought about telling Elentiya the full truth – that she’d recognized her immediately upon seeing her, not from any memory, but from dreams. Perhaps it was selfish after her friend had just bared her soul to her. It didn’t escape Fenna, however, that if she knew who Elentiya was, maybe she’d have a better idea of who she was.

  But Elentiya had looked over at her, eyes glittering, and Fenna knew she’d stepped over some unseen line.

  “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

  Sighing, Elentiya shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said. “It’s that… I just can’t tell anyone yet. No one who doesn’t already know, anyway.”

  “Maeve knows, doesn’t she?”

  A moment of hesitation, and then a nod.

  “Does Rowan?”

  “Yes.”

  Fenna considered that. She supposed it was good. That way both prince and queen knew who they were dealing with – and something told Fenna Luca was right. Elentiya was probably a big deal on the other continent.

  They could get into the who of it all another day.

“I still don’t understand what a party of dignitaries from Doranelle is doing bothering with us,” Luca said louder than was strictly necessary as Emrys had him putting the finishing touches on an especially fancy dish. It was one they all loved to eat and hated to make. And it was one that only came out on special occasions.

  Such as a visiting diplomatic party from Maeve herself.

  “And I’ve told you,” Emrys said, swatting him lightly on the shoulder with that wooden spoon Fenna had feared a few days previously, “they aren’t coming for us. We just happen to be on their way back from Doranelle.”

  “And so, they’ve decided to invade for a night,” Luca finished. “And put you and Malakai out of a perfectly good bed.”

  If Fenna wasn’t mistaken, Emrys gripped the spoon a bit tighter.

  “We are giving up our bed for a night, boy,” he said. “And you’d best adopt that mindset before they arrive.”

  Fenna, spooning the mashed potatoes where they needed to go, figured she’d put her two coins in.

  “Elentiya says that from what Rowan says, a few of them are absolute delights.”

  Luca snorted. “That sounds wonderful. Especially coming from Rowan. I don’t want to know what his definition of ‘delight’ is.”

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt it was all meant in sarcasm.”

  The sound of shattering clay reverberated throughout the kitchen, and they all turned to find Aludra cursing and bending over a spilled bowl of cucumber salad.

  “Gods, Emrys, I’m sorry!” she cried, something decidedly fragile in her voice as she reached out to pick up some of the dirty slices. “Maybe it’s not too late to save some of – ow! Ah! Gods!”

  She jerked a bleeding finger back from the mess, cradling it and rocking back and forth. Fenna’s heart went still as sobs jerked from her body. Dropping his casual air, Luca rushed to help pick up the rest of it as Emrys and Fenna bent in front of Aludra.

  “I’m s-sorry,” she repeated, tears leaking down her face. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Reaching out a gentle hand, Emrys squeezed her shoulder.

  “Don’t fret,” he said. “We have plenty. In the meanwhile, let’s get that finger of yours wrapped.” He jerked his head in the direction of their small medicine cabinet. “Fenna, would you…?”

  Suddenly glad for an excuse to get out of the stifling kitchen, Fenna nodded, jumping up and grabbing the wrap that would serve their purposes best. Going back to Aludra, she guided her up gently and led her toward the door.

  “Let’s get some air,” she whispered.

  Drawing in a huge, shaking breath, Aludra nodded, letting Fenna lead her to the garden wall.

  As she smeared salve on the wrap and began twining it around Aludra’s finger, Fenna could have kicked herself. Of course, tonight was going to be hard for Aludra. Any encounter with a full-blooded Fae was difficult for her. Gods, she’d been scared of Gavriel. And she’d barely seen Aludra raise her eyes from the floor when Rowan was around, as though she were waiting for him to slice her stomach open as soon as she dared looked at him.

  Fenna couldn’t blame her. If she’d been there when the Javaidian sect raided their village, she’d probably flinch at the sight of Fae, too. Provided she’d survived.

  “I’m sorry,” Aludra whispered again.

  “Don’t be,” Fenna soothed. “You’ve every right to be nervous about tonight.” She was quiet for a moment. Aludra’s audible crying had stopped, but her shoulders still shook to a degree. “Do you want me to get Reuven?”

  Aludra shook her head. “No. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

  “Aludra. He loves you. He won’t care that you’re a mess – just that you feel safe. Would it make you feel safer to have him around?”

  Considering, Aludra nodded. “But I don’t want you to leave, either.” Her free hand reached out and grabbed Fenna’s elbow. “Please stay here.”

  Fenna wasn’t sure what it was in her tiny, five-foot frame that instilled confidence and security, but she nodded. “All right. I’ll send someone else to get him.”

  Footsteps sounded on the stones, and someone conveniently came around the corner. Fenna half expected Rowan and Elentiya – she was on kitchen duty for the visiting dignitaries – but instead found Sten, Luca’s friend with the boar form, emerging, looking as though he’d just come in from sentry duty.

  “How far out are they?” Fenna asked, regretting that she had to bring it up but knowing a time estimate might be helpful for Aludra, rather than just waiting around.

  He shrugged. “An hour or so.” Sword sheathed and resting against his leather-armored shoulder, Sten raised a brow at Aludra and crouched in front of her. “Hello. What’s got you in a puddle?”

  Fenna smiled as Aludra’s mouth tipped upward just slightly. She’d always liked Sten. He had an elder brotherly way about him with everyone. It was a pity he didn’t embrace his other form. It wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as the soldiers made it out to be – just because it was porcine. His human form matched it somewhat – stockier than lean, but like the other soldiers, lined in muscle.

  That muscle did have somewhat more cushioning than others, but Fenna thought it made him more approachable.

  Aludra’s comfort with him was probably helped by the fact that he was also Reuven’s best friend. She hiccupped and shook her head.

  “Just… nervous.”

  Sten nodded, eyes solemn, and turned to Fenna. “Should I get Reuven?”

  “You’re a gods-send,” Fenna told him. “Please do.”

  Chucking Aludra lightly under the chin, Sten turned back the way he’d come. “I’ll have him along shortly.”

  She’d finished binding Aludra’s finger by then. “There.” Wiggling her own bandaged fingers, Fenna added, “You should be able to work just fine with that from now on, so don’t worry.”

  Aludra hiccuped again and leaned her head against Fenna’s shoulder. “Thanks, Fen.”

  Wrapping an arm around her friend, Fenna whispered, “They’re not all bad, you know. Granted, Elentiya said Rowan told her two of the three are absolutely awful to be around, but that doesn’t make them… dangerous. And it sounds like the one called Essar is wonderful.”

  Aludra was quiet for a moment, arms tightly encasing her torso.

  “I know they aren’t all bad,” she said. “Fae have to be like humans in that, I think. There’s good of us and bad of us, too. Remember when we were twelve and the baker’s son turned out to be the one murdering all the village chickens?”

  Fenna did remember – vividly. She’d found several of the corpses and wept for days.

  “That didn’t mean every adolescent boy in our village enjoyed torturing the local livestock. And I knew that. So, I know that every Fae is not like the ones who raided our village. Not like the ones who killed my family and yours.” She gave Fenna the closest thing to a knowing smirk Fenna imagined she was capable of at the moment. “Your Gavriel is nice enough, anyway.”

  Not quite ignoring the little twinge of satisfaction that filled her every time someone referred to him as “her Gavriel,” Fenna grinned at her friend.

  “That he is.”

  “And even Rowan isn’t so bad. Scary, of course. But not as bad as he used to be.” Aludra shuddered. “I just don’t know if I’ll ever be truly comfortable around them all. The full-blooded ones, anyway. At least demi-fae were targets, as well. So, even with the ones that I know most likely don’t mean me any ill, I’ll always be… I don’t know.”

  Covering her friend’s hand with hers, Fenna squeezed it and said, “I understand. Believe me.”

  Because she may not have seen the exact things Aludra had, but she’d faced down the same evil. And still occasionally had nightmares. This was the sort of thing only survivors of genocide and war could share. But where Fenna had had the chance to know some full-blooded Fae before she experienced that evil firsthand, Aludra had not. Hers was a wound that would take some time to heal.

  As though beckoned by their conversation, Rowan and Elentiya came around the corner, passing by the garden on the way to the kitchen. Catching sight of them, Rowan motioned Elentiya on. She cast a curious glance over Fenna and Aludra before frowning and heading into the kitchen. Fenna was honestly glad of it. Emrys may release her for long enough to tend to Aludra’s woes, but there was no way only he and Luca could accomplish what needed to be done. Not for much longer, anyway.

  Rowan approached them, face as inscrutable as always. But if Fenna weren’t mistaken, there was something resembling concern in those green eyes. And his ever-present tension was just slightly different.

  She tried to remember what he’d said about the others. Elentiya had told her he’d simply said the male, Benson, was insufferable and one of the females, Remelle, was a former lover of his. Honestly, Fenna was curious to meet her for that reason alone. What sort of woman could get Rowan Whitethorn into bed more than once?

  If Rowan was attempting to look reassuring, however, Fenna thought he would do well to uncross his arms. Right now, he was looming over them like a tower about to topple over on top of them, and the closed-off stance was not helping. However, she supposed he wouldn’t be Rowan otherwise.

  “The dignitaries will be here in an hour’s time,” he informed them stiffly.

  Fenna raised a brow. “We’d heard.”

  “How are… preparations coming for the meal?”

  Looking at Aludra, whose eyes were trained firmly on the ground, Fenna decided to answer again. She shrugged.

  “As well as they can be. It’s not necessarily a great deal more food for three people, but their meal is definitely a bit more… involved. I think Emrys might be on the verge of a stroke. It’s a good thing you brought Elentiya when you did.”

  Rowan nodded. His eyes fell on Aludra and, if Fenna wasn’t mistaken, they softened a bit. Not, she realized with a start, in the way they did now when he looked at Elentiya. But a different sort of protectiveness. She wondered if Aludra reminded Rowan of anyone.

  She wondered if it was the same person Gavriel had said she reminded him of.

  But Aludra wasn’t going to be forthcoming about her troubles, so Fenna figured a prod in that direction on her part wouldn’t hurt.

  “Rowan,” she said cautiously, “what sort of people are these dignitaries?”

  Considering, he said, “You’ll like Essar well enough. I swear, the female hasn’t ever met a stranger. Knowing her, she’ll even help you in the kitchen. She’s always been that sort.”

  “The helpful sort?” Fenna asked, a corner of her mouth quirking upward. There were two others, however. “What of the others?”

  “Remelle…” His nose wrinkled. “You may have to deal with insults from her. She’s always thought herself above everyone. And I do mean everyone, but especially… those who aren’t fully Fae.”

  Meaning demi-fae and humans. Fenna wondered if she was the sort of person to call attention to the fact that there was a human in a demi-fae fortress. Her hand wrapped tighter around Aludra’s. Would Remelle report that back to Maeve? Would Maeve exert her authority for once and demand Aludra’s expulsion?

  Fenna might just fight the Queen of Doranelle herself if it came to that.

  “And the male?”

  Rowan’s brows lowered, his glare darkening.

  “You’ll want to watch Benson. He’s a snake without an ounce of honor. Never lifted a sword in his life, of course, but he unleashes his cruelty in… other ways.”

  Fenna could feel Aludra’s hand shaking under her grip. She was almost sorry she asked, but having the knowledge beforehand, knowing what to expect, was generally better than going in blind, no matter how ignorant you wished to remain.

  “You think he’ll be looking for some kind of… pleasure while he’s here?”

  If possible, that brow lowered even further. “Almost certainly.”

  Throughout the entire conversation, Aludra’s shoulders had hunched in further until she was the closest to wrapped in a ball she could be while still appearing vaguely collected. Fenna rubbed soothing circles on her shoulder. Where was Reuven anyway? Sten couldn’t have taken that long to find him.

  Taking a steeling breath, Fenna opened her mouth to thank Rowan for the warning, but as she turned to him once more, her eyes widened as he knelt in front of Aludra, waiting until she looked him in the eye. Fenna couldn’t decide whether she was prouder of Aludra for doing so or more shocked that Rowan had made the gesture. His next words solidified her decision.

  “You have my word,” he said, then, as his eyes slid over to Fenna, he added, “the pair of you, that no harm will come to any inhabitant of this fortress while they are here. Not if I can help it. Is that clear?”

  Aludra hesitated a moment before nodding. As though summoned, Reuven came around the corner at that moment, chest heaving as though he’d run.

  Fenna found her heart suddenly full. She was proud of Aludra and Rowan both. And the way Reuven was looking at her friend… well, it was good to know someone loved her as much as Fenna did.

  Rowan stood and backed off hastily in the respect most sensible males showed when dealing with another’s mate, and Reuven took his place, taking Aludra’s non-injured hand in one of his and cradling her face in the other.

  “What is it, love?” He looked down at her bandaged finger. “What happened?”

  As he lifted the finger to his lips, Aludra broke down once more, and Fenna figured now was a good time to let him take over. Besides, Rowan was looking thoroughly uncomfortable, and she thought it might be less awkward if both of them were to walk away. Giving Aludra’s shoulders one last squeeze, she surrendered her to Reuven’s attention and rose, nodding toward the kitchen door when catching Rowan’s eye. He followed her in that direction.

  “Be honest,” she said in a low voice once they were far enough away, “how worried should we be?”

  He shook his head, his distaste written all over his inked face.

  “As I said. Essar is no threat, Remelle is an irritance but nothing more. Honestly, she’s more of a threat to me than any of you. But Benson…” He scoffed under his breath. “Aludra has nothing to worry about, at least.”

  Fenna frowned. “Why?”

  “Because he won’t even consider touching a human. Demi-fae, however…” He looked down at her. “He has a fetish for virgins, as well. You’ve seen plenty of monsters in the past year, but this… he’s an entirely different sort. I would compare him to the bastard who got Gavriel captured, but he doesn’t derive pleasure from pain. Fear, yes. Probably because he’s impotent in every other – “

  “Rowan.” He was rambling, and Fenna was unprepared to deal with a rambling Rowan. A rambling Fenrys was one thing, but Rowan…

  He seemed to reach the same conclusion. Taking a deep breath, he nailed her with a gaze of a different sort of seriousness than she’d ever seen from him.

  “Be careful while they’re here, Fenna. And don’t be alone. Ever.” His mouth twitched. “Try to listen to me a bit more closely than you did with the Skinwalkers, would you?”

   Was Rowan Whitethorn… joking with her? What was Elentiya doing to him?

  Fenna nodded. “Thank you. For the warning and…” She glanced back at Aludra and Reuven. “For that.”

  Rowan followed her gaze and sighed. “She’s not wrong to be afraid,” was all he said before pushing into the kitchens.

Chapter Text

 It took about two minutes after the female called Essar showed up in the kitchen and announced she wanted to make herself useful for Fenna to decide that she liked her. The rest of the kitchen staff, however, were taking a bit longer to warm up to her.

  Emrys, Luca, and Aludra, she understood. Elentiya, she also understood – but for different reasons. Namely that from the moment Essar showed up, she hadn’t ceased grilling Elentiya on Rowan. The nature of their relationship, how she found training with him to be, how she’d come to train with him at Mistward and why Maeve thought it so expedient that one of her blood-sworn be the one to train her.

  Questions that might imply she was a spy. If she was, she was a horrible one, because she was far too willing to talk on other topics.

  It was that fact alone that made Fenna feel slightly better about the fact that she liked her. Well, that and despite the fact that she was Fae nobility, she seemed to know her way around a kitchen. She was more help than hindrance, which Fenna had initially expected when Rowan said she might help them in the kitchen.

  So, she wasn’t offended when, finding Elentiya a less-than forthcoming conversation partner, Essar sidled up to her at the counter.

  “Unless Fenna is a relatively common name on this side of the mountains, you must be the Fenna of Mistward who singlehandedly stopped an entire army of rogue Fae this winter.” At Fenna’s wide-eyed response, she offered a friendly smirk. “If you believe rumor, anyway.”

  Fenna snorted. “Please. I barely took on two at a time. And the one time I tried for more, I went into burnout. My role was purely diplomatic. Most of the fighting part went to the blood-sworn.”

  Essar’s mouth quirked upward. “As it usually does.”

  Taking advantage of the lull, Fenna’s eyes went over to Aludra, on her other side. While she’d definitely noticed a tremor in her friend’s hands when Essar had first entered the kitchen, Aludra had apparently warmed up to her presence. Which, considering her state earlier, spoke volumes about the female in question.

  Fenna sized Essar up. Not that there was much intimidating about her. Yes, she was kind, but that didn’t necessarily mean she couldn’t be intimidating when she wanted to. If she’d had it in her to care, Fenna would have been plenty afraid for that male who’d attacked her last winter once Gavriel had gotten ahold of him. And for that matter, on the other side of things, General Sorina was plenty kind enough.

  So, no. It wasn’t just that. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that, at five feet exactly, she was the same height as Fenna and, though curvier, looked about as delicate as a winter lily. Not exactly a warrior bent on destruction.

  Fenna had seen that flash of sparks between her fingers earlier, however, and wasn’t fooled for a moment.

  “Explain something to me,” she said. “With your gifts, why does Maeve have you working as a… diplomat?”

  Essar raised a brow, eyeing Fenna sideways as she chopped up potatoes. “What? You think I’d be of better use as a warrior?”

  A corner of her mouth quirking upward, Fenna shook her head. “Not exactly. It just… seems you’d be useful in other areas.”

  “Well, for one thing, I don’t have much fire. Maybe enough to be useful as both a lady in waiting and a bodyguard, but Maeve isn’t interested in ladies in waiting. Her blood-sworn work well enough for her. My gift wouldn’t be much use in anything but close quarters. And besides, I wouldn’t be much use on the battlefield, either.”

  “Oh?”

  Sighing and smiling resignedly, Essar glanced over at her.

  “How familiar are you with the concept of pacifism as a lifestyle?”

  Fenna blinked. “I… hadn’t thought about it much.”

  Shaking her head, Essar gathered up her finished work and selected another potato.

  “Not many of our race have,” she said. Fenna didn’t miss her word choice – our race. Yes, this female was definitely one to befriend.

  “Because it’s absurd,” Elentiya muttered from across the counter, earning a glare from their diminutive guest. She shrugged. “Admirable. But absurd. Perhaps in general concept, you can expect someone to refrain from harming others. But in self-defense? You’re really telling me if you or a loved one were in any sort of imminent danger, you wouldn’t raise a hand in defense of them? Especially with the magic you have?”

  Essar shook her head. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Ever since I was small – well,” her mouth curved ruefully, “smaller, I’ve been horrified at the idea of harming another living being. I can’t even squash bugs in my rooms. I usually have to call someone else to do it.”

  “I imagine Lorcan was quite useful in that sphere,” Fenna commented blandly. It baffled her to no end that Lorcan was an ex-lover of Essar’s. Especially after this last conversation.

  “It’s not as though he got sick pleasure out of it, but yes, he was willing to kill spiders for me. After about five minutes of trying to convince me I wouldn’t be committing an unforgivable sin if I did it myself.”

  “That sounds like him,” Fenna muttered. She was about to inquire further about Essar’s time with Lorcan – give her a taste of her own medicine, so to speak – but Essar was already moving onward.

  “You seem to be familiar with Lorcan. Which makes sense, considering that you spent so much time this summer with the blood-sworn. What about the rest of them? Did any… catch your attention?”

  Fenna stared. Essar worked with Maeve. She had to know that was a dangerous conversation to have – if she were being serious. And while there was a teasing glint in her voice, there was a light undertone to it. Elentiya was eyeing them both through a narrow gaze, darting back and forth between the pair of them. Fenna was somewhat glad to have back-up as she shook her head, hating that she had to lie to this female who, under different circumstances, might have been a good friend.

  “Not especially,” she said. “They’re all… wonderful in their own way.”

  That, at least, was true.

  Seemingly satisfied that Essar was pacified, Elentiya went to the wash bin and began scrubbing some of the already-done dishes. Casting her eyes toward her for a moment, Essar inched a bit closer to Fenna.

  “I know this won’t mean much to you, but you can trust me,” she muttered. “Besides, it doesn’t do you any good to lie. His scent is all over you.”

  Fenna froze. Gavriel hadn’t been here for weeks. And yet… Essar hadn’t said intwined. She’d said all over. Like Luca had said the morning after he’d arrived. Not… not the way Luca and Lilah’s scents were beginning to wind together. That was a slow process. There hadn’t been enough time – they hadn’t had enough moments together –

  Unless…

  Blinking herself into motion again, Fenna glanced at Essar out of the corner of her eye. The female’s mouth was set in a firm line. But her eyes weren’t quite so stern as the rest of her face.

  “I don’t think I need to tell you this means you’re in a bit more danger than you’re used to,” Essar continued, voice low. “But, if it’s any consolation, you’ve got one of the best of them. He’s well worth the risk.”

  In spite of her misgivings, Fenna found herself starting to smile. In her opinion, she had the best of them. But she supposed Essar might be inclined to expand that description a bit.

  “I would love to ask you all sorts of questions about that,” Essar went on, finishing with the potatoes and moving onto some celery. “But I understand why you don’t want to speak on it. Just know that I thoroughly approve and let’s leave it at that.” She hesitated, then sighed, shaking her head. “I suppose you can interrogate me about Lorcan, in return for bringing it up at all.”

  Oh, Fenna had been waiting for this opportunity.

  “How?” was the only thing she could think to ask. Fortunately, Essar seemed to find it amusing. She laughed, a sound like the low ringing of an alto bell.

  “That’s what most people ask. And I suppose it’s not an unfair question. The leader of Maeve’s blood-sworn and conqueror of cities with a tiny pacifist who enjoys walks in the garden and a good symphony? Well, first of all, you may not believe it, but Lorcan doesn’t exactly not like those things.”

  Fenna might have choked had she had anything in her mouth. “Really?”

  “He’ll pretend he doesn’t. And he does think they’re a bit absurd, but think about it. Do you have to dislike something if you find it absurd?”

  Fenna was about to respond, then remembered that she enjoyed Fenrys very much and held her tongue.

  “Lorcan and I agree on the important things, and that was what mattered. No other differences were a hindrance.”

  It made enough sense that Fenna wasn’t going to question it. But there was one thing niggling at her, and she couldn’t quite keep herself from asking.

  “Well, then,” she said cautiously, “if you don’t mind my asking… why didn’t it work out between the pair of you?”

  Essar’s gaze darkened, and Fenna immediately wished she could take her words back.

  “If that’s too personal –“

  “No, not at all. There are bits of our parting that I won’t share with you. They aren’t mine to share. But let’s just say I wasn’t a large fan of Maeve’s hold over him. He’s convinced he will always love her more than any other. But he doesn’t act as though he does, and… I think there’s something more to it than that. Some extra control she exerts over him that she doesn’t any of the others.”

  Fenna considered that. “Do you mean to say… Well, no. Never mind.”

  “No. What is it?”

  She’d been about to ask if she thought Maeve had a similar relationship with Lorcan as she did Fenrys and Connall. As she’d implied she’d once had with Gavriel. Fenna’s hands curled a bit tighter around the knife as she thought about it.

  “Do you think he’s ever been her – well…” Fenna couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. She didn’t even quite know what the term was for a male. The unoffensive one, anyway.

  Essar’s voice lowered once more. “You can call the position what it is, Fenna. Do I think he’s been her concubine? No, I don’t. In fact, I think he’s one of the only – “ She stopped abruptly, as though realizing what she’d been about to say.

  Fenna went still. So it was true. It wasn’t just something the Fae Queen had said to get under her skin. She really had had Gavriel… serve her in that way before. For how long, she wondered? And when had it stopped? She had the sickening feeling that it might have been around when Fenrys and Connall caught her attention.

  “No,” Essar said abruptly. “She’s never required that of Lorcan. I know he’s offered.” She shuddered. “And while he’d tell you it was because he wanted her, I’m fairly certain it was for another reason entirely.”

  Such as to divert her attention from someone else. Lorcan would. That odd fondness she had for the male poked at Fenna’s heart once more.

  “It’s part of being blood-sworn to Maeve,” Essar said, still under her breath. “She’s not… you can’t refuse her anything. Not even yourself, if she wants you.” Her brow furrowed. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Maeve does have a type.”

  Fenna debated asking her next question. “Has she… do you know which of the others?” She already knew. But part of her wanted to hear it confirmed.

  “Well, Rowan’s all-but her nephew. So, she can’t exactly have him, even if she would like to. There are appearances to keep up. You’ve already heard the story of her and Lorcan. And I think even Maeve knows better than to try with Vaughan. But…” She shook her head. “You obviously know Fenrys and Connall. And… I’m not going to lie to you about Gavriel, either. There was a time when yes, she did prefer his company to others’.”

  A shudder ran through her. Fenna was quiet for a moment.

  It changed nothing in regard to how she felt about him. What sort of person would she be if it did? But… she wondered if he still harbored any misgivings about relationships of a more intimate nature because of his past with Maeve. Because she knew enough of him to know it would not have been a relationship he chose.

  Not for the first time, she contemplated marching to Doranelle and jamming a thorny vine down Maeve’s throat.

  “It was a long while ago,” Essar said. “Long before I was even born. Compared to most of them, I’m relatively young. More the twins’ age. I know… I know he’s had lovers since then. Not nearly as many as Rowan, or even Lorcan, but that’s in his nature. Gavriel doesn’t have diversion in him when it comes to this sort of thing – and yes, that might have something to do with Maeve. But a good portion of it is just who he is. Don’t worry yourself about it, Fenna.” She considered. “Though maybe do bring up that you know before the pair of you… do anything.”

  All right, this was getting a bit too open for Fenna’s preference. But, her voice equally as low as Essar’s, she muttered, “How do you know we haven’t?”

  Essar raised a brow. “Do you know how hard you blushed when I told you his scent was all over you? I wasn’t completely honest about the nature of that blending, by the way. It’s not that seasoned lovers don’t have blushing in them, but you don’t turn that shade of crimson unless – “

  “All right, all right,” Fenna muttered, smirking as, beside her, Aludra began to cough pointedly. “You’re right. And thank you… for the advice.”

  Nodding, Essar glanced around Fenna at Aludra. Sensing her attention, Aludra tensed visibly.

  But Essar had nothing but kindness in store.

  “You’ve got a lovely slice,” she said. “Your dicing is so even and symmetrical. Mine are hopelessly non-uniform. Maybe that’s the noble girl in me – I can’t seem to shake it.”

  Aludra hesitated a moment before a small smile bloomed on her mouth. Fenna was relieved to see that it was genuine.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  If it were at all possible, Fenna would have made a mental note to have Essar for tea.

As she was least uncomfortable with the presence of pure-blooded Fae, Fenna had been elected to serve the small gathering of diplomats. Apparently the other two – Benson and Remelle – couldn’t bring themselves to dine with demi-fae, but had no issue with being served by one.

  And Fenna was perfectly content with them staying as far away from the other residents of her fortress as possible. Fortunately, there was a small but well-equipped dining room for occasions such as this just adjacent to the kitchen. Fenna wondered that no one seemed to worry that it was built into the fortress outer wall and therefore, if Mistward was attacked during the meal, they were all that much more likely to die.

  Essar had raised a brow at the placement of the room, but neither of the other two seemed to notice. They were too busy eyeing the manner of food derisively.

  And, at least for the dark-haired, dark-eyed male whose glass she was currently refilling, eyeing her in an entirely different, entirely uncomfortable way.

  Fenna wanted his eyes off her. But at least they weren’t on Elentiya. She flicked her eyes toward Rowan, who was just now noticing.

  Sure enough, a snarl rippled its way from his throat, and Benson directed his attention elsewhere.

  “So, you’re from Adarlan’s empire?” Remelle asked Elentiya from the other side of the table. Unsurprisingly, she’d all but ignored Fenna.

  Taking a dangerously slow bite from the roast chicken stew, Elentiya responded, “I am.”

  Oh, so someone had made her familiar with Rowan and Remelle’s past. Fenna bit both lower and upper lip to avoid grinning. This should be the best entertainment she’d had in a while.

  “I thought I detected the accent – Adarlan and… Terrasen, am I right?”

  Fenna remembered which magics Essar had said each other member of the party had – Benson could turn invisible when he so chose and Remelle could master any language she heard within days. It made sense why Maeve wanted both of them as diplomats.

  Even if Remelle was insufferable and Benson had a tendency to sleep his way through whichever kingdom he visited.

  “They do mangle their words over there so brutally. I doubt even years here will cure you of the boorish accent.”

  Fenna contemplated throwing the pitcher of water in her hands at the female.

  “I find the accent quite charming, actually,” Essar said, taking a spoonful of soup and at least seeming to appreciate it more than the others even played at.

  “Well, you had such a provincial upbringing, Essar,” Remelle responded breezily. “I’m not surprised that you like it.”

  Essar’s face tightened. Fenna wondered for a moment if she was about to break her oath of pacifism, but nothing happened. At least, not until Remelle choked on her next spoonful of soup and, coughing and fanning her open mouth, snapped her fingers for Fenna to bring the water.

  Not appreciating the gesture but more interested in whatever had happened to make Remelle’s bowl start steaming like that, Fenna hurried over and refilled the lady’s glass. Remelle drained it. Glancing at Essar, Fenna couldn’t restrain the slightest smirk. The diminutive female looked far too innocent for her own good.

  But a further glance at Elentiya told her differently. Essar’s pacifism and that move? They didn’t fit. But, for whatever reason, Essar was perfectly comfortable letting Remelle think it had been her.

  “The beastly cook boiled this soup,” Remelle coughed.

  Fenna backed away in order to avoid smashing the pitcher over her head.

  Voice tight, Elentiya turned to Essar. “You grew up in the countryside?”

  Essar smiled. “My father owns a vineyard in the Southeast of our territory. I spent my youth roaming the olive orchards and the cypress groves. But I moved to Doranelle when it was deemed time for me to enter society.”

  Fenna wondered if her father’s vineyard had seen any looting from the rogues last winter – they wouldn’t have been victims of the genocide itself, but the aftereffects, perhaps. She’d have to ask Essar later. She had the impression she was better seen than heard here.

  “Alas, Essar has been rather unlucky when it comes to fulfilling her parent’s wishes to find a proper husband.”

  Why did the very sound of Remelle’s voice grate on her? It wasn’t as though it were excessively high-pitched or irritating.

  “Husband,” Elentiya mused. “Not mate?”

  Remelle gave a delicate click of her tongue. “Of course not. A mate is rare – most Fae don’t find them.”

  Essar caught Fenna’s eye and winked. Fenna found that blush creeping up her neck again. Clearly, Essar’s opinion on the matter was well known.

  “So, we marry.”

  “What if you marry, then find your mate?”

  “Wars have been started for that,” Benson said, his leering gaze turning to Elentiya. “But if that is the case, it is treated very delicately.”

  “It’s a mess, is what he means,” Essar filled in. “A male will feel the need to kill any challenger to his mate, even if that challenger is already wed to her. Even if they’re in love.

  Remelle waved a hand again, her tone bored. “For all our refinements, there are still instincts that can’t be controlled.”

  Fenna surveyed all the bowls. With the exception of Remelle, all were nearly finished with this first course. Perhaps it was time to get the second. She was so focused on figuring out just how she was to handle five bowls of dessert on her own that she nearly missed Remelle’s next comment.

  “But as a half-breed, you won’t have to worry about such things. Finding a mate is even rarer for those with diluted blood – and none of us would marry you, anyway.”

  Elentiya held Remelle’s stare admirably, Fenna thought. She, personally, was boiling with rage. Pitcher trembling in her hands, she found herself rooted to the spot. If her feet weren’t working, however, her words were – against her will.

  “Absurd.”

  The entire table went still. Remelle pivoted to look at her as Essar went pale and Rowan and Elentiya watched, every line of their bodies rife with tension. Fenna figured she didn’t need to fear any harm coming to her, so she didn’t bother to hold her tongue.

  “That is absurd.”

  Remelle’s brow furrowed and she began to rise. “How dare you – “

  “It is not any rarer for a demi-fae” – she stressed the proper verbiage – “to find their mate than a full-blood. If you bothered to dirty your little nose any, you’d know that. I can tell you at least ten mated pairs I know at this fortress alone. And as for your assertion that none of your kind would marry us” – Fenna noted Rowan’s rapid head-shaking but cared not – “I think you’ll find that there are plenty who would. Not all Fae are as stupidly ignorant as you.”

  On her feet, Remelle began striding toward her, hand raised. “Why you insolent little bi – “

  Fenna hadn’t seen Rowan move, but in an instant he had a hand wrapped around Remelle’s wrist, stopping her so abruptly that she stumbled and cried out in pain. Now every member of the party was on their feet, even the languid, leering Benson.

  “Rowan – “ Remelle gasped, but there was no mercy in those cold, green eyes.

  “You will not lay a hand on her,” he growled. “And I know very well what you were about to call her. If I hear you using that term on Fenna or any of the females in this fortress, I will forget how rutting unable to defend yourself in any useful sense you are. Do you understand?”

  Glaring, but not seeming to feel any remorse – or fear – Remelle nodded.

  Rowan released her but didn’t go back to his seat. Sniffing and drawing herself up to her full height, the blonde female eyed Fenna derisively.

  “Very well. But I wish to be served by another.”

  “Fenna will remain,” Rowan ground out. “Sit the hell down.”

  Surely thinking it was less obvious that she was nursing her injured dignity than it was, Remelle gave another sniff and turned toward her seat – and paused. Turning over her shoulder just slightly, she glanced back at Fenna. Looked her up and down. Sniffed again, ever so delicately.

  And smirked.

  Fenna’s heart dropped.

  “I’d think it was high time for the next round, then,” Benson griped as everyone resumed their seats.

  Setting the pitcher of water down, Fenna left the room, trying to ignore the roaring wave of panic in her ears. What had she just done?

  Because there had been no other reason for Remelle to sense for any sort of bond, but now that Fenna had gone on about the absurdities of her claims, she knew.

  Which meant, in a way, Fenna knew, too.

  It didn’t fill her with nearly as much joy as it should have.

  Because if Remelle knew, it was only a short amount of time before Maeve would, too.

Chapter Text

Fenna stayed latest, helping Emrys clean up. After Reuven came to fetch Aludra and Emrys demanded Luca go home, as he wasn’t doing anyone any good falling asleep in the dishwater and nearly drowning himself, Malakai had stopped by briefly to check on things before returning to manning the change of the watch. Everyone in the fortress remained on edge.

  Now, Fenna not least of all.

  Dinner after her little explosion had been relatively uneventful. Well, if uneventful meant what happened when Fenna came in with the second course and found Remelle with a ring of fire around her. The lady had, of course, demanded that Essar release her only to find that it wasn’t Essar holding her captive.

  Later, she’d asked Elentiya what on earth had happened only to find that Remelle had made some… choice comments toward Rowan. So Elentiya had thought to make her… well, think better of it.

  Something told Fenna Remelle had figured out just who Elentiya was around the time she’d commented on her origins, and as Maeve already knew that, she had the feeling it wouldn’t have nearly as much of a fallout as her actions.

  She hadn’t even been coherent enough to be vaguely satisfied as Remelle, after being released from the living flame, had turned over her chair arm and promptly vomited. Partly because she’d been the one who had to clean it up.

  But mostly because there was too much on her mind.

  She’d given so much away tonight, and it wasn’t even anything she’d known herself until she’d done it. But now Remelle knew. And Essar certainly suspected.

  Fenna slammed a dish a bit too forcefully to be quiet, and Emrys looked up at her from where he was lifting the massive cauldron off the fire. “Something wrong, Songbird?”

  What wasn’t wrong? Fenna shook her head and came to help him with the cauldron.

  “Nothing, Emrys,” she said blithely. Well, she hoped it was blithe. “Just a bit tired. Let me take care of that. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

  “So have you, child.”

  “Well, I’m a bit younger than you are.”

  Wincing and stretching his back, Emrys groaned, “Don’t remind me.” He looked her in the eye. “You don’t fool me, you know. You’ve been acting oddly ever since you came in for that second course. Come now. What’s wrong?”

  Fenna sighed and stared down into the depths of the cauldron. It wasn’t telling him she was worried about. Frankly, if Maeve knew, the entire fortress was in danger, so Emrys and Malakai should both be aware. So, it wasn’t that, no. It was that she was afraid she wouldn’t make any sense if she did. And he at least would understand that much.

  Looking back up at him, Fenna gave a weak smile. “I just need some time to sort out my thoughts,” she whispered. “Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow?”

  Eyeing her knowingly but ultimately nodding and rising to a stand, Emrys reached down and squeezed her shoulder.

  “Don’t stay too late,” he said. “If that thing is proving difficult, leave it and come back in the morning. We’ve all earned a good rest, I think.”

  Didn’t she know it. Fenna bid him good night and waited for the door to shut behind him before she began scrubbing once more.

  After about five minutes of scrubbing, she figured it was good enough to let rest until the morning. She didn’t feel like leaving just yet, however. Sighing, she leaned her head against the huge pot, still only barely warm, and finally let herself think it. Let her mind give voice to what her gut had been telling her all evening and what her heart had been telling her for a good while longer.

  Oh, gods.

  What if Gavriel was her mate?

  It would certainly explain a thing or two.

  Such as the fact that his scent was apparently entwined with hers. The fact that, apparently, she had the look of a person with a mate, according to Lilah. The fact that every second she spent away from him felt like she was being ripped into shreds, one shard at a time, and the parts of her that were being siphoned off were drifting toward Doranelle, or wherever he happened to be at the time.

  Yes, it would explain all of those things.

  But it didn’t have to, she considered. There were plenty of couples she’d met in Mistward who were simply married or in love whose scents were entwined with each other. It didn’t have to be a mate thing, specifically. And what Lilah had said could just be her interpretation of things. She could be interpreting it completely wrong in this instance.

  As for the constant ripping, all that meant was that she was deeply, madly, horribly in love with him and missed him beyond reason.

  Brow still leaned against the cauldron, Fenna leashed a sob and a smile all at once. That was another thing her mind hadn’t given voice to yet.

  She loved him. Gods, she loved him.

  Really, knowing herself, she was a bit surprised she hadn’t put words to it a bit sooner. But, mate or not, the absolute certainty of that washed over her in wave after wave until Fenna was certain she wouldn’t be able to stand any time soon. Not with the beautiful, terrifying weight of it.

  With that acknowledgement came desires she knew were impossible. Yet maybe not all of it. Maybe she could have the smallest bit of him possible – these hoped for, promised visits every so often. They were enough. Fenna knew they were enough and was certain they always would be, as long as she could have that tiniest bit of him possible.

  Fenna allowed herself to turn the possibility of that enormously weighty word over in her head, again and again.

  Mate.

  Mate.

  Mate.

  She pictured Gavriel in her mind’s eye, hoping that might help her figure it out. It was remarkably easy. Every detail of him – tawny eyes, tattooed neck and hands, the parts of his hands not covered with tattoos flecked with thin, white scars. That ridiculously handsome, angular face of his. Sighing again, Fenna continued to turn the word over, holding the image of him in her head.

  Oh, my love. You are that, without question. But my mate?

  Every part of her sung with certainty. And yet every part of her warred against that certainty. She’d heard so often about the bond. Shouldn’t she feel a bond? Shouldn’t she be able to feel his emotions from this distance as though they were her own?

  Then again, maybe she was, and he simply missed her just as much as she missed him.

  But the more Fenna searched her inmost self, she didn’t feel a single thing other than her own being. No, these longings were all her own. Fenna felt her hand go to her heart, involuntarily, as though the inner pain were physical.

  Gods, she missed him. Always, always she missed him.

  The fact that she didn’t feel a bond meant nothing. Maybe it just hadn’t snapped into place yet. Sometimes it took a while. Emrys and Malakai had felt it right away, Luca… well, he’d apparently taken a while to realize things about Lilah. Maybe both parties needed to realize it before it did.

  But if that were the case… did that mean he wasn’t certain about her? Fenna was sure that if she were thinking they were mates, the possibility had already crossed Gavriel’s mind.

    But all of it mattered little. Because even if they weren’t mates, Remelle suspected. And if she suspected, she was probably going to report it to Maeve. And if Maeve knew… it was only a matter of time before she did something about it.

  Fenna wasn’t afraid for herself. But her fortress? Yes. Her family? Yes.

  Gavriel? Absolutely.

  The door creaked open behind her, and she stood, not looking to see who it was. It was most likely Emrys coming back to be sure she’d left at a decent hour.

  “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” she said, beginning to shove the cauldron toward the corner as he approached. “I’m leaving now.”

  An arm that was not thick enough to be Emrys’s but strong enough to hold her fast snaked around her waist, pinning her arms against him, as well. A hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off the cry rising from her throat.

  “Oh, good,” a sneering voice crooned in her ear. “I’m counting on it.”

  Fenna tried yanking an arm loose, but he had her pinioned tightly, and was definitely stronger than she was. Balling her fists, she tried striking at his waist, but only managed a few glancing blows at this angle. The angle at which he held her arms prevented her from moving her elbows at all effectively. Whoever this was, they were clearly experienced and knew exactly how to grab an unsuspecting female.

  A single name entered her head as her captor dragged her toward the door.

  Benson.

  Screaming against his hand and continuing to struggle futilely, Fenna cursed her own stupidity. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she’d let her guard down. He’d probably turned invisible to slip through the halls without being seen – though most of Mistward’s inhabitants were scarce tonight, anyway.

  Not the sentries, though.

  As they reached the door, Fenna began screaming louder, praying that, no matter how muffled her cries might be, someone on the wall would hear. Benson tightened his grip around her, squeezing painfully against her ribs. Fenna’s cries turned from fear to pain as tears leaked from her eyes, but she didn’t stop. Benson squeezed again.

  “Shut up,” he hissed, lifting her off her feet. Honestly, why couldn’t she be somewhat substantially built?

  At least this gave her the opportunity to kick at his shins as he yanked her through another door into – the dining room?

  He took his hand off her mouth long enough to shut the door behind him. Freed enough, Fenna summoned every decibel she had in her.

  “Help! Help me!”

  Benson spun her around and slapped her face in a backhand that sent her falling to the ground.

  The wind knocked out of her, Fenna barely had time to regain her bearings before Benson was on top of her. Knees pressing her shoulders to the ground, he stuffed something thick and made of fabric into her mouth before she could scream again.

  Wrapping another cloth around her mouth and tying it tightly, he muttered, “Your mouth will not be required for what comes next, trust me.”

  He leaned down, trailing his nose along her neck and inhaling deeply. Fenna cringed away, clawing at the ground. He still had a firm press on her shoulders as he pressed his open mouth to her bare skin.

  Fenna shrieked through the gag, knowing no one could hear her. And no one would think to look for her here. For a moment, she was somewhere distant. A forest on the other side of the mountains, the sting of healing magic in her body, her blood covering the ground.

  Through the haze of terror and disgust, she heard words, long memorized, sounding through her head.

  Distance is nothing to me. Wherever you are, if you’re in any sort of danger, your job is to stay alive, and I’ll find you eventually. I promise nothing else but that. I will come eventually. Not even an ocean would keep me from you.

  “Eventually” was not exactly a comforting word in this scenario. As Benson sat up, fiddling with the strap on his pants, Fenna felt the weight of distance and wished, for the life of her, that she had some way of letting Gavriel know she needed him right now.

  Needed someone, anyway.

  Benson finished tugging down his pants, and Fenna directed her eyes at his face. It was disgustingly delighted as he began to slide the hem of her dress up over her knees.

  In her very soul, Fenna’s cries echoed the ones coming from her throat –

  -and in her very soul, something pulled tight. Not so taut it frayed, but tight. Sure. And every inner distress signal travelled down that line. Little good it would do her in the short run, but with that dizzying clarity, another thought occurred to her.

  Do you have magic, or don’t you?

  And another thought, more words from another male who was dear to her, flashed through her mind.

  If he tries anything on you, strangle him with grapevines.

  Benson froze as the stone floor around him began to crack. Which was just long enough for a pair of grapevines to shoot through the crack and wrap themselves around his neck.

  Falling back from her, Benson gripped at his throat, tearing at the vines, but they held fast. Scrabbling back and stumbling to her feet, Fenna found herself filled with new strength as she kept her hands aloft, holding the vines firmly where they were.

  Benson choked, mouth flapping open and closed as he searched for air and could bring none into his lungs. Fenna’s magic didn’t falter, but her mind did. Could she really do it? Would she really kill him? Intentionally, not accidentally as she had the female at the river all those months ago?

  Tears wet the cloth still wrapped tightly around her mouth, but she knew she would. And she would regret nothing.

  Just as the thought entered her head, the door slammed open, and three figures burst into the room, along with a gust of wind. One of them seemed to be on fire.

  Rowan Whitethorn appeared behind Benson, one arm snaking around his chest, the other bringing a knife up to his throat. Relief flooding Fenna, she felt her knees begin to give way. And with her body, her magic dropped.

  The grapevines fell from around Benson’s throat, and he inhaled deeply, choking still but with purchase. Of course, he didn’t breathe quite as deeply as he might have had a blade not been pressed to his carotid artery. A tiny trickle of blood already poured. His dark eyes shone with fear.

  Fenna found herself falling to the ground, chest heaving – with sobs or her own ragged breathing, she wasn’t quite certain. The flaming figure – Elentiya, she realized – ran to her, ripping the gag from her mouth. Fenna paused in weeping long enough to spit the wad of cloth out. Choking, she drew in the first clean breath in a while as Elentiya took her face in her hands.

  “Fenna? Gods, are you all right?”

  She nodded, even as she started sobbing afresh. Elentiya held her for a moment, then, turquoise eyes glinting dangerously, turned back toward where Rowan still held Benson prone.

  “He’s mine,” she growled, rising, flame lighting at her fingertips.

  But Essar, Fenna’s third rescuer, held a hand up, her own dark eyes filled with fury. Standing between Elentiya and Benson, she was the least intimidating and most effective barrier Fenna had ever seen.

  “What in Hellas’ dark realm?” was all she demanded. It seemed all she was capable of saying at the moment.

  Rowan pulled Benson tighter against him, the blade sliding dangerously.

  “I take it Remelle didn’t pass on my warning?”

  Benson looked as though he were about to shake his head, then appeared to think better of it.

  “No,” he ground out through his teeth.

  “Well, that’s a pity,” Rowan said in a voice that indicated just the opposite. “I believe my exact words were, ‘If he looks twice at any female in this fortress, he dies.’” He shrugged. “An even bigger pity you chose that one. Now I’ll have to carry that threat out, won’t I?”

  “If I may, Prince,” came a thoroughly angry voice from direction of the door, “I would do the honors.”

  Emrys stood silhouetted in the door, looking quite larger than Fenna had ever seen him. A smell filled the air as Benson beheld the wicked-looking kitchen knife at his side, and Fenna was suddenly very glad she was not looking at his nether-regions.

  A small sound of disgust was all the sign Rowan gave that he’d just been wet on.

  “While I’ve no doubt you could do a fine job of it, Kitchenmaster,” he said, “I think your talents are better suited elsewhere.”

  Nodding, Emrys made his way over to where Fenna still clung to Elentiya. The other girl relinquished her to his embrace, and Fenna only halfway buried her face in her adoptive father’s chest. She kept one eye unblocked, however. She wanted to see what they’d do to him.

  Elentiya let her hands cradle flame once more, and Fenna was relatively surprised to see Essar doing the same. She didn’t doubt Essar would let Elentiya do anything violent, but for intimidation’s sake… They were a rather imposing duo.

  Rowan, apparently, was tired of sitting in Benson’s urine. He rose, shoving the other male to the ground and coming to stand on Essar’s other side. The tiny female had finally found her voice again.

  “You, Benson, may be the sorriest excuse for a male I’ve ever seen,” she growled. “You’ve been making eyes at me this whole journey, but I knew you wouldn’t dare. And you weren’t nearly brave enough to take on this one.” She jerked her head at Elentiya. “I saw you eyeing Fenna, though. I knew you were just enough of a bastard to do it.”

  “So she came to me,” Rowan finished. “And as soon as we found your rooms empty, we came here.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Apparently we were in time.”

  Fenna heard his unspoken thank the gods and found herself, in spite of it all, warmed. Even as she still trembled uncontrollably.

  “I won’t kill you,” he went on. “It wouldn’t be politically expedient of me, would it? Unfortunately, I still have to bother with that sort of thing. But I will at least make this interesting.” He looked over at Elentiya. “If he doesn’t do as I say, you know where to burn.”

  Elentiya grinned wickedly. “Oh, I know exactly.”

  “Just nick them. Don’t burn them off entirely. I think even you can control yourself to that degree, can’t you?”

  Elentiya rolled her eyes but nodded.

  “Take them off all the way.” For a moment, Fenna thought Rowan was changing his mind about just what Elentiya was and was not allowed to do in this instance, but he was nodding toward Benson’s pants, still wadded around his knees.

  Wordlessly, hands shaking, Benson obeyed.

  “Leave them here. You owe me a new pair, but seeing as those are ruined, I’ll settle for stealing them from you, as well. Get up.”

  Benson got up, and though his tunic was long enough to cover practically everything, Fenna still kept her gaze averted.

  “Now, if you will, proceed down the hallway. We” – Rowan nodded at Elentiya – “will be following you. You’ll also have the pleasure of us both flanking your door all night. And, if you get any ideas about turning invisible on the way back, I will reconsider my decisions on political expediency.”

  For the first time in a very long while, Fenna was reminded that Rowan was, in fact, minor Fae royalty. He certainly had the command in his voice.

  Knees knocking, Benson stumbled out of the room, and Fenna breathed properly for the first time. Elentiya cast a glance back at her before following Rowan out, as though to make certain once more that she was, in fact, all right. Then she was gone, leaving just Fenna, Emrys, and Essar.

  As the spectacle was done, Fenna fully hid her face in Emrys’s shoulder and gave vent to her remaining fear. And relief. And… so many other things.

  “Shh,” she heard him whispering. “It’s all right, little one. You’re safe now.” He sighed. “Thank the gods.”

  Another hand squeezed her shoulder, and Fenna realized Essar hadn’t left. She was so, so grateful for the other female’s attentiveness. This night might have turned out very differently, otherwise.

  As she felt herself calming down, Fenna felt a rush of inexplicable alarm blooming in her chest. She blinked for a moment, wondering where on earth it came from. And then she remembered.

  Finding that same line she’d sent the distress call down a few moments ago, Fenna sent a very different message down that line. That bond, she realized.

  I’m all right. The danger’s passed.

  Relief flooded the same spot the alarm had occupied earlier, and Fenna found herself sobbing afresh. Oh, gods. She’d been wondering about it before everything had happened and… well, what else was this new part of her? What else could it be but the very thing she’d been doubting it was?

  “Oh gods,” she choked out. “Oh gods.”

  “I know, little one,” Emrys murmured. “I know.”

  “It’s over now,” Essar soothed.

  Shaking her head, Fenna pulled back just enough to be able to see them both.

  “No,” she whispered. “That’s not it. It’s just that… oh, gods. He’s my mate.”

  Emrys’s eyes shot wide. “Benson?”

  “No!” Fenna exclaimed. “Gods, no.”

  “I mean, it’s not unheard of,” Essar put in.

  “No.” Fenna shook her head. “You both know who I mean.”

  Essar and Emrys eyed each other warily. Knowingly. After a moment, Essar reached out and gingerly touched the corner of Fenna’s mouth. Wincing, Fenna watched as Essar pulled her fingers away, a thin line of blood marring them.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, rising.

  Emrys eased Fenna to her feet, his knees audibly creaking as he rose with her. “I can get some water on in the kitchen.”

  Essar shook her head. “No,” she said. “This conversation is best had somewhere private. One of your rooms will do.” She eyed Fenna evenly. “If we’re going to be discussing him, we’d best be able to say his name out loud.”

Chapter Text

Weapons scattered on the bed, Gavriel hit his knees beside it as the flood of reassurance surged through him, sent down that thin-yet-growing thread he hadn’t been aware of until just that moment. Chest heaving, he leaned his forehead against the mattress, bracing an arm atop it, mind racing.

  What – what had just –

  “Gavriel?”

  In the haze of panic, he’d practically forgotten Connall was in the room. They’d been revisiting the very topic of Fenna when something unfamiliar and known all at once had snapped into place and blind terror had flooded through him. Instinct taking over, Gavriel had started throwing a traveling pack together, knowing all the while it was probably useless.

  He’d known that. His mind had told him that.

  But all he’d been able to do was everything he could to get to Fenna, however far away she was and however very late he’d be.

  “Gavriel?” Connall had risen, Topaz’s claws firmly ensconced on the back of his chair and hair raised along her back, hissing. “What just happened?”

  She’d been in trouble. His Fenna had been in danger, and he hadn’t been there. And she may have been fine now – for which he figured he could likely thank Rowan – but still…

  “Gavriel,” Connall repeated, voice gentler than Gavriel had ever heard it. He crouched at his side. “Are you all right?”

  Yes. No. Better off than Fenna – but Fenna was fine. He reminded himself of that, over and over again. Fenna was fine.

  “Was it – “ Connall trailed off, shaking his head. Suspicion laced his dark eyes, but he, of all people, would know better than to voice that suspicion out loud. Even if it was correct. Especially if it was correct. He finally settled on a simple phrasing. “Was it Fenna?”

  Gavriel nodded. It was about all he could bring himself to do.

  “Is she all right?”

  A shudder ran through him, then another. He reached out across the bond again, just to confirm. Questioning, probing. And that same assurance answered in kind. Raw, still terrified. But not urgently so. And, of course, trying to comfort him.

  I’m all right. The danger’s past. He could practically hear her saying it, though no words sounded in his mind.

  More in response to Fenna than Connall, Gavriel nodded, choking on a sob. She was fine. She was fine.

  He didn’t bother holding back any longer. As relief threatened to overwhelm him, Gavriel pressed his forehead to the sheets once more and wept.

  Connall crouched there still, a hand on his shoulder, for a moment longer, then rose.

  “Watch Topaz. I’m getting tea.”

The younger male had been gone for half an hour when Gavriel finally managed to make himself move from the bedside and stumble over to the table. Pulling a chair out, he’d sat down, bracing his elbows on the tabletop and staring straight ahead. It was about all the energy he had left in him. Topaz had jumped into his lap and curled up there. For once, Gavriel wasn’t worried she’d decide she’d had enough of him existing and claw into him before switching perches. She was sleeping soundly, seeming content to be a comforting weight across his legs.

  Which was fortunate, because he needed it.

  Lowering his head into his hands, Gavriel took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to sort his racing thoughts. To calm his pounding heart.

  He chose to focus on the most obvious, likely most productive fact and start there. The rest would fall into place. So Gavriel repeated the sentence in his head, over and over, until it finally sank in.

  She was his mate. Fenna was his mate.

  He’d known it for a long while, of course, but never had anything to confirm it. The nuances for instinct regarding your mate and instinct regarding someone you loved were tricky. But there were no other bonds like the one he’d just experienced.

  He reached out across it again, as he’d been doing every five minutes since that initial horror had filled him. He hadn’t had any goal in doing so thus far, just to make sure she was all right. That she was still there. That the bond was still there and hadn’t shattered, as he’d heard so often happened when one’s mate… but it hadn’t happened. She was fine.

  Though he knew she wouldn’t hear his exact thoughts as she would if they shared a carranam bond, he still put words to it as he reached out once more.

  Fenna. Love, are you there?

  A slow, tentative answer, a wordless one, but one he could interpret as well as if she’d been right there next to him and answering aloud.

  I’m here.

  Sighing, Gavriel folded his arms on the table and rested his head atop them.

  How are you?

  He hoped it felt more intelligent on her end than it sounded in his head.

  A more uncertain answer this time, the equivalent of a question settling in his heart. She wasn’t all right – physically unharmed, but still on edge. Still in need of comfort, and while he’d been to Mistward and knew she wouldn’t lack for it, it didn’t change anything on his end. He sighed, hoping that she’d interpret what he was about to send her way just as clearly as he’d been able to read her.

  I wish I could hold you.

  He should be there. It didn’t matter that whoever was most likely was someone else she loved and trusted. It should be him. He should be there, not sitting here in Doranelle, completely useless to her.

  Longing that was not his own flooded him once more. Feeling her in his chest only doubled his already-existing pangs, and Gavriel squeezed his eyes against the pain of it.

  She wished he could, too.

  I’ll come when I can. I promise.

  Assurance. She knew.

  He was fairly certain, with this conversation of the heart they were having, he wouldn’t be able to focus if there were anyone else in the room. And he knew Fenna. If she were alone, the underlying distress he was feeling from her would be much greater.

  He needed to leave her alone – for now. Even as everything in him wanted to drop everything and make the three-day run to Mistward. He would. But when it was expedient to do so. He’d just been, and if he wasn’t mistaken, this was around the time that diplomatic party Essar had mentioned would be there. He didn’t need word getting back to Maeve he’d randomly dropped in to pay a visit.

  Especially since as soon as he set foot on Mistward’s grounds, there was no chance he’d be able to pretend he was there for Rowan. And it wouldn’t do for Maeve’s dignitaries to see one of her blood-sworn clinging to a demi-fae kitchenmaid.

  Gavriel’s fists clenched. He hated that it should make any difference. He hated all of this.

  But he kept that from reaching out along the bond. He didn’t want to upset Fenna any more than she already was. So, rather than giving into that hate, he focused on something rather the opposite.

  It wasn’t telling her. Not really. He’d be able to truly say it the next time he saw her, but as long as he was here and couldn’t be there and she needed something comforting… and would feel the thought, rather than hear it…

  I love you.

  No response but stillness. Gavriel figured she was either ignoring him or understood perfectly well what he’d meant and had completely frozen. He had nothing left to lose. He kept going.

  I have for months. You’ve made me hope again. I love you, Fenna. I’m coming soon.

  Another beat of stillness, then a resounding echo of his emotion filling him. Everything that had tensed in him eased once more as he drank it in, that hope he’d referenced. There was absolutely no reason he should have it, and yet he did.

  As long as he forgot Maeve, that hope had full reign on him, and he wasn’t about to question it.

  All too soon, the echo faded, and Gavriel clenched his fists once more, as if to hold onto it. He couldn’t keep it with him, though. Just the memory of it. Sitting up, he lowered his face into his hands and dragged weary fingers down his face. Letting his hands drop to his lap, he leaned back until he was staring up at the ceiling and sighed.

  Mate.

  He’d known for months, he supposed. Suspected, at least. It was that word that had flashed in his brain all those months ago, with wolves surrounding their fire and one of them leaping at her throat, jaws open. A shudder ran through his body.

  Why was it that it was always something traumatizing that made you realize these things?

  He had the feeling that whatever had snapped it into place for Fenna had been significantly worse. He’d contemplate that later…

  Only he wouldn’t. Gavriel sat bolt upright in his chair as an earlier thought he’d held returned to him.

  The timing of this would coincide with about when Essar’s party would have been at Mistward.

  Benson.

  A snarl rose from his throat. It was the only thing that made sense – and he knew exactly what would have happened. Benson wasn’t a killer. But his other sort of predatory instincts were exceptionally well known.

  Gavriel stood so forcefully his chair toppled over behind him, forgetting about the cat on his lap. She yowled and skidded into a corner, hissing.

  He warred with every instinct he’d heard about but never experienced. They were telling him his only reasonable course of action was to do just what he’d talked himself out of and run straight for Mistward. He didn’t need to carry any weapons on him.

  Benson had tried to rape his mate – his Fenna – and Gavriel knew he was more than capable of killing the male with his bare hands.

  The door creaked open, and he whirled, still growling.

  Connall stood there, brow raised and tea tray in hand. A stream of steam rose from the pot atop it. Something in Gavriel calmed – though incrementally.

  Stepping inside, the younger male kicked the door closed and cast his eyes around the room, first taking in Gavriel’s agitated stance, the overturned chair, and, finally, following the yowls, his distressed cat.

  “What on earth did you do to her?”

  Gavriel wanted to ask Benson the same question.

  “Never mind. Sit. I got a jasmine and lavender blend.” He eyed Gavriel up and down appraisingly. “It may not put you to sleep in this state, but it might calm whatever this is down a bit.”

  He set the tray down on a side table and began to pour the tea. Gavriel didn’t move. Connall straightened and turned back to him, face still completely straight and a cup of tea in either hand. It was only then Gavriel noted it.

  The tremor in his hands.

  His mind cleared considerably, Gavriel reached out and took the cup Connall offered. He still made no move to sit. Connall, on the other hand, plopped down in his chair from earlier, relief so strong Gavriel could smell it. Topaz slunk from her spot in the corner, still eyeing Gavriel suspiciously, and jumped up into Connall’s lap.

  Rolling his eyes, Connall gestured toward the other chair with his own mug.

  “Sit, Gavriel. Whatever just happened, you can’t do anything about it now. So, let’s talk.”

  He hoped Connall didn’t expect him to carry on the same conversation they’d been having. He could hardly continue to be dreamy about Fenna after he’d nearly had to bolt out of the palace after her.

  Connall waited, stroking a hand absentmindedly over Topaz’s fur. Figuring he wouldn’t say anything more until he saw some movement, Gavriel took a half-hearted sip of tea, then another. He scalded his tongue but didn’t care. The pain gave him something else to focus on. Calmed him down even further.

  But not entirely.

  Connall eyed him shrewdly.

  “I don’t want to know,” he said, bluntly. “I don’t want to know what that was. I don’t want to know how you knew Fenna was in danger. I don’t. Want. To know. And more to the point, I can’t know. So don’t tell me. All right?”

  Not quite comprehending at first, Gavriel still nodded. After a moment, it hit him.

  Connall wasn’t an idiot, and he’d been taught about the same instincts Gavriel had. He knew what had happened just there, very well. But he was too close to Maeve. What he didn’t explicitly hear stated wouldn’t hurt him – or Gavriel, or Fenna. Or anyone else Maeve might use the knowledge against, because Gavriel knew the queen he served. She was more than capable of twisting it for whatever ends she pleased.

  “All I need to know regarding that” – he nodded to the spot where Gavriel had hit his knees by the bed – “is that Fenna was somehow in danger and now she’s not. I could have heard that anywhere. Not that the merchants who go to Mistward particularly care about what happens there, but still. Rumors happen. And there’s always an odd one. I didn’t hear it from you.” He raised a brow. “Do you… have any idea what happened?”

  Now able to think rationally, Gavriel shook his head.

  “Not for sure. But… I have an idea.” Giving another shake of his head, he sat back, setting the tea aside. No sense in burning his tongue any further. “You remember Essar saying the diplomatic party she was part of would be staying in Mistward on their way back from Wendlyn?”

  Connall nodded, then his eyes widened before sinking into a dark frown. “You think Benson…?”

  “I don’t know. But it would follow with what we already know.”

  Eyeing him for a moment, Connall set his own tea aside – by some miracle.

  “Gavriel. Like you said, you don’t know for sure. I don’t think we can assume every occupant of Mistward is pure as the driven snow. There’s nothing necessarily saying it had to have been him. The overall likelihood is – and should be, if you know what’s good for you and Fenna – they’ll be back before you’re able to get out to Mistward again. You can’t do anything rash. Not even if you find out for certain that’s what happened.”

  Gavriel resisted the urge to fly out of the chair again. Instead, he contented himself with balling his fists on the arm rests and glaring at Connall.

  “Nothing rash?” he demanded. “He tried to rape her, Connall. Do you have any idea how many lines that crosses – not just morally, but culturally? There isn’t a single person in this city who’d question my right to -“

  “And neither would I!” Connall hissed, staring at the door. “Keep it down, would you?”

  It hadn’t hit Gavriel how loud he was being. With effort, he kept his mouth shut and let Connall finish.

  “No one would question your right, not even Maeve, but do you think she could ignore the untimely murder of one of her diplomats? By one of her inner circle? She’ll kill you – but not before she makes you watch what she does to Fenna. All right?”

  There was a fevered intensity in Connall’s eyes Gavriel had never seen before. In fact, the only person he’d ever seen come close to rivalling it was Lorcan.

  On a very similar topic, in fact. Twice.

  But he didn’t want to dwell on his altercations with Lorcan on the topic of secret lovers. Right now, he cared more about figuring out what was making Connall look like that.

  “Connall. What did she do to you?”

  Letting out a tired breath, Connall leaned back, shook his head, and rested it on his fist, not looking at Gavriel but out the window.

  “What hasn’t she done to me, Gavriel?”

  It was a fair question – one Gavriel was more familiar with than most. But there was part of him that could still fathom acting irrationally when his mate was threatened and wouldn’t blame anyone else for doing so. But Connall would blame him. And that told him much of what he needed to know already.

  “You’ve seen someone. Since you’ve been her…” Gavriel trailed off. “Who was it?”

  Still not looking at him, Connall didn’t answer for a long moment.

  “It’s better that you don’t know his name, Just know that I loved him.”

  Gavriel’s brow furrowed. “And Maeve found out?”

  He would have thought a more public deal would have been made of the matter, to make a point. Quite frankly, considering the picture Connall had painted a moment ago, he would have thought Connall would have been long dead if that were the case.

  As he suspected, Connall shook his head.

  “No. But Lorcan did.”

  Gavriel froze. Was this part of the reason Connall hated the commander so much?

  “He didn’t do anything exceptionally nefarious – at least, he didn’t tell Maeve, like I was certain he would. He did reassign my lover to a distant outpost, however. And put the fear of the gods into me about it. For all the good it did. Sometimes, I think anyone who has an affair with one of us is just doomed in general.”

  He looked far too haunted. Gavriel didn’t want to know… yet he sensed it was part of the larger story and he would know anyway.  

  “What happened?”

  Connall’s jaw clenched.

  “He’s alive, if that’s what you’re wondering. But he was just terribly wounded enough in a raid to be crippled for life. And now he’s back in Doranelle, and I still can’t see him. I can’t do anything about the fact that he’s here. Because as much as I hate to admit it, Lorcan was right.”

  Gavriel didn’t say anything. He didn’t have anything to say. He simply let the confession sit. There was nothing to be said, really.

  Finally, Connall sighed and met Gavriel’s eyes once more.

  “I’m not comparing the two situations. You’re no longer her bedwarmer of choice. I am.”

  Bile rose in Gavriel’s throat at the calloused description, but he swallowed it and let Connall finish.

  “You are, however, still one of her blood-sworn. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t encouraging you to continue seeing Fenna. I don’t know how you can be so obviously pining and yet still happier than I’ve ever seen you, and I think that’s worth something. But you’re still under her nose. Not as much as you used to be, but you are.

  “And, considering the past, you seeing someone is still different than Lorcan or Rowan seeing someone.”

  Oh, he really didn’t want to know. But he needed to.

  “Meaning?”

  Jaw so tight it could rival Rowan’s, Connall held his gaze steadily.

  “Let’s just say as her current whore, I happen to know that Maeve is particularly possessive of her past ones. It’s not just you. It’s any of them.”

  A shudder unlike anything he’d ever known ran through Gavriel’s body, and he gripped the chair arms, willing his heart rate to calm down. Willing his breathing to even. Willing his throat to stop drying out.

  She was still possessive of him? That meant she still thought about it. Gavriel had done his level best to forget it and still sometimes woke up in a cold sweat, remembering those decades of torment. He’d moved on well enough, he sometimes thought.

  Maybe it was something you never moved on from.

  He forced his eyes to focus and nodded. He didn’t have any more words now than he had a few moments ago. His own jaw was rather rigid.

  “Like I said. Keep on. You technically have more reason to pursue her than I had him. But be careful. And even if you have to be sedated when Benson gets back into town, don’t let instinct make an idiot out of you.”

  That answered two of Gavriel’s questions – first, yes, the younger male was well aware he’d just figured out Fenna was his mate. Second, that the past lover hadn’t been Connall’s.

  But it wasn’t always a mate that was the most important person in a Fae’s life.

  “You know, depending on the person, one reason might be just as good as any other,” he said, hoping he wasn’t crossing some line.

  Connall hesitated a moment before giving a grateful nod.

  “You’re not wrong. Just… be careful with that mindset.” He grew distant once more. “It’s also a fairly good argument for not going after something good, either.”

Later that night, Gavriel found himself turning things over and over in his head once more. With some distance between now and the actual incident, he was able to contemplate it without wanting to sneak off his balcony and see just how much time it would take him to get to Mistward when he had murder on his mind.

  He was also able to recognize the good sense in what Connall had said about the dignitaries’ return. He only hoped it would be able to remember that recognition when they did. Because if he ever had to be in the same room as Benson again, he was fairly certain he’d lose all hold on reality.

  As much as he hated reality at the moment.

  Reality was keeping him tied to one place, one person, when the only person he should truly be bound to was miles away.

  Gavriel tried to recall anything his mother might have told him about being mated to one of the blood-sworn after his father had been killed. She’d never said anything when his father was alive. And never anything to him directly – if she had, he probably would have had a better idea of his father’s character before he’d been more or less abruptly informed by Vaughan. But he’d always gotten the impression she hadn’t been a great fan of Maeve.

  Now that he was remembering, he thought of comments she’d made here and there – never direct aspersions on his father or the queen. But he thought now that her disillusionment had started with his father, then progressed to Maeve.

  Well, perhaps not Maeve so much as the blood-oath itself.

  Lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, Gavriel’s hand clawed around the sheets. Not for the first time in his life, he thought his biggest regret was the oath currently scarring his wrist. He’d pretend in public that it was an honor to serve Maeve just as well as the rest of them. But it had been a long while since he’d believed his own words – and in private, he’d curse his younger self for stupidity just as well as the rest of them.

  He reached out toward Fenna once more.

  I’m sorry.

  A moment passed. He wondered if she were still awake at this point – though, to be fair, how would she be able to sleep?

  But, just when he decided that was probably why the silence persisted, a small, probing moment of confusion.

  For what?

  He sighed, knowing what he had to say was far too complicated to be defined by a simple emotion. But he sent it anyway.

  For not thinking you might come along one day and make this complicated. For assuming that things would be just as simple as I thought they were with my parents. For allowing myself to be bound by anything to any female but you. I should have allowed for the possibility.

  Meira had been right. This oath wasn’t an honor. It was a prison.

Chapter Text

“We could still arrange an accident for him.”

  Fenna choked back a watery laugh as Malakai, standing beside the tiny, moonlit window in his and Emrys’s temporary room, arms folded across his chest and back rigid, glared daggers at nothing in particular after hearing the entirety of her story.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Emrys muttered, coming to sit beside Fenna and handing Essar a bowl of warm water. He’d deemed it safe to wander about the fortress alone to retrieve it, as the only real threat was currently being guarded by a very, very angry Rowan and Elentiya.

  “You’re right,” Malakai admitted. “An accident is too good for him. I could arrange a legitimate assassination.”

  “As much as the idea entices me, love,” Emrys said, taking out a lap table and beginning to mash herbs for a compress as Essar dipped one of the cloths he’d also handed her into the water, “if he wasn’t killed in the initial struggle, there’s no way we can explain that away.”

  “Instinct.”

  “People have been executed for less.”

  “Believe me,” Essar said, starting to dab away the dried blood at the corner of Fenna’s mouth, “you won’t be the only ones who want him dead. You may just hear of an assassination in the next few weeks, even if you let him go.”

  It didn’t take too much imagination to guess who she was talking about.

  As if summoned, Fenna felt a tentative, questioning sensation along the newly formed bond. She responded, the corner of her mouth Essar wasn’t working on tipped upward.

  I’m here.

  A moment passed, then another question. Less general, more direct. Protective. Concerned. Her tears began running anew, though silently.

  I’ve been better. But I’m not hurt, if that’s what you’re wondering. She hesitated, considering the tenderness in her ribs, the slowly forming bruise on her jaw, the blood Essar was nearly finished cleaning off, and amended her statement. Much. She sighed, debating her next words and deciding there was nothing wrong with them. If it was anything like she was getting from him, Gavriel wouldn’t be able to decipher them directly. Just the general idea.

  Actually, I’m still terrified out of my mind, and I want you. No one else. You.

  She wanted his comfort, the way he’d held her after the encounter with that rogue Fae last winter. Wanted his healing magic and its warm sting to be what took care of her much-more-minor injuries this time, not Essar’s gentle touch. While she was grateful for it… Essar was not her mate.

  Something very similar to what she’d just expressed – not the fear, but the desire to comfort – settled inside her and around her like the very arms she longed for and brought up a sigh.

  I miss you.

  “Is that him?”

  Fenna jerked out of her silent communing with Gavriel to find Essar watching her, brow raised. Emrys and Malakai were giving each other a knowing look. It wasn’t often the pair of them had to be apart, but when they were… Fenna wondered if this was how they kept from going mad.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Essar sighed, as well, setting the used water and cloth on the bedside table.

  “Is he done? I wouldn’t want to interrupt, but we do have a bit to discuss.”

  Something rose up in Fenna, as if even in Doranelle, Gavriel sensed the need to conclude. As before, she didn’t know exactly what he was trying to communicate. Just a vague, general idea.

  And that vague, general idea, was easily the best thing she’d ever felt. An overwhelming combination of desire, affection, and reassurance that could only be interpreted in one way. She hoped what she sent back communicated it equally. There was really only one thought that could accompany it, and as the tears continued to flood from her eyes, now squeezed shut, she sent it down the bond with everything in her, hoping that somehow she could make words form with enough effort.

  And I love you, as well.

  It was one of two things she was now absolutely certain of, and she was going to cling to it as tightly as she could.

  No response came, but Fenna didn’t need one. Gods knew that if there was one, they’d likely keep going all night and Essar would never get to her thoughts.

  Opening her eyes once more and blinking them clear, she nodded for Essar to go on and accepted the finished compress from Emrys, pressing it to her jawline.

  “I wish I could say I was happy for you,” Essar said. Her smile almost reached her eyes. “Believe me, I do. And part of me is. But the other part knows what it’s like to be with one of the blood-sworn, and it’s hard enough when you’re full-blood and not their mate. My case was exceptional in that Lorcan was the demi-fae and blood-sworn to Maeve.” As her voice trailed off, her gaze fell away from Fenna’s for a moment. “There are a few things I feel you should know.” She looked at Emrys and Malakai. “All of you.”

  Fenna glanced at her adopted fathers, who both nodded solemnly, Malakai coming over to stand beside them, a hand on Emrys’s shoulder.

  “I mentioned to you, Fenna, that Maeve had some hold on Lorcan. While hers on him was different from most of the blood-sworn, the concept is still the same. She formed parts of him. And I’m fairly certain, with her magic, she took bits of him away. Crafted him into the perfect soldier and took away anything that might interfere with that role.” A corner of her mouth quirked upward. “Of course, she can’t change base personality. And Lorcan has given her a run for her money, regardless.”

  Fenna’s answering snort was very much genuine. “I imagine he has.”

  “I don’t know what parts of the others she’s taken. I don’t know who she’s taken from them. I don’t know how she’s formed them. And I don’t know how much of it any of them are wise to. All I know…” She hesitated a moment longer. “All I know is that I think she took someone from Lorcan. Not something. Someone. And he thought the idea was absurd, so they can’t be too aware of whatever it is she does.”

  Something inside of Fenna went cold. “You’re saying that she made him forget someone?”

  Essar nodded. “I don’t know who, but I suspect they’re long dead.”

  It was true. Maeve was a Memory Keeper. And Lorcan was not the sort to be bound to anyone – and Fenna didn’t believe for a moment that he was truly in love with the dark queen. Not with how willing he was to work around her orders.

  Her hands curled into fists. No one should ever have the right to anyone’s memories if they weren’t surrendered freely. As useful as she acknowledged the gift could be, she sometimes hated its existence.

  “I don’t think she’ll make Gavriel forget you,” Essar went on, mistaking Fenna’s reaction for something other than the anger it was. “I think she’s more than capable of it. But I don’t think his forgetting you is of more use to her than his knowing what she could do to you.”

  There was silence in the room until Malakai finally asked, “And what are the options there?”

  Essar considered. “I know perhaps more than I should about Maeve’s methods. More even than I think she knows I do. If she knew, I likely wouldn’t be sitting here. Could she kill you? Perhaps. But she will use that as a last resort. You are much more useful to her alive and able to hold over Gavriel’s head. What she could do” – here she paused, taking a steadying breath – “is hurt you to hurt him.”

  Fenna wrapped her free hand around Emrys’s. She didn’t need to stretch her imagination that far to ask how.

  “Most likely that would mean an attack on the fortress. Maeve is familiar enough with you to know what this place means to you – what the people mean. She may hint at it just to torment him, or she may actually send a contingent.”

  “I thought you said Fenna was more use to her alive than dead,” Malakai asked, frowning.

  “She is. None of the rest of you are. She’d probably send a select few of the blood-sworn, under oath to make certain you were taken alive. Gavriel wouldn’t be one of them – while the blood oath is about the only bond stronger than the mating bond, there’s always the possibility he’d be able to break it in order to protect you. He’d definitely try.

  “The result would be Fenna taken captive and transported back to Doranelle, the rest of the fortress massacred and burned to the ground. I don’t know what Maeve might do once she had you there. She certainly wouldn’t let you and Gavriel be together. The tamest option is putting you under more or less house arrest – and she very well might. You’d be treated semi-decently. However, that would be much more likely for a full-blood peasant from an outlying settlement.” She held Fenna’s gaze steadily. “You have the disadvantage – in this situation only – of not being full Fae.”

  Fenna swallowed and nodded. “What would that mean, then?”

  Shaking her head, Essar sighed. “Most likely she’d keep you in a cell. If Gavriel misbehaves, she tortures you. Most likely makes him watch. If he truly crosses any lines, she may kill you – if she deems breaking him is of more use to her than keeping him in check.”

  Emrys’s hand tightened around Fenna’s, and she didn’t mind in the least. It was helpful to have someone holding her to reality.

  “This is, of course,” Essar said, “only if Maeve finds out. Which she won’t. And even if she does, she may not act immediately – or she may not even care. She isn’t the most predictable monarch in the world.”

  But Maeve would find out. Fenna shook her head, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

  “Remelle knows,” she said. “She at least knows that I have a mate. If she knows, it’s only a short amount of time before Maeve does, don’t you think?”

  Considering for a moment, Essar frowned. “Or not.”

  “What reason does she have to not tell Maeve? Information like this on one of her blood-sworn? Wouldn’t that, I don’t know, earn her some sort of credence?”

  Essar shook her head again. “First of all, there is the possibility that Maeve already knows. If Gavriel’s scent is woven through yours, yours is also likely woven through his. Now, if Maeve hasn’t seen him since his return from this fortress a few weeks ago, she may not be aware of that change. I certainly didn’t notice it before then – but then again, I hadn’t seen him since before he went to fight the Berellans, so it could have been even before then.

  “Secondly, I will have words with Remelle. I’ve… intentionally kept my vow of pacifism from her.” A corner of Essar’s mouth quirked upward. “As much as I hate it, sometimes the only thing keeping someone like Remelle’s tongue in check is a touch of fear. I don’t exercise it very often, but… this merits some interference, I believe.”

  Fenna stared. “You would do that?”

  Giving a wry smile, Essar said, “Trust me, I wouldn’t do it in an ideal situation. I don’t think I have to tell you this is far from ideal.”

  What on earth was she supposed to say to that? Fenna searched for words for a moment before finally settling on the simplest ones she could find.

  “Thank you.”

  Essar waved her off. “As I said, this situation merits it – and Remelle has a newfound fear of fire. Besides, she might take Elentiya’s threat from earlier to mean quite literally everything she learned in that room, not just Elentiya’s identity. Remelle is a threat, but she is not our largest one, by a long shot.

  “And thirdly, if you’ve just been communicating with Gavriel over the bond, he’s not an idiot. He knows that Benson is at this fortress, and the bastard’s reputation is well known. Not that it isn’t entirely possible for this place to have been harboring a closet rapist. But his brain will make the connection. Which means Benson already has a target on his head from another of the blood-sworn, not just Rowan.” Here Essar raised a brow. “If Gavriel or Rowan tell any of the others – especially Lorcan or Fenrys – he may have just gotten on the bad side of the deadliest warriors on the continent, permanently.

  “Either way, he’ll be on edge. Remelle knows better than to mess with a male whose mate has just been threatened – especially if she’s threatening that mate for a second time. Gavriel wouldn’t be able to do anything to Maeve personally. But he could direct that very real instinct to protect at the person who told her.”

  “For all the good it would do, if she already spilled the information,” Malakai muttered darkly.

  “These are all tenuous reassurances,” Essar said. “But they’re all I have to offer.”

  Fenna felt the frown currently marring her brow may never smooth. She had much to contemplate. Essar was right – the fact that she’d found her mate should be joyous news. And it still could be, but it left her with too many decisions to make.

  What she and Gavriel did about this new knowledge wouldn’t just affect them, but this entire fortress. Lowering the compress from her cheek, she pressed a hand to the spot on her gut that the bond seemed to take hold in. Part of her wished to talk about this with him first.

  The other part of her knew it may be weeks, months more likely, before she could do so. And that part of her reminded her that two of the very people endangered by this were in the room.

  “What are you thinking, Songbird?” Emrys asked gently, squeezing her hand.

  She sighed and looked from him to Malakai and back.

  “What do you two think?”

  They were just as good representatives for the whole of Mistward as any, and she wanted to know if the risk was worth it. While every part of her told her it wasn’t, every part of her also sang with the conviction that it was, and she was confused and needed clarification.

  Because if Emrys and Malakai wanted her to keep her distance, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. But she’d never endanger the fortress if she didn’t have their consent.

  “I wish I could say running away with him was an option,” Essar put in, as though reading Fenna’s thoughts. “And you could try. But even if Maeve didn’t pull him back with the blood oath, she’d find you. And the consequences would be… much, much worse.”

  Right. So either way, she’d likely be staying in the fortress, because knowing Gavriel, he wasn’t about to put her in that sort of danger. Even if it seemed like a plausible alternative to her – finding a place somewhere in the mountains to stay, far away from her loved ones, but also far away from dragging them into another conflict.

  “I think Maeve can go rut herself,” Malakai said, his brow dark.

  Emrys snorted. “That’s helpful, dear.”

  “I mean it. She and the whole rutting army.” He laid a hand on Emrys’s shoulder. “Fenna, this sort of thing is rare enough. Not nearly as rare as it’s made out to be, but it is. And it’s even rarer that it isn’t met with some kind of complication. If being with your mate – however often that may be – will put this fortress in danger, then… I suppose we’d better work on our defenses.”

  Fenna stared at him, gratitude and fear flooding her at once. “And how do you suggest we do that?”

  He shrugged. “That part I figured I’d brainstorm with Reuven and Narcisa on. We’re all three the strategists here, and we all think a bit better with personal motivation.” He crouched down in front of Fenna and Emrys. “We’ve faced worse odds before and come out all right.”

  Fenna didn’t want to point out that even a huge contingent of rogue Fae paled in comparison to the queen herself.

  Because in this moment, she wanted to believe that Malakai was right and things might just work out. Gods, she wanted them to.

  “All right,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

  Emrys squeezed her hand. “Of course, little one. How could we keep you from your mate?”

  “I could go away,” she said. “Find some little cottage in the hills. I’d come visit you, Gavriel could visit me. We’d be the only ones in danger.”

  “And from what Essar says, Maeve could still attack the fortress. If hurting you to hurt him is a valid move on her part, you hardly need be living here for her to take us all out. Fenna, you can’t change the mating bond.” Malakai reached up and took her other hand. “This wasn’t your choice, but its very existence puts us all in danger, whether you live here or not. Now, as we can’t change it, I don’t see much cause to punish you for it. Or send you away.”

  She debated sending a question down the bond, then realized it was pointless. Gavriel wouldn’t be able to tell what such a specific question was about. And, when it came down to it, she truly didn’t want to leave Mistward.

  So, she simply nodded. There was nothing else to say after that.

  “I’m tired,” was what she finally settled on.

  Malakai’s glare darkened once more. “And no wonder. I’m still livid that bastard is sleeping in our bed tonight.”

  “It’s far too good for him,” Emrys agreed.

  A throat cleared, and the three of them turned to find Essar looking somewhat sheepish.

  “Actually, I believe I am,” she said. “And I’m perfectly willing to give it back. I didn’t realize until after dinner that we’d put you out of your own rooms, and I wasn’t sure where to find you. But now that I have – “

  Emrys was shaking his head.

  “No,” he said. “You keep it. And take Fenna with you – our room is one of the most secure in this fortress.” His brow mirrored his mate’s. “Until the three of you leave this fortress tomorrow, I’m uncomfortable with the idea of her on her own.”

  The idea of sleeping alone suddenly hit Fenna like a wave, and she shuddered, leaning into Emrys.

  “If you’re all right with that,” she told Essar.

  Essar shrugged.

  “Believe me, if it’s comfort you’re needing to share a bed with tonight, I’m no Gavriel. But I’m not above cuddling.”

Fenna didn’t quite take Essar up on that offer. Not entirely. While she liked the female, she didn’t think she knew her nearly well enough to ask that. Aludra? Yes. Even Elentiya, perhaps.

  It didn’t prevent her from sleeping as close to Essar as possible. Not knowing her well or not, she still needed that constant reminder she was not alone.

  Essar slept closest to the door, the other female’s back turned toward her. Not that Fenna knew what Essar would do if anyone did come through – something told her pacifism may not extend to threats, but it did extend to self-defense – but still, it was somewhat comforting to have a buffer between her and the outside world.

  Sighing, Fenna rolled over and tried to sleep. And couldn’t. Much had happened today, and she was still scared out of her mind.

  She contemplated reaching out across the bond… but no. It had already been late earlier. The danger was past, so there was really no reason he should even remotely be –

  Someone else’s regret, swift and sharp, cut into her chest like Rowan’s sharpest knife.

  Blinking, Fenna tested the emotion and realized… he was apologizing. For what, she hadn’t the faintest idea. Was he regretting not having been here tonight? It wasn’t unreasonable, she supposed. Even without the mating bond telling him what was happening as it did, she understood some partners experienced guilt upon finding out their other had been in danger and they’d been either away or completely unaware. Gods, Reuven felt guilt for things that had happened to Aludra before they’d even met.

  So she didn’t expect Gavriel to be exactly logical right now. But nor did she have to stand for it, either.

  What on earth do you have to be sorry for, love?

  A moment passed before his response came. And Fenna sensed there was much more to it than she could interpret. The emotion filling her was complicated, and multi-faced, and ancient. A regret for something long past that neither of them could have foreseen and no one could have stopped.

  But, and she didn’t know how she knew but somehow she did, for whatever reason Gavriel thought he might have been able to.

  Whatever it is, I don’t care. It’s done. And it can’t be taken back, so we will learn to live with the consequences of it, whatever those may be. Now I promise you, I’m fine. Go to sleep, would you?

  Like the warm sting of healing magic without the sting, that same blend of emotion from earlier – albeit tinted with the moment’s regret – wrapped around her middle and drew up a contented sigh. How was it possible to already feel safer when the person making you feel safe was miles away?

  She merely repeated her words from earlier.

  And I love you.

It had taken a good hour to convince Malakai not to force Benson to leave the fortress in chains. Fenna hadn’t necessarily been opposed to the idea. What she’d found most amusing was that, apparently, neither was Rowan. In fact, he’d been all for it.

  It was only a gentle reminder from Essar that, as unpalatable as it might be, appeasing Maeve was still a good idea if Mistward wanted anything resembling continued protection and it would be inconvenient for her and Remelle to be weighed down by a not-quite-as-mobile-as-he-could-be companion that caused any of the three of them to relent.

  Though Fenna was fairly certain it was more the second suggestion that moved either of the two males than anything else.

  Essar had understood Fenna’s lack of desire to see them off. She’d said goodbye in the room they’d shared the night before. Fenna hadn’t been certain if the protocol for bidding farewell to a visiting dignitary applied if said dignitary’s vigilance had saved your well-being, if not your life, knew possibly your darkest secret and shared a bed with you even in the most platonic sense of the term. Not to mention that she didn’t know the protocol in the first place.

  As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. Before she could wonder what to do, Essar pulled her into an embrace.

  “I have thoroughly enjoyed meeting you,” she said. “As I said, you’re somewhat famous in Doranelle.” She lowered her voice. “And I will do everything in my power to keep Remelle quiet. Or, you know, help Gavriel sneak out every once in a while.”

  Fenna choked out a laugh, though she had no doubt the other female was dead serious.

  Pulling back, Essar held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye.

  “Maeve is a tyrant. And both of you deserve better than what you’ve been consigned to by her. Just know you are not without friends in Doranelle – or here.”

  Two hours later, Fenna found herself stationed on the fortress walls next to one of those friends. Elentiya had developed a habit of drilling on her own in the mornings, and Rowan had developed a habit of allowing her to do so but watching from a distance. Fenna had never watched with him before, but today she thought it necessary.

  There were things that needed to be said.

  The trouble was, how to bring them up? Fenna settled for standing in silence until she thought of a good way to do so. Fortunately, Rowan didn’t seem to mind. He was too busy watching Elentiya.

  Fenna watched him watch her. He was on guard, alert as always. Every once in a while, his eyes would drag away from Elentiya to scan the woods. But they always returned. And every time they did, that taut jaw of his relaxed ever so slightly, those hard eyes not quite softening, but getting as close to that as she’d ever seen.

  Finally having found the proper way to start this discussion, Fenna let her mouth slide upward in a smirk.

  “If I didn’t know better, Rowan Whitethorn, I’d say you weren’t assessing her progress at all.”

  “Good thing you know better,” he replied, completely straight-faced.

  “She really is getting better. I don’t even know that much about magic, and I can tell.”

  Rowan snorted. “You can grow a wall of thorns as a shield for you and another full-grown Fae, and you say you don’t know that much about magic?”

  “And burn myself out doing so. I’m not nearly as trained as Elentiya will be when you’re through with her.” She trailed off for a moment, finally ready to come to her point. “Thank you, by the way.”

  As he usually did when receiving gratitude, or a compliment, Rowan’s jaw twitched. It was as close to uncomfortably shifting as Fenna had ever seen him.

  “Thank Essar.”

  “I have, as a matter of fact. And Emrys. And I will thank Elentiya when she comes back in. Right now, I’m thanking you. You’re allowed to accept it, you know.”

  He didn’t respond, but there was something dark in his eyes that Fenna didn’t understand. Not angry, but haunted. As though he were trying to shove some long-forgotten memory down once more and not having much success in doing so.

  “Just be glad we arrived in time and leave it at that, Fenna,” he said. “I only did what I should have done. Save your thanks for those who deserve it.”

  She didn’t look away from him for a moment. Rowan Whitethorn had long ceased to intimidate her, and she found his rejection of her gratitude not daunting in the least.

  “You’ve saved my life twice now, Rowan. Who else is deserving of my thanks?”

  “Benson’s not a killer.”

  Unbidden, Fenna’s hand rose to cover the blooming purple bruise on her neck. Thank the gods, bruises faded. “My life as I knew it before, then.”

  Rowan was quiet for a moment longer, finally tearing his eyes away from Elentiya to look at Fenna. His gaze rested on her hand’s position on her neck.

  “I couldn’t let him harm you for numerous reasons, Fenna. Not the least of which is if I did, Gavriel would kill me.” He considered the statement, then added, “Right after he was through with Benson.”

  Fenna felt her heart lift just slightly, as it always did whenever someone mentioned Gavriel, even in passing. She lowered her hand, and Rowan’s brow lowered at the sight of the bruise, fists curling.

  “You know, then,” Fenna stated simply.

  Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, Rowan turned back to watch Elentiya, stare still brittle.

  “Isn’t it obvious? The pair of you reek of each other.”

  Fenna laughed under her breath. “So I’m told.”

  She watched Elentiya raise up a fire shield and hold it for far longer than she’d even remotely been able to when she first started training. Something resembling pride shot through her. Elentiya had come so far – in more ways than one. Some raw part of her was healing.

  Part of that, Fenna imagined – however small – had something to do with the male standing beside her. And he appeared to be doing healing of his own, no matter how raw that unspoken thing inside of him still panged.

  “I don’t have to tell you to be careful,” Rowan said. “But I fear my queen. I fear for you both.” He shook his head, eyes scanning the skies. “I will do everything in my power, Fenna, to protect the pair of you. But understand… not even Gavriel may be able to do that completely. We will always be bound to her.”

  She nodded. “You’ve mentioned it before. Rather emphatically, as I recall.”

  Indeed, he’d been that close to frightening her as he did so. However, she’d been frightened enough last night to last her a few centuries longer. A chastising from Rowan was hardly worrisome to her now.

  Maeve, on the other hand? She was somewhat scared of the dark queen still.

  “I also don’t have to tell you how our people feel about mates. You can well imagine, and you heard enough last night from Remelle. We burn entire nations for them. And we respect that bond in another – you’d be surprised how little resistance a warring male will get from those surrounding his mate and their spouse. The mating bond is honored everywhere. We take it very seriously.” He watched her from the corner of his eye. “And there is not a single one of us who will not defend the mate of our brother, either. So… if anything, you have Gavriel to thank for last night.”

  Fenna rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

  He could pretend as long as he wanted. But she was glad at least that, whatever had been torn between them before, it was now mended.

Chapter Text

A week had passed after the dignitaries’ visit, and there were plenty of things that were continuing to make Celaena’s blood boil. Most often, and frequently, and irritatingly, Remelle making passes at Rowan. Remelle presuming to still have some hold on him. Remelle insulting her and Fenna both. Remelle generally being an insufferable bitch.

  “You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?”

  She glanced up to find Fenna, currently growing a single long vine around a spruce, staring at her, brow raised.

  Or, apparently, she was already there.

  Willing her brow to smooth, Celaena shook her head. “No. She’s not worth my thoughts.”

  “And yet, you don’t have to ask who I’m talking about.”

  Celaena half-smirked. “Fine. Maybe I was.”

  Only now she wasn’t, because it was only when she was alone or with Rowan that Remelle came to her. Every time she looked at Fenna, an entirely different sort of anger filled her. And that leftover fear she tried so hard to stuff down.

  That same fear she’d felt when Essar had first made the suggestion that she was at all in danger. The same fear she’d felt a moment later as soon as they’d left Rowan’s rooms and heard that high, cut-off cry for help.

  The same fear she’d felt once they got to the dining room and she found Fenna strangling the bastard. It wasn’t that which had brought it on. Oh, no, Fenna could have murdered him and Celaena would have gladly burned the body and danced on his ashes.

  But Fenna had been crying, silent tears streaming down her face, and Celaena had been terrified that they were too late.

  She really should have known better. Of the pair of them, she was the one who only might have cried if they had been. Not even then, really. Tears were something she rarely indulged in. Gods, if she couldn’t cry for Nehemia’s death, it was a short leap to assume that she would be numb in regard to herself. But Fenna?

  She’d always been more comfortable with her own tears.

  And, more than likely, hadn’t had the weakness of them drilled into her from the time she was eight.

  A shudder ran through Celaena’s body again. She should have known something was wrong. She didn’t know how, necessarily, but she should have sensed it. There wasn’t a magical bond tying her to Fenna, but there were bonds of long ago – shouldn’t those have been enough to alert her to something being wrong?

  It never failed to terrify her – how she’d found Fenna after all these years only to come that close to losing her again. And no matter how many times Rowan had assured her Benson wasn’t a killer… rape wasn’t something you fully came back from, either.

  “Are you all right?”

  Celaena stared at her for a moment, wondering if she’d heard her correctly. It had been barely a week, and Fenna was asking her? She’d been through hell enough before and was still too wrapped up in her own bullshit to notice anyone else’s distress practically all the time.

  So, she figured she’d deflect the question, as usual. But, for once, she’d deflect it in a semi-decent manner.

  “Are you?”

  Fenna paused, lowering her hands from where they held the vine in place. The growth sagged but held firm. Masterful. Then again, she’d never been discouraged from using her magic – at least the first seven years of her life.

  “I don’t know.” She sat down, leaning against the tree trunk and pulling her knees up to her chest. “Sometimes I’m fine and then other times it’s like I’m back in that room again, and he’s on top of me and I can’t get him off, and then someone talks to me and I’m back in the real world again. And then of course, they notice something’s wrong, because I can’t stop breathing heavily and my heart’s pounding.” Reaching up to rub the bruise on her neck, she whispered, “At least this is starting to fade.”

  Celaena’s fists clenched, and she lowered herself onto the ground beside Fenna. Maybe if she had one of the other girl’s beloved trees at her back she’d remember not to set the forest on fire.

  Jerking her head at the dimly purple bruise, she said, too glibly, “Your first should always be with someone you’re vaguely attracted to.”

  A blush started creeping up Fenna’s neck, and Celaena was struck again with how innocent she’d remained. She didn’t know how she’d accomplished it in this world, but was glad of it. Then again, growing up across the sea from Adarlan had probably been helpful.

  “If not that,” she added, sensing that Fenna wasn’t the casual one-night type, “at least someone you’re interested in.” Her voice lowered as a memory stirred. “If not someone you love.”

  Gods, she still missed Sam so much sometimes it ached. And while Chaol had been her first… there had still been plenty Sam had warmed her up to.

  “It’s not fair yours wasn’t,” she finished.

  Fenna stared up at the branches above them. “I find little is fair in life, Elentiya. So we focus on that which is good and fair, and that helps us cope with the darkness.”

  Celaena stared at her, marveling at how wise she’d become. It might be a bit of naivety talking, but she didn’t care. She was going to call it wisdom.

  “And if the darkness outweighs the light?”

  Fenna turned to her, eyes sad but hopeful.

  “Then we hope the light will come back eventually. It always does, one way or the other.”

  That had to be the naivete talking, because Celaena had seen just the opposite. Light didn’t always return – not for everyone. And it was always those who deserved it most who never saw it again. They were the ones tortured by sadistic bastards who actually enjoyed the pain they inflicted, rather than simply being trained to do so. They were the ones who extended kindness and were dragged behind rock walls to be ravaged by sick men who only cared for their own pleasure and never stopped to think of the flame they might be snuffing out.

  They were the ones who should be changing the world. The ones who should be freeing their countries and should be making the differences they had to leave others to make. The ones who, with all that potential and all that passion and all that light Fenna spoke of, were taken apart piece by piece until they were barely recognizable, even by those who loved them most.

  Celaena wasn’t going to say any of that, however, because she wanted Fenna to keep that naivete. It was likely the only thing keeping her… well, Fenna.

  Maybe she could build a world like the one Fenna described without knowing she did so. Or maybe she’d let it rot. She honestly hadn’t decided yet.

  Sighing, she tilted her head back until she saw the tops of the trees, as well. She would always prefer Oakwald – oak and birch as opposed to pine and spruce. Fenna would love this sort of place, though. More wild than regal, but with its own sort of majesty.

  She wondered if Fenna would want to help her build that world. Or she had, until a week ago when a certain discovery had… complicated matters.

  “Rowan and I are going away for a bit,” she finally settled on.

  Fenna turned to look at her, but Celaena kept her gaze trained on the sky above. “For how long?”

  Shrugging, Celaena replied, “A few days, at most. Maybe only one, maybe a week. We’re investigating a new lead he found on the dead bodies.”

  She could feel the shudder running through Fenna’s body. “Where will you go?”

  “There are some caves along the coast. There’s also a rumor Adarlan is sending an invasion fleet to these shores, led by Lord Narrock. Does the name mean anything to you?”

  Fenna shook her head.

  “Well, he’s one of Adarlan’s fiercest generals. And if he were to attack either Wendlyn or Doranelle… well, the odds are either side would put up a good fight. I’d place my bets on the Fae in case of the latter. But Wendlyn… it could very well turn into a massacre.”

  Nodding, Fenna eyed her shrewdly. “Made worse because you don’t think the two things are separate. The dead bodies and this rumor you’ve heard.”

  She always was smarter than people gave her credit for. Honestly, Celaena had never understood it. Sweetness had never equaled silliness – quite the opposite, usually.

  “It’s all very strange, Fenna,” she said. “And I’m unprepared to dismiss any of it as coincidental. Rowan isn’t, either.”

  Fenna’s brow furrowed as her eyes closed. As she did every time, Celaena briefly wondered if she was in pain before realizing she was concentrating. A corner of her mouth drifted upward.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  Her smile much larger than Celaena’s, Fenna nodded.

  “He usually checks in if something is worrying me. I asked Rowan if that was normal. He said no, Gavriel is just a bit more of a mother hen than most.”

  “You wouldn’t know it, from the way the rest of them act,” Celaena muttered. “Have you seen Malakai when Emrys is starting to get tired in the evenings?”

  Fenna snorted. “I’ve lived with them both for three years, remember? Only every other day.” Her smile faded, and Fenna didn’t have to fill in the thought for Celaena to know somewhat what she was thinking.

  The reason Gavriel was constantly checking in on her was because they couldn’t be together. Not regularly.

  “When will you be back?” Fenna asked, suddenly eager to change the subject.

  She’d already mentioned it, but Celaena was more than glad to repeat, if only to steer the conversation away from that which caused Fenna pain and would likely cause her nothing else.

  “A day or a week. More likely somewhere in between. We’ll be overnight, at least. The coast is far enough away that, even traveling at our fastest, we won’t make there and back in twenty-four hours. Not if we’re investigating. And that all depends on – “

  “All right,” Fenna said, sighing. “I understand. No need to explain to me.” She smirked. “Things are just much more entertaining when you’re around.”

  Celaena raised a brow. “How so?”

  Shrugging, Fenna rose again. “Who else is going to make it rain harmless fire?”

  Not mentioning that it was only harmless because she snuffed it out before it reached the ground, Celaena rose with her. She noticed as she did Fenna was closing her eyes again, responding to some unspoken message from Doranelle. From her mate.

  And it was that – the fact that Fenna had a mate – which both relieved and disappointed Celaena. Because she wouldn’t ask her to leave him.

  But if she were to build that new world, now that she’d found her again… a very big part of her wanted her little sister by her side.

Fenna sighed in much more irritation than she actually felt as that insistent poke at her gut resounded again. Really, did having a mate mean you never got a moment of peace? Not that she’d close herself off to Gavriel unless there were exceptional circumstances involved. She rather enjoyed the connection, too.

  She just also had a job. And she wondered what exactly he was doing with his time that he had the time to check in on her this frequently.

  Rowan’s right. You are a mother hen.

  A moment passed, and she continued scrubbing the dish she was currently working at. Finally, a response came, and she smiled. The exact feeling she had when he laughed was filling her right then. He may not have been able to understand her words, but he at least found the sentiment amusing.

  Having learned long ago that mostly, Gavriel just wanted to know she was there, she sent a light response along the bond.

  Yes, you pest. I’m right here.

  Approval sang through her in answer, and Fenna shook her head, setting the dish on the pile Luca was drying through.

  “You know, for a girl distracted, you’re really moving through those plates faster than I can dry,” he commented drily.

  Fenna avoided wincing. Really, she wasn’t trying to be conspicuous – but she supposed everyone here with mates lived with or at least near them. They never had to resort to this among others. The thought wasn’t bitter. Just a fact.

  “It’s called the ‘honeymoon phase,’ Luca,” Emrys commented drily. “It just looks a bit different long distance. Let her alone, would you?”

  Attempting to move a bit slower, Fenna shot back at Luca, “I’m getting them clean, aren’t I?”

  Sighing, he nodded in consent. “Fine. Continue to communicate with your pining lord, and I will continue being disgusted.”

  “Hypocrite,” Aludra muttered. When Luca shot her an incredulous look, she shrugged. “What? You’re constantly losing concentration anytime someone brings up Lilah.”

  “Says the female who nearly chopped her thumb off when Reuven walked in the other day.”

  Fenna let her friends continue about their diatribe and lost herself in thought once more.

  Rowan and Elentiya had been gone two days now. She couldn’t explain why she was worried, but she was. There was a chill in the air, especially rare for early May, as though something foul were coming and the pair of them were about to run across it. Fenna couldn’t tell anyone what it was if they’d asked. But something didn’t feel right.

  As though she were somehow connected to the fabric that bound this world together, and there was a tear in it.

  One thing she had learned about the mating bond – maybe you didn’t get to choose it. But you did have to reach out across it. Even if it was purely instinctual, as it had been when it had first snapped into place. When your emotions weren’t running high, however, you had to be the one to contact your mate. They couldn’t read what you were thinking.

  They could ask to be informed every five minutes, which she imagined would be a nuisance if you didn’t like them that much. Fortunately, she was rather fond of hers.

  Fenna debated whether to let Gavriel know she was worried. She didn’t want him to come unless it were plausible for him to get away – though she certainly wouldn’t complain. They had much to discuss… and things other than discussion to do, as well.

  Because she swore that if he didn’t kiss her as soon as they saw each other next, she’d slap him and then do the job herself. Thoroughly.

  Still, she didn’t want him to worry. There was no immediate danger, and no reason to alert him and have him pacing the halls of the palace until she was able to give him some reassurance. Fenna wasn’t typically a great believer in premonition. Her own emotions were too wild to give ill feelings much credence.

  A breeze drifted in through the window, brushing the spot on her neck where the nearly-invisible bruise still rested. Unbidden, a shudder coursed through her body. Her heart started pounding, and she braced her hands on the sink, trying not to start breathing erratically.

  She could feel his hands on her again. Gods, he wasn’t even here anymore. Why was she still this undone over it?

  “Fen?”

  Drawing in a bracing breath, she turned to find Luca eyeing her, concern in his gaze. He didn’t bother asking if she was all right. None of them had whenever she had a moment like this. She glanced over her shoulder to find Emrys and Aludra giving each other knowing looks.

  “Do you need air?” Emrys asked.

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  “Do you want company?” Aludra put in.

  Shaking her head, Fenna set the dishes aside and walked toward the door. At least this way, Luca would be able to catch up on his drying.

  Finally outside and sitting on the garden wall, Fenna buried her face in her hands and tried to take her breathing one slow inhale and exhale at a time. As it turned out, she didn’t have quite as tight of a rein on her instinct as she thought she did. A probing, concerned sensation poked at her gut.

  Sighing, she answered with not a thought, but what felt as though she were reaching across the miles between them and grabbing Gavriel’s hand. Another question.

  If she told him what had just driven her to fear, she’d really set him on edge. So, as she could hardly leave him hanging, Fenna settled on her earlier concern.

  I’m worried.

  A moment, then that same question, with significantly more alarm. Shaking her head and smiling, Fenna reflected on how to respond.

  Nothing specific. Just… worried.

  Hopefully that interpreted well. Evidently, it did, because she felt nothing but comfort the next time he reached back out. Fenna sat in that, closing her eyes and breathing it in. She missed him. She wished he were here – and wanted him to stay right where he was, if that was the least suspicious place for him. He’d get away when he could. And when he did, he’d likely find that her worries were unfounded.

  A thought occurred to her. If she was this on edge after her encounter with Benson, and he hadn’t been successful… how could Gavriel stand to be in the same room as Maeve? Not for the first time, she wished to bury the queen in a landslide. She’d never made the earth move before, but she was fairly certain if she ever saw Maeve again, she’d be just infuriated enough to do it.

  It may have been centuries ago. He may have recovered, as Essar suspected he had. But right now, all Fenna wanted to do was hold him. How long had he lived with the same troubles she was feeling now – only amplified?

  That same question – and Fenna hadn’t even realized she was reaching across the bond for anything other than to accept what he offered. She sighed.

  I just love you. That’s all.

  A longer pause. She knew what was happening – it happened every time she responded in this way. He was drinking it in just as much as she had been a moment ago before responding in kind. She rested in that for a moment before a twinge of sheepish regret filled her, as well.

  That usually meant I have to go now.

  Sighing, she nodded, though she knew he couldn’t see her. We’ll talk later, then.

  Another response, the equivalent of a hand squeeze, and he was gone.

  Fenna wrapped her arms around herself, as though she could hold him there with her. She loved him far too much for her own good. She missed him far too much for her own good. She needed him there – and knew he didn’t need to be there. This was probably the last place that was safe for –

  Her head shot up as commotion sounded from near the hospital wing. What on earth –

  She waited as the commotion only got louder. From this distance she could hear shouting voices, but couldn’t make out any words. Frowning, Fenna rose. She was still technically on the job, but this seemed to be an emergency. Surely Emrys wouldn’t mind her investigating –

  She was so lost in thought she didn’t see Sten barreling around the corner. The burly warrior nearly bowled her over in his haste.

  “What in Hellas’s dark realm – “ he started, then noticed who it was he was now holding at arm’s length. “Oh. Good.” Drawing in a deep breath, he jerked his head over his shoulder. “You’re exactly who I’m looking for. You’re needed in the hospital wing – now.”

  Her stomach dropped. The last time she’d been needed in the hospital wing, it had been to identify whether a dead body looked anything like the same one she’d found. The last time she’d been needed urgently for anything, it had been for a visit from the Fae Queen.

  She wasn’t sure which option she found more appealing. But she was fairly certain which she found more likely, considering Rowan and Elentiya’s recent findings.

  As she raced along beside Sten – able to keep up well enough despite her legs being significantly shorter than his – Fenna entertained a horrifying thought. What if something had happened to Rowan or Elentiya? Seeing as the shouting voices had been male, it was most likely the latter. Why would they need her, though?

  Unless they just thought she knew both of them well enough to identify their bodies…

  But then how did that explain the shouting?

  It occurred to her she could likely just ask. Turning to Sten as they clipped along, Fenna demanded, “What’s happening?”

  He shook his head, speaking between pants.

  “Some stranger and his entourage showed up. Five of them, at least three wounded. He’s one of them. The unwounded ones tried to pick a fight when our sentries found them, so… we could have brought them in peaceably, but we captured them instead. Anyway, the leader keeps demanding to speak to you.”

  That could be any number of people.

  “Fae?”

  Sten hesitated. “Not exactly. He claims…”

  Fenna couldn’t tell whether his hesitation was due to breathlessness or whatever he was about to say. Her patience, however, was wearing thin.

  “What?”

  Shaking his head, Sten pressed onward.

  “He claims to be the former Chancellor of the Berellans.”

  Fenna stumbled a step. Noticing her no longer beside him, Sten skidded to a halt and turned around, brow furrowed.

  “Fenna? What is it?”

  Former? What on earth could that mean? Fenna shook her head, trying to clear it. What did that matter? From the sound of it, Chancellor – or Former Chancellor – Imhran Greynar of the Berellans was here, and that could only mean one thing.

  “Fenna, we really should keep moving. From the looks of it, he’s wounded fairly badly, and he won’t let anyone see to him until – “

  Barely hearing Sten, Fenna was already outpacing him.

  As they grew closer to the hospital wing, Fenna could once again hear shouts, but they were significantly weaker. Worry filled her. Not just for her memories, but for the Chancellor himself. How badly wounded could he be? She bit back a groan. Really, how hard was it to find a demi-fae with decent healing magic?

  She ran through the hospital door only to find quite a crowd gathered around three beds. A pair of warriors were bound and shoved up against the wall, held there by Reuven and Narcisa. Two soldiers lay prone and unconscious. The smell of blood and metal permeated the air.

  And in the bed closest to her, struggling to sit up against the two apprentices holding him down…

  “I demand to see Fenna of Mistward! This is Mistward, isn’t it? I won’t let anyone near me until – “

  “If you carry on like this much longer, you won’t be able to see Fenna, even if she arrives in the next five minutes,” Tyron responded calmly, pouring what smelled like a sedative Fenna had seen him use before into a cup and starting to lift it to the prone male’s lips.

  In an uncharacteristically furious move, Greynar snapped at his fingers. Tyron drew back, brow raised.

  “You’re sure you’re a Berellan? I thought you’d have more honor than to attack a defenseless healer.”

  Apparently, they did have Fae blood in them. Fenna figured now was as good a time as any to make her presence known. As Greynar writhed on the bed, blood slowly leaking from a very real gash on his lower abdomen, Fenna stepped up to the bedside.

  “Tyron, I’m here!” She knelt at the head, elbowing one of the apprentices out of the way. Putting a much gentler hand on Greynar’s shoulder, she leaned over him. “Chancellor. Imhran, it’s me. Calm down.”

  Nut brown eyes clearing, Greynar stared at her for a moment, pulse pounding visibly in his throat. After a moment, he turned back to Tyron.

  “Good. Now give me whatever foul concoction you’ve got brewing, man. I believe I may be dying.”

Chapter Text

Greynar did not, in fact, die, but he did sleep for the rest of the day and through the night. Fenna supposed she didn’t have to stay by his side that whole time, but she did regardless. He’d probably show that Fae ancestry again and start growling at whoever replaced her if he awoke to find her gone again, and she’d rather spare anyone that particular misfortune.

  She wasn’t alone, fortunately. There was a very familiar member of the Chancellor’s party – and he’d happened to be uninjured.

  She’d initially questioned why Tushar hadn’t just shaken the ground from under the feet of the sentries, as he had when she’d first encountered him with the blood-sworn. Or sprouted thorns from the ground. Sitting across from her on the other side of Greynar’s bed, one foot hooked over his knee, he shrugged.

  “When we came upon you, we thought you were a helpless demi-fae female being preyed upon by a group of full-blood males. When they came upon us, I was fairly certain they were who we thought they were. And my comrades were wounded. It was more expedient to save my magic for another day.”

  Fenna nodded sagely, but jumped as someone spoke behind her.

  “So you thought it would be expedient to hold your magic back, but deemed it necessary to try to lop my head off anyway?”

  Half-smirking while reflecting how relieved she was that Tushar hadn’t been successful, Fenna turned to find Reuven sitting on the bed behind her, having a wicked gash on his arm tended to by Tyron and looking very much as though he wished to return the favor.

  Tushar shrugged again.

  “Force of habit. I tend to see red a bit when I’m in battle. Sorry, friend.”

  Reuven muttered something under his breath that sounded like I’ll show you “friend.” Fenna reached out and gave his knee a squeeze.

  “Hey. I’m told some females find scars attractive.”

  Snorting, her friend rolled his eyes and his uninjured shoulder. “Please. Do you know Aludra? She’ll take one look at this and start weeping.”

  It was fair enough. Fenna understood that much, and she hadn’t even been in love with Gavriel the last time she saw him wounded.

  No, Greynar did not die. But one of his companions succumbed to blood loss during the night. At that point, Tushar moved away to grieve with the other three surviving members of the party. Watching them, Fenna wondered about the blood-sworn once again. She thought of Lorcan and Gavriel specifically, the ones who had been there longest. How many comrades had they lost over the years? She thought of Gavriel’s tattoos and wondering how many of the names belonged to those he had known personally. Wondered at the loss Lorcan bore silently. Wondered at the tattoo etched into Rowan’s face and what it might symbolize.

  She had to consistently blink herself awake. She was determined to be conscious when Greynar awoke – though she was loathe to tell him of the loss. Part of her hoped Tushar would return and do it for her. He seemed to be the commander of the group in Greynar’s stead.

  All in all, she thought she gave a valiant effort. But in the wee hours before dawn, she woke to find someone had eased her into the same bed Reuven had occupied before, a sheet slid up and over her. It didn’t take her too long to discover who. Malakai had taken up her position in the chair at Greynar’s side. He appeared to be awake, but his head drifted backward, lolling awkwardly without a rest to fall against.

  As soon as his neck reached its fullest extent, he jerked upright mid-snore. Fenna gave a tired laugh and sat up.

  “Any change?”

  He shook his head, stifling a yawn. “Tyron says he’s out of danger – all his vital signs are good. But his body is in recovery mode. He’ll sleep until that body is ready to wake up – and he won’t be traveling anywhere any time soon.” Eyeing the former chancellor with something resembling irritation, he added, “And mind you, I find that somewhat relieving. It’s not necessarily politically smart to let the leader of an entire society die in your fortress.”

  Snorting, Fenna rubbed a hand over her face, hoping to instill some semblance of alertness into her mind.

  “It would have been rather rude of him to put that awkwardness on us, wouldn’t it?”

  “Terribly.” Malakai sighed, turning from Greynar back to her. “He’s here, Fenna. You and I both know there’s only one thing that can mean.”

  Excitement – and dread – filled her. Inhaling shakily, she nodded.

  “I know.”

  Eyeing her warily, Malakai asked, “And how are you feeling about that?”

  How did she feel? Fenna remembered Greynar’s warning to her as they’d parted ways after that final battle – to not concoct some wild story in her head, that the real thing would likely be much more boring than whatever she was envisioning.

  Still… it would be something. She’d never needed it to be anything grand, so it wasn’t that which worried her. It was that there was an entire life – albeit a short one – that she’d been missing this whole time. What was she supposed to do once she rediscovered it?

  Pulling the blanket up and around her shoulders, Fenna shrugged. “I’m not certain. On the one hand, all I’ve ever wanted my whole life is to remember the first seven years of it. But on the other… what might it change? What if who I was before is too different from who I am now? What if I’m someone entirely different than who I’ve thought myself to be this whole time?”

  Malakai was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his words were measured, cautious, as though he’d weighed them and found they tipped the scales just enough to be worth saying.

  “I’m not particularly good with this sort of thing, Fenna girl,” he said. “You know me. I’m the practical one, Emrys is the… well, I don’t know what the word is.”

  “Mushy one?” Fenna offered.

  He glared at her. “Now you’re just trying to sound like me, aren’t you?”

  “If it helps me understand what you’re trying to say. Which I do.”

  Sighing again, Malakai eyed some spot on the ground, tracing a line on the dusty stone with his boot.

  “What I’m trying to say here, love, is that who you are now is who you truly are. She’s the person you’ve become. No matter who you were before. And you’d barely begun to live at that point, so you couldn’t have been too well formed. I don’t doubt losing your memories changed some parts of you. But you were probably still just as Fenna then as you are now. The way you became her might have just been altered, that’s all.”

  A shudder ran down her spine that had nothing to do with that odd chill she’d been feeling lately.

  “What if… what if I’m not pleased with who Fenna was then?”

  Snorting, Malakai creaked to his feet. “Fenna then was a seven-year-old child. I think you can forgive her for whatever egregious sins she may have committed.” He nodded to Greynar’s prone form. “If I leave you, will you promise to get some sleep and trust that the fact you’re here will satisfy him when he wakes?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know if I trust that. But I also don’t think I can keep my eyes open, so… I’ll try to believe that.”

  “Good girl.” He braced both hands against his back and stretched. “I’m getting too old for this sitting up nonsense, anyway.”

  “At night, or in general? Because I think you’ll find Emrys isn’t fond of it when people slouch at his table.”

  “Good night, lass.”

  After he left, Fenna lay back down, curled around herself, contemplating what lay before her. She was about to get her memories back. After all this time – eleven years. She was finally going to know who she’d been, where she’d come from. What had happened to get her here.

  And, perhaps most tellingly, who had had her memories this whole time before she’d given Greynar access to them.

  Which meant the next time she saw Gavriel, she’d have all of that information. Though the chancellor had counseled her against forming an idea in her head of what she might find, it didn’t stop her from a deep, foreboding feeling that whatever it was, it was bigger than she could ever fathom. What if it complicated things more than they already were?

  What if it changed the way Gavriel felt about her?

  Unbidden, Fenna reached out across the bond, knowing he was probably asleep – if he was being sensible, anyway – but wanting that comfort. Wanting to know he was there.

  I’m sorry if I wake you. But it’s happening, finally. I’m about to find out who I am and I’m terrified she’s not going to be the person you think your mate is.

  Maybe it was absurd to assume the child version of herself had that much power. But Fenna was still terrified.

  Slowly, languidly, as though he were still asleep but could feel her anyway, Fenna felt that warmth settle over her. And the weight of it calmed her with an equal slow deliberateness. She smiled to herself and buried her face in the pillow.

  Instinct. Stronger than anything – including sleep.

  Including memories.

  Knowing she probably only had a few hours before the hospital wing was buzzing once more, Fenna let herself drift into sleep herself, that same warmth never once deserting her until she was fully ensconced in dreams.

“Of course, I’m going to stay down, Tushar. I don’t have any desire to undo the good healer’s work. How ungrateful of me would that be?”

  A snort. “I’m glad to see someone appreciates me.”

  A third voice. “You seem to be greatly appreciated by your people. Have they given you any reason to think otherwise and are just putting on a good show for us?”

  Fenna smirked into the pillow as the familiar voice of Chancellor Greynar responded.

   “You’ll have to excuse our Tushar. He’s a rather literal fellow.”

  Sitting up, she looked over to find morning sun streaming through the hospital window, Tushar in the seat he’d vacated upon the death of his comrade the night before, Tyron closest to her, his back turned and something in his hands, and Greynar propped up on his elbows, looking tired and a bit… well, greyer than was perhaps normal, but overall unharmed.

  “Welcome back to the world of the living,” he said, easing back down onto his pillows and giving her a wry grin.

  Fenna’s smirk turned into a grin of her own. “Welcome back, yourself,” she said. “You gave me a fright there for a moment.”

  “Yes, well,” Greynar winced, casting a glance at his wounded right side. “I’ve had worse.”

  “You’ve not,” Tushar put in.

  Rolling his eyes, Greynar amended, “All right, fine. It was bad. Still… I fared better than some.”

  Fenna followed his gaze to the motionless, breathless figure a few beds away. She sighed, moving into the seat Tyron had just vacated.

  “I am sorry. For what it’s worth.”

  “It’s worth a great deal. Julith was one of our best – Sorina will be furious that I didn’t bring her back alive.”

  Until now, Fenna had been under the impression that the former chancellor had been wounded and the others had sustained their wounds in a fight with the sentries, but something poked at her. How could a barely-trained Mistward soldier best a Berellan, and supposedly one of their best, in combat?

  “What happened? I never asked.”

  Greynar rubbed his neck and shook his head. “Bandits, if you can believe it. They snuck up on us – it was the only way they were able to do as much damage as they did. Fortunately” – he cast his lieutenant a satisfied look – “they didn’t get the best of Tushar.”

  “Tell me, Lady Fenna,” Tushar asked, “have you ever had the distinct pleasure of strangling your enemies with thorny vines?”

  Not thorny ones, but… Fenna bit back a shudder and said, “Somewhat recently, in fact.”

  “Hmm.” Tushar’s raised brow said he’d expected a far different answer. “So you’ve been exercising your magic in new ways since I last saw you?”

  “Not by choice, necessarily. But yes, I’ve had the opportunity to put it to uses beside gardening.” She laughed, remembering the warrior’s reaction when she’d told him the primary function her magic served.

  Greynar cleared his throat. “As much as I wish to let the pair of you reminisce, I believe we were in the middle of something.”

  Blinking, Tushar sat back. “Right. Of course. Sorry, Chancellor.”

  “Former Chancellor.”

  “What is that about, by the way?” Fenna couldn’t imagine that there had been an uprising against Greynar. From what she’d seen, he’d been far too beloved by all sectors of Berellan society – noble, common, soldier, and civilian alike.

  “A necessary – and temporary – resignation. Unless the people have decided they like Sorina so much in my absence that they don’t want me back. Not that she’ll give them that option. You should have seen her recoil when I told her I wanted her to replace me.”

  “Talking of being in the middle of something,” Tushar griped.

  A brow raise from Greynar this time. “Very well. Yes, Tushar was able to apprehend them – but not before they’d wounded Eskan and Julith.” He glanced over at his dead warrior’s covered corpse.

  Beside her sat another female, hunched over, not looking at anyone, not even Tyron, who addressed a question to her as he passed. She muttered a silent answer, but didn’t move, her hand twined through another’s. Fenna looked closer and saw that it was attached to an arm protruding from under the sheet.

  Obviously the two females were deeply connected. Friends? Lovers? Fenna cast a question at the chancellor, who was now eyeing her grimly.

  “Sisters,” he said, as though the word had deeper meaning even than it should have in that moment. Fenna cast one last look at the mournful scene and turned back to him.

  “Eskan should pull through,” Tushar commented. “That’s something, at least.”

  Greynar shook his head. “We should have been more alert.”

  “There’s nothing to be done now, Chancellor.”

  Glaring at him, Greynar asked, “Are you anything other than literal, pompous, and practical?”

  A beat passed before Tushar responded, cautiously, “I’m not entirely certain how I feel about pompous…”

  “Imhran,” Fenna cut in before they could continue on much farther, “something brought you here. Was it what I think it was?”

  He held her gaze for a moment. Tushar excused himself to see to Eskan, and Greynar inhaled deeply before finally responding.

  “It was. I have them. Your memories.”

  The words hung in the air. Fenna took a shaking, shuddery breath and found the shuddering didn’t stop. What was she supposed to feel in this moment? She’d been waiting for ten years – a decade – and she was finally about to find out who she was.

  She’d dispelled her fears of a few hours ago. Why on earth was she still so worried?

  “I could give them to you now,” he said. “But I find it’s generally better in these situations to let the person in question process what is about to happen before just shoving years’ worth of events into their heads. Do you want me to blather about how I found them?” He hesitated before adding, “There is something you should know before we proceed, anyway. A few things.”

  Nodding, still not quite seeing him on the bed in front of her, Fenna murmured, “Go on.”

  “Believe it or not, it came in the middle of a council meeting,” he said. “I was knocked out of my seat, as I always am. Receiving memories is not as painful as having them removed, but it does rather take the wind out of you. And the ability to sit upright. It’s not the most convenient thing in the world, let’s settle on that description.

  “Seven years of your life – all the things you can’t remember, everything that was taken from you – was delivered to me in the course of thirty seconds. You can’t imagine it now, Fenna, but you’ll understand in a moment. Seeing someone’s past is an overwhelming experience. I can’t begin to describe it. I knew not only your past, every inch of it, but I saw bits of your future, as well.” He eyed her warily. “Nothing specific. It was just leftover of things the person who took them from you saw – and they had the ability to see the future, as well.”

  Fenna went still. He knew – he’d seen who had taken her memories in the first place.

  “Who was it?” she asked, feeling the bottom drop from under her as she did so. Part of her didn’t want to know – and the other part knew she must.

  Greynar laughed brittlely. “Well, she’s not exactly harmless. The person who took your memories was none other than Maeve herself. Queen of the Fae.”

  Fenna didn’t dare move. She didn’t dare breathe. And even if she dared, she certainly didn’t think she was capable of thought.

  Maeve was the one who had taken her memories. Maeve had kept them from her all these years. As far as Fenna had known, she’d never even met the Queen of the Fae before her visit to Mistward a few months ago. And yet, she would have had to have come into contact with her for Maeve to have taken them.

  “What need had Maeve of my memories?” she asked finally, her voice hollow even to her own ears.

  Shaking his head, Greynar considered for a moment.

  “From what I can tell, none. She didn’t steal them from you, technically. They were offered up to her by someone else – multiple someones. Surrendered willingly.”

  Fenna’s fists balled on her knees. “Did I surrender them willingly?”

  Greynar shook his head again. “No. From what I can tell, you were not even conscious when they were taken. The memory of the pain is the last sensation I felt, and your final waking memory was falling asleep in… well, you’ll see in a moment. Before I give them back, as I said, there are a few things I feel you should know.”

  Fenna nodded, leaning forward. Anything to get them a bit faster. “I’m listening.”

  “The first is that everything I am about to tell you, Maeve obviously knows. But you should know… there’s a reason she hasn’t done anything about it all these years. Every time I receive memories, I get a feeling of the person who’s held them, whether they are the owner or a borrower or a thief. And Maeve is curious to see what role you play in the fate of the world as a whole. And Fenna” – he inhaled deeply, his gaze falling to the floor – “something is coming, and it’s coming quickly.”

  Another pinprick of fear added to the others building inside of her. “How do you know?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what it is, but I know. And I know, simply because Maeve knows.”

  It wasn’t much of an explanation, but it was enough. Fenna gestured for him to go on.

  “The second thing you need to know is that your memories have not been tampered with. I can also tell that when I receive them – though I cannot undo the damage. It takes a much more powerful Memory Keeper than I.”

  Relieved, Fenna nodded.

  “And finally… there are certain bonds, certain relationships, you will not see in your memories but that I am aware of. I’m not sure if they are my place to tell you – “

  At that, at least, Fenna smiled. “I guarantee you, Chancellor, whatever they are, I probably already know.”

  He raised a brow. “The twins?”

  “My carranam.”

  “Lord Gavriel?”

  “I know he’s my mate.” Her hand went unbidden to that spot on her abdomen where the bond originated. “I discovered that relatively recently, in fact.”

  Greynar’s satisfied smile was short-lived. He grew serious once again.

  “Maeve knows all of this as well. As I said, the only reason she hasn’t used you against any of them yet is purely because… she’s more interested in you than in them. In your role in the world’s trajectory as a whole.”

  Fenna nodded, less afraid than she should be at those words. Did a cold feeling of foreboding settle in her gut? Absolutely. Was it quite all the way to fear?

  Perhaps it should have been, if she’d had any sense. But apparently, she had relatively little of that.

  “Can you tell if she plans to… interfere in that role?” Whatever it may be.

  Greynar shook his head. “There are certain things I can read when I receive memories. Intent of the giver is not one of them.” He eased up onto his elbows once again, a light groan escaping his lips.

  “Should you – “

  He waved her concern away. “Believe me, this is not the worst thing I could be doing to myself right now. The stitches are holding just fine. Don’t worry about me. We’ve stalled for a bit now. Are you ready to find out who you are?”

  Yes… and no. But, regardless of whether she was ready or not, find out she apparently would. Fenna nodded, taking that deep, steeling breath she needed.

  “Well, then. This works much the same way as it did when you offered up the blank stream to me those months ago.” He lifted his hands as though to clasp either side of her head.

  Fenna began to lean forward into his grasp, then hesitated.

  “Will it hurt as it did last time?”

  He shook his head. “Not much, anyway. If there’s any pain at all, it’ll be a pinprick compared to last time. A bit longer and more drawn out, but not nearly as painful, no.”

  Still hesitant, Fenna glanced around. “And what will it look like out here?”

  Greynar considered. “Considering my knowledge on this matter, I’ve actually had relatively little experience in returning memories. From my training, I remember this much – there will be a glow around you as I transfer the memories from my mind to yours. What will feel like seven years to you will be only five minutes at most to the rest of us. You may show some signs of distress, depending on the memories and what you’re feeling within them. As I’ve seen them, I can assure you that for much of the first six years, you will probably look anything but distressed. But that last year… I’ve no idea how it will affect you. Of all the people in your life, you came out the least scarred. In fact, you barely had any – well, I’m rambling. Did that answer your question?”

  Thinking so but still not entirely certain, Fenna nodded.

  “Then let’s begin.”

  Leaning forward, Fenna had just felt the tips of his fingers on her temples when –

  “Wait!”

  Jerking upright and away from the chancellor, Fenna whirled to find Sten once again stopped beside her, bent double and looking more serious than Fenna had seen him in a long while – even yesterday.

  “I hate to interrupt…” His serious face grew concerned as he glanced between the pair of them. “…whatever was happening just there. It seemed rather important. But” – he gulped in a huge breath of air – “Fenna, Emrys needs you. In fact, everyone’s needed in their designated posts now.”

  Regret poked at her chest, and Fenna cast the chancellor an apologetic look. The same regret was mirrored on his face. The disappointment, however, didn’t outweigh the worry this time. Wrapping her arms around herself and dreading the answer, Fenna rose and turned back to the soldier.

  “What’s happened?”

  He waved a hand at her. “The Fae prince and your friend just returned from their journey.” He eyed her warily. “They didn’t exactly bring good news. We’re about to be attacked.”

  Looking back at Greynar, Fenna felt the bottom drop from under her stomach once again. “Fae?”

  Shaking his head, Sten swallowed, genuine fear entering his eyes.

  “No. Something worse. Something much, much worse.”

Chapter Text

The next few hours were a blur. Fenna listened in to what Rowan and Elentiya had to report. They had seen the enemy – and it was, in fact, much worse than the Fae. Creatures that wore the bodies of men and feasted on the essence of other living creatures. Specifically sentient living creatures.

  As it appeared they had a penchant for demi-fae, it only made sense that their first stop on this continent would be a fortress full of them, only a few days’ march from the coast.

  For all that this was Malakai’s fortress and he usually prided himself on the running of it, Fenna was surprised with what ease he stepped aside to let Rowan take over some of the responsibilities. Between the pair of them, Mistward prepared for battle as seamlessly as though they were only lining up for Emrys’s rabbit stew.

  The children and the civilians with non-fortress related jobs were evacuated to the healing compounds within the hour. There was some question in the kitchen as to who would go with them once everything was prepared here – the soldiers needed provisions, but so did the evacuees. It had finally been decided that at least Aludra was going. Fenna had expected her to be grateful for an excuse to escape the attack, but her friend had put up more of a fight than expected.

  “I’m not just going to go while the rest of you will have to make it there under the cover of darkness,” she said. “Especially when you might not even make it out at all! Why should I be the only one whose safety is guaranteed?”

  “Because it won’t be guaranteed,” Emrys informed her sharply, already throwing loaves of bread and whatever else he could find into a basket for her to ration on the journey. “Someone has to feed all of them. One of us has to survive to do it.”

  “But I – “

  “Aludra, listen,” Fenna cut in. “You’re not a warrior. You don’t have magic. And Malakai’s going to see to it that Reuven is one of the ones guarding the compounds. You honestly think he’ll go if you’re here? And besides… you’re human. They’re after demi-fae for whatever reason, so they probably won’t drain you. That doesn’t mean they’ll let you live, by any stretch of the imagination.” She held her friend’s gaze. “From what Elentiya says, there is some dark magic in them. Whatever they do will likely make the rogues from last fall look like children. Do you understand?”

  At the mention of the rogues, Aludra went still, and Fenna almost felt guilty for using the argument. Almost.

  But it was what was going to get her friend where she needed to be.

  Aludra finally nodded, eyes squeezed shut. It wasn’t until Fenna reached out and grabbed her hand that she spoke.

  “All right, then,” she whispered. “But the rest of you… try not to die. I’m far too fond of you.”

  For the rest of them were staying, at least for a time. Emrys had tried to argue for Luca’s being able to go, to assist Aludra in said feeding of the multitudes, but Malakai had given a sad shake of the head and dismissed the idea.

  “I want him to go as much as the rest of them. But right now, we need as many soldiers here as possible.”

  “He’s a boy, Malakai! What use is there in keeping him here, when you’re sending Reuven away? Luca has less training, and he has a mother, not mention a potential mate. What reason do you have for sending Reuven with the others and having Luca stay here?”

  “Because – “ Malakai inhaled deeply, and Fenna watched as he warred within himself, not wanting to shout at his mate. Not when there was so much potential for them all to be dead within the next day or so.

  Emrys sensed it too, and quieted, though he didn’t back down from his cross-armed, determined stance. He just stood there, waiting for his mate to answer.

  “I’m sending Reuven,” Malakai said, “because while yes, he has more training than Luca, it’s not much. And I want someone skilled enough to defend our vulnerable ones doing so. And before you tell me that if Luca is not trained enough to defend the innocent he shouldn’t be fighting at all, I need everyone who is even capable of lifting a sword or performing battlefield magic here.” He gave another shaking breath. “I’ll have him on patrol by the hospital wing. We’ll need it for the wounded, and we can’t move either of the wounded Berellans.”

  Emrys had gone completely still, as had Fenna. Not meeting either of their eyes, Malakai’s own trailed along the ground.

  “I’m not happy about it. Believe me, I’m not.”

  Another moment of silence passed before someone cleared their throat from the doorway. In the midst of the heated debate, Fenna hadn’t even noticed it opening.

  All three of them turned to find Luca standing, silhouetted in the doorway, arms wrapped around himself and eyes red-rimmed.

  “I don’t want to go,” he said, voice firmer than Fenna would have expected. “I want to stay and fight. If that means anything.” He straightened his shoulders, shifting his arms to cross over his chest. “It’s worth it to me to stay here.”

  “Luca – “ Emrys began, but Luca shook his head and held up a hand.

  “I’ve already said goodbye to Lilah and my mother, so there’s no use fighting it,” he said. “This is my home. My home. Before my mother and I came here, I didn’t think a place like this could exist. A place where a random woman and her demi-fae runt” – he paused, mouth quirked upward ruefully – “some other bastard’s words, not mine, could find belonging and a family and safety. Without places like Mistward, we’re just adrift. So I don’t care if they do overrun us. If they don’t, I damn well want a place where people like me and my mother and Fenna and Lilah and you two can come to and feel like we’re not some abomination of nature.”

  Fenna felt some part of her breaking as Luca’s face convulsed with emotion, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rein it in.

  “I can fight. And I can’t just let this be a place where I feel safe. I want others to be safe here, too. So I’ll fight for them to have that chance.” He looked at Malakai. “Just promise me something.”

  Visibly swallowing, Malakai nodded, unable to speak.

  “Let my mother stay. If we win but I don’t make it. I know she’s been allowed to stay because of me, and I know Aludra can stay because of Reuven, but I don’t want her to have to leave if I’m gone. I want – “ His voice cracked. “I want her to stay safe, too.”

  Malakai’s face, so rarely prone to tears, scrunched tightly, as though holding them at bay.

  “Of course, boy,” he said, crossing to Luca and folding him in an embrace. “Of course. We wouldn’t turn her away now.”

  The façade over, Luca buried his face on the older male’s shoulder and wept. Emrys and Fenna eyed each other for a moment, then went to wrap their arms around the pair of them, as well. Shutting her eyes, Fenna drank it in – this family of hers. Everything Luca said rang true for her, as well.

  How many of them would see the end of this week?

“You’ll be in the hospital wing?”

  Fenna glanced up to find Elentiya watching her intently. She hadn’t seen much of the other girl since hearing her report with Rowan, but they’d come back to the kitchens briefly. It seemed to be the strategists’ headquarters, as Malakai, Rowan, and Narcisa were seated around the table, conferring about the best fortified places to station soldiers – and the places the enemy would find the most vulnerable.

  Casting one last look at the warriors, Fenna nodded, coming closer so they could speak in hushed tones.

  “It’s positioned somewhat vulnerably, for a place housing the wounded,” Elentiya went on. “There are relatively few fortifications around it. It’s designed more as a healing wing in a city, not a hospital in a fortress. We can argue the practicalities of it later – after we all survive. No one who will be guarding the hospital wing has magic, which is why I ask this of you, rather than them. What do you know of non-corporeal shields?”

  Fenna shook her head. “Not much. The closest I’ve ever come to one is a wall made of thorns.”

  Elentiya considered that. “It could be useful, but it’d keep out people you did want to come inside. Shields, you can specifically keep out magical attacks and tell who is trying to get through and let them down accordingly. Yours may be a bit weaker, since I’m just now teaching you how to use them, but… they’re better than nothing.”

  It made sense. Fenna had no idea how non-corporeal shields worked, but privately, she made up her mind to include Luca and the other soldiers in them, if she could.

  “Should we go outside?” she asked, jerking her head toward the open door.

  Elentiya nodded. “Probably best. Sometimes shields for the first time can be a bit tricky. No need to make it any more complicated than it needs to be – or distract them from what they’re doing.”

  The two girls made their way outside, and Fenna stopped beside the garden wall. She didn’t want to endanger the garden itself in any way, so this seemed the best place to do so.

  “From what Rowan tells me,” Elentiya said, “everyone gifted with magic has a small amount of raw magic living inside of them. It’s not as big for some as it is others. I have a friend…”

  Her voice trailed off, eyes growing sad. Fenna wondered if she was thinking the same thing as Fenna did every time she thought of her friends beyond this fortress. Were they ever going to see them again?

  Shaking her head, Elentiya went on. “Well, he has pure raw magic, so his reserve is obviously as deep as his well goes. He could probably shield an entire city, if he wanted to. Maybe more than that.”

  “How do you know?” Fenna asked. “Living in Adarlan, I mean. Living on the other continent at all?”

  “If we survive the night, I’ll tell you. Anyway, everyone has that small amount of raw magic within them. Your normal magic is fairly powerful, but that’s not necessarily an indicator. Some have the ability to shield entire cities, some a single structure, some single individuals. Some only have enough to shield themselves. Which is why we’re experimenting now. I want to see what you can do. Reach down into your well and see if you can find that reserve of raw magic.”

  Fenna hadn’t truly dropped into her well since last winter, but she dipped in now. In her mind, she pictured herself sticking an arm into a shallow pool and searching for something at the bottom – something unfamiliar. After a moment, she touched on it.

  “I think I’ve found it.”

  “Good. How big does it feel?”

  Fenna considered. “I don’t have much to compare it to,” she said. “But big enough. It’s not huge, by any means – not like the rest of my magic.”

  “Do you think you could shield the entire hospital wing?”

  Giving the other girl a wry smirk, Fenna replied, “Like I said. I don’t have much to compare it to.”

  “All right, then. Let’s start small. Take the magic and envision it wrapping around yourself. You’ll have to go a bit faster when the time comes, but we have a moment now. You can be as slow as you need to about it.”

  Nodding, Fenna did so, shutting her eyes. When she opened them, she noticed a blue glow with a tint of purple blooming around her before settling into her skin. She looked up at Elentiya.

  “Was that it?”

  Smiling in satisfaction, Elentiya nodded.

  “The color suits you. Everyone’s shields somewhat match their essence, I think. Mine are definitely orange with flashes of red and yellow. Yours is a bit more floral.”

  Fenna was willing to bet Gavriel’s would be gold. Thinking of her mate brought her back to another option for defense to explore… but she’d get to that later. She’d bring it up to Rowan – later.

  “Now try extending it to me.”

  Imagining the quilt spread over her surrounding Elentiya as well, Fenna waited, watching for that same blue and purple aura to surround her. It took a moment, but eventually the same shimmer formed around Elentiya’s body before seeming to fade into her.

  “Good. Try that again, a bit faster. An enemy won’t wait for your shields to form before attacking – obviously.”

  Fenna repeated the same sequence five times. She gave Elentiya a wry look.

  “Should we possibly conserve my magic for the battle itself? Just a thought.”

  Glancing back over their shoulder at the kitchen building, Elentiya turned to her again, face thoughtful.

  “You’re not wrong. But I want to see if you will be able to shield the hospital wing. It’s a bit bigger than the kitchens, but…”

  Mind already moving, Fenna moved the shield to the kitchen walls, enveloping it as far as she could with its being attached to the fortress at large.

  “Good. Now try growing a vine along the wall.”

  Fenna stared at her. “I thought we were conserving my magic.”

  “We are. Just a single vine, not a wall of them. Give it a try – the instant you feel any push back, you can stop.”

  It may be foolish, but Fenna was also curious. She reached her magic out toward the walls of stone and imagined a single creeping vine growing along the height of it. As soon as the thing began to sprout, it froze, something very real and very Fenna stopping it from doing so.

  Pulling back, Fenna turned to Elentiya, grinning. “I think it worked.”

  Elentiya’s grin mirrored hers. “You’ll probably be good to shield at least one side of the wing, at least. If you have to choose, shield the first half. The back half backs into the wall of the fortress, so it’s more likely that they’ll start there, but it has fortifications. The front half doesn’t.” She fell off, eyes dropping away from Fenna, and then back. “The Chancellor… did he get the opportunity to show you your memories?”

  Fenna shook her head. “No. The pair of you came back just as he was preparing to. He said he’ll show me later – provided we live.”

  “Oh.” Elentiya nodded, looking as though she hadn’t expected any other answer. “Good.”

  Fenna stared.

  “I mean, good that he didn’t show you right before the battle. You’ll need your wits about you, and from what I’ve heard of memory magic, most people receiving their memories back don’t. Not for a good long while, anyway.”

  It was fair. And yet still… there was part of Fenna that, while she trusted the chancellor’s judgment, wasn’t happy with the decision. Her memories had been kept from her for far too long.

  But if it enabled her to be useful in the battle to come…

  “Speaking of the battle, you haven’t got any healing magic. Or experience that you’ve told me about. Why are you in the hospital wing instead of the battle itself?” The unspoken or with the non-combatants hung in the air.

  A corner of Fenna’s mouth slipped skyward. “Because I have enough experience. And I’m remarkably good at doing what I’m told.”

  Someone snorted behind them, and Fenna glanced past Elentiya to find Rowan leaning against the kitchen wall, watching them. 

  “Are you? I seem to recall giving you explicit instructions – “

  “You’re never going to let the Skinwalker incident go, are you?” Fenna folded her arms, mirroring his stance.

  “Never.” He grew serious again, gaze falling on Elentiya. “You did well training her. But tell me, what did you forget?”

  Elentiya raised a brow. “That’s the gentlest you’ve ever been with me, did you know?”

  “You don’t know, do you?” Sighing, Rowan concentrated briefly before a flash of silver clashed against the wall of the kitchen, sending blue and purple sparks flying. Fenna yelped and retracted the shield, her magic feeling as though it had been stung.

  “Shield magic is designed to last,” Rowan informed them. “As long as you stay within two miles or so of the person or thing you’ve shielded, your shield will stay up. And it will slowly drain your magic as it does so. Slowly, mind you. It’s about a drop at a time. But eventually, when you run out of shield magic, it’ll start drawing on your normal well. And if you’re in a battle… well, you’ll use it up a bit faster. You have to actively remove the shield for it to go away and stop using your magic supply.”

  “You never taught me this,” Elentiya accused.

  Rowan considered a moment. “We didn’t get that far with shield magic, but you’re right. I should have gone over that.”

  Elentiya blinked. “Did you just say what I thought you said?”

  Face inscrutable, Rowan replied, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  Fenna removed the shields from around herself and Elentiya, then turned back to Rowan. Now was as good a time as any to have this discussion. Especially as he was so busy, she imagined they wouldn’t get the chance to do so now.

  “Elentiya, would you mind giving me a minute with Rowan?”

  Eyes darting back and forth between the pair of them, Elentiya nodded and ducked back inside the kitchens.

  Rowan pushed up off the wall and approached Fenna until he was looming over her.

  “What is it? I do have siege defenses to plan.”

  Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Fenna eyed him warily.

  “You and I both know we have resources who could be a great deal of help to us. I’ve contemplated… signaling them, if you will. But I’m not entirely certain that will bring them here.”

  Brow jerking upward, Rowan asked, “Explain that theory to me.”

  Theory? Gods, he sounded like Vaughan.

  “Gavriel can hardly go dropping everything and running out here every time he feels I’m in danger, now can he?”

  Rowan shook his head. “You underestimate the mating bond. He can and he will.”

  “He didn’t last time.”

  “You told him the danger was past, didn’t you? I presume you won’t be telling him that until it is, and it won’t be for a good long while. Fenna, you may have one of our best resources within you.” His gaze was intent, steady. “Any mate worth their salt will come when they’re called, no matter how far away they are. The only thing holding them back would be the blood oath. And believe me, Gavriel is one of the ones I refer to. Without question.”

  All right. He had a point, and Fenna truly hadn’t been that concerned with the possibility. She knew her mate far too well for that.

  But there was one thing Rowan clearly hadn’t considered.

  “Gavriel will come when I call him. But will he think to bring the others?”

  Rowan’s jaw slipped just a notch.

  “This isn’t going to be a small battle, Rowan. Five males is hardly a huge number, but still… Gavriel is skilled, but he alone won’t make that much of a dent – especially not if the enemies are supernatural ones. We need all of them. So I will summon my mate. But you need to send for the others.”

  He didn’t respond. Didn’t so much as twitch. For a moment, Fenna wondered whether he was breathing. Then, finally, he drew breath to reply.

  “No.”

  Fenna blinked. “Pardon me?”

  “No.” He turned on his heel back toward the kitchens. “We’ll manage well enough without them.”

  “Wait.” Chasing after him, Fenna grabbed his arm. He whirled at the touch, but she would not be cowed. “You’re not a fool, Rowan. I know you aren’t and I know you recognize the strategy in sending for them. So why won’t you?”

  His gaze trailed to the door. Jaw muscles flexing visibly for a moment, he finally sighed and met her gaze again.

  “A – Elentiya hasn’t told you who she is, has she?”

  At the mention of the other girl, Fenna went still. Wordlessly, she shook her head.

  “Let’s just say you and Gavriel aren’t the only ones on whose behalf I fear Maeve,” he said. “And they are blood-sworn to her, just as well as I am. Gavriel is one thing. The others… I would like to keep them as far from her as possible.”

  She didn’t like it, but she saw the wisdom in it. If Elentiya were somehow a threat to Maeve, the queen could very well order her blood-sworn to spy on her. To harm her, even. And something told Fenna that, whoever Elentiya was, she wasn’t nearly as interesting to Maeve.

  Just a threat, pure and simple.

  Yes, any other time, she would have seen the wisdom in it. But not now. Squeezing Rowan’s arm with the hand she hadn’t removed, she held eye contact with him for a moment.

  “I understand that. But you know without help, this fortress will fall.” She swallowed the emotion that threatened to choke her. “We will all die, Rowan, including Elentiya. Including you. Including me. And they may only be five… but they’re five of the best. I’ve seen the way you all work in combat together and you could be unstoppable.” Allowing her mouth to slip up just the slightest amount, she added, “Besides… I think Elentiya wouldn’t mind some back-up, as well.”

  He glared down at her. “You know it’s in poor taste to manipulate a male into letting you have your way, yes?”

  She shrugged. “I know. But… it seemed expedient.”

  Rolling his eyes, Rowan muttered, “You’ve been spending too much time with that earth-shaking Berellan. Fine. I’ll send for them. Don’t you dare say anything to her.”

  Relief settled like a blanket on her chest, but Fenna didn’t have time to dwell on it. “Of course not. That’s your job.”

  She didn’t hear what he muttered next. It sounded something like “imp.” She was fine with being an imp if it meant he saw sense.

  “You won’t summon Gavriel for at least as long as it would take a message to get to Doranelle?”

  “Of course not,” Fenna said. “It would be rather impractical to not have them arrive all at once, wouldn’t it? And according to you, the instant I imply there’s any danger – “

  “He’ll come barrelling through the woods like a demon from Hellas. Yes, being the one who informed you, I’m aware.” He ran a hand over the lower half of his face, brows creased in thought. “The question is… do we have anyone here with the second form of a bird? There’s Malakai and I, but we’re both needed here…”

  Fenna considered. “I’m not certain, but you could talk to Narcisa. She might know.”  

  Rowan nodded. “That being the case, don’t alert him for at least a day. At that point, if the message hasn’t gotten to Lorcan, you might as well summon Gavriel. The others may follow him anyway.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Especially Lorcan.”

  He had a valid point.

  “All right, then. A day at least.”

  Though if anything happened to startle her between now and then, Fenna imagined she’d have a hard time keeping her fear instincts quiet long enough to ensure Gavriel didn’t come running.

Chapter Text

In all the bustling about, getting ready for battle, Imrhan Greynar nearly missed her. Not that he was doing much bustling. Mostly, he was watching others bustle and feeling generally useless. He was only beneficial in battle in one context, and that context had been stripped from him. So while he knew trying to rise and lend aid would only cause more work for those who were fully capable, it still smarted.

  He only wanted to be able to walk, gods be damned.

  It was in the briefest of moments that she came to gather information from the healer that he saw her. The blonde female who looked as though she could slit a man’s throat and grin while she did it. She was older, more jaded, certainly. The child he’d seen in Fenna’s memories did not have the murderous look about her.

  But it was definitely her. He’d found not only the first-in-line to Terrasen’s throne, he’d found the rutting queen herself.

  He’d attempted to not stare. After all, there was no reason he should know anything about her – and he wasn’t sure how much she knew of his purpose here, anyway.

  But it wasn’t a hard guess to assume she had her memories, completely, and also knew who Fenna was. The question was, why she hadn’t said anything.

  Perhaps she viewed Fenna as a threat to her throne. And if she did, she was a threat to Fenna. He wasn’t going to be much use defending her, but someone needed to be aware – someone who wouldn’t broadcast it to the entire fortress. The kitchenmaster or his mate, perhaps. Biting back a series of grumbles at his convalescent state, Greynar sat back and waited for one of them to show up. The strategists always did, one way or the other.

  He’d expected the headman first, but it was the kitchenmaster who appeared about ten minutes later. Greynar waited as he spoke to the healer, trying to remember his name. It came to him just as the kitchenmaster turned to leave.

  “Emrys!”

  Turning, the elderly male hobbled over, brow raised in question but head bowed, as though Greynar still held any sort of title.

  “What is it, Chancellor?”

  These people were all very insistent on using the title, anyway. Greynar gestured for him to sit on the bed adjacent to his.

  “I have something of a delicate matter to run by you, and it shouldn’t reach many ears at this fortress.” He waited for the kitchenmaster to settle in and held his gaze for a moment. “In fact, it may be vital that it doesn’t.”

  Emrys nodded, arms folded across his chest, any trace of formality gone. “I’m listening.”

  Greynar cast one last look around to ensure they were not being listened in on. Turning back to the kitchenmaster, he kept his voice low.

  “Aelin Ashryver Galathynius is in this fortress.”

  He’d expected shock. Awe. A frantic stammering followed by the question of where? Who? But Emrys simply nodded sagely.

  “I’m well aware.”

  Greynar blinked. “You are?”

  “I have been since she walked into the fortress.”

  “Is it common knowledge?”

  “Not for those who haven’t been here very long. Long before Aelin” – he eyed Greynar pointedly – “and Fenna were born, their mother spent some time at this fortress, trying to earn her way into Doranelle. Evalin’s water magic was impressive. Not impressive enough for Maeve. But we became friends while she was here. I’d recognize her daughter anywhere – Aelin, anyway. Fenna was a bit harder. I did, however, also briefly meet Rhoe. Briefly. Fenna resembles him enough that I figured it out eventually.”

  Greynar considered. “You could probably smell it, couldn’t you?”

  Emrys shrugged. “A detail.”

  “If Aelin is here, and her memories haven’t been tampered with, presumably, she knows Fenna’s true identity. Why hasn’t she said anything to her?”

  Holding his gaze for a moment, Emrys finally said, “If you’re suggesting that Aelin has some ill intent toward Fenna, you’re incorrect. She hides what she knows to protect her.”

  “You don’t sound as though you disapprove.”

  Greynar didn’t know the male, but he hoped he was smart enough to hear the silent question. Fortunately, the kitchenmaster was proving to be shrewd with his brain as well as skilled with his pots.

  “Aelin’s knowledge is hers to give or withhold as she chooses. The memories you possess rightfully belong to Fenna, and Fenna alone. As she’s asked you to return them, I think we can safely assume that’s the best course of action.”

  “But if it were your choice…?”

  Emrys’s brow grew to what Greynar assumed was an uncharacteristic darkness.

  “Let us just say that there are many, many things that seem to be conspiring to put our Fenna in harm’s way, and I would rather any more stay as far from her as possible.”

  Greynar nodded. “You speak of Lord Gavriel.”

  “He’s the big one at the moment, yes. Besides, of course, the demonic army marching on us.”

   “Of course.”

   Emrys held his gaze steadily. “Fenna is grown, and while she is as good as my child, there is nothing but sentiment making her so. If she wants her memories back, I can’t stop her. But by the very nature of her birth, she stands to play a role in the world at large. Fenna, princess of Terrasen, is as far as the world is concerned, of far more significance than Fenna of Mistward. I can’t say I’d be displeased if she remains just my little songbird for the rest of her life.”

  He stopped abruptly, jaw quivering. Greynar looked away, certain the kitchenmaster wouldn’t want him staring as he tried to regain control of his emotions.

  “But I don’t disapprove. Of either your reason for being here, or Aelin’s reason for withholding what she knows.”

  Ah, yes. The queen. Which brought him back to his initial question.

  “Does Aelin Galathynius know why I am here?”

  Emrys considered, then shrugged.

  “I don’t know how much Fenna has told her of this winter. But, knowing her, if she did, you would have heard from her long ago. Even in the middle of all this battle preparation. No, I don’t think she knows.”

  “I take it she would disapprove.”

  “Let’s just say she’s inherited all the territorial Fae instincts. And with that, unfortunately, she’s gotten some of the possessive traits, as well. Not only that, but I don’t believe anyone has trained her to temper them – whether they’ve been honed or ignored entirely is a mystery to me. She has decided Fenna is safer kept in the dark. Personal rights are not something she will take into consideration when deciding what is best for someone.” The ktichenmaster paused. “On an individual scale, that is.”

  “Hmm. You’re positive it’s not because she considers Fenna a threat to the throne?”

  “From what I know, barely anyone even knew Fenna existed before Terrasen fell. And have you met her? She’s not the type to raise up an army and challenge someone much more suited to ruling. No, time’s altered nothing. You would know their relationship as children better than I would… but she either has grown to love Fenna in her absence or loves her still.”

  Greynar considered what he knew. “I would say it’s the latter.”

  Emrys nodded sagely. “Good. I would be… concerned if that were not the case.”

  “She hasn’t asked why I’m here yet?”

  “I’m sure she’s wondering. Saving the fortress from a dark army probably just seems a bit more expedient.”

  Greynar found he couldn’t argue with that logic.

  Knees creaking audibly, the old kitchenmaster rose to his feet. “I will see you during the battle, Chancellor. I’ve some healing experience but none on the battlefield. And even if I did, well, we’ve just discussed territorial Fae instincts – “

  “And your mate would station you here regardless. Yes, I gathered – though he seemed a bit more principled than that.”

  Emrys’s mouth curved. “Normally? He is. But this? None of us have seen anything like it before. None of us are very much ourselves, I’m afraid.”

Emrys had just gotten back to the kitchen when the door slowly, slowly swung open. Fenna looked up from where she was chopping celery to find Rowan standing in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame and the other gripping a piece of parchment.

  The knife dropped from her hand, clattering against the cutting board. In the months she’d known him, Fenna had never seen Rowan Whitethorn this… hollow. Close to it, yes. But never quite here.

  Something was horribly, horribly wrong. And it had nothing to do with the upcoming battle.

  “What is it?” she asked, wanting to cross around to him and guide him toward the table. He looked as though he were having trouble staying upright. But she found herself bracing her hands on the counter, her knees suddenly weak.

  She hadn’t felt anything down the bond recently… but that meant nothing. She’d been withholding, and if anything directly had happened to Gavriel, she would have felt it. Still, it didn’t mean he hadn’t had bad news from Doranelle.

  That idea was dispelled, however, as he finally raised his eyes to look at her. Sorrow, yes, but also dread. Not personal, either.

  “Where is she?” he asked, voice just as hollow as his expression.

  For once, Fenna didn’t know. She looked to Luca, who was pulling a chair out and gesturing for Rowan to sit. Wordlessly, the prince stalked over and slumped into the chair, elbows resting on his knees and once again not looking at anyone.

  “I think she burned herself training this morning and was getting some of that salve,” Luca said. “She should be here soon.”

  Fenna went to sit in the chair beside Rowan, bending so she could at least pretend to look him in the eye, even if he wasn’t meeting her gaze.

  “Rowan. What’s happened?”

  Shaking his head once, Rowan finally met her gaze, green eyes dark.

  “What do you know of the salt mines of Endovier and the Calaculla labor camp?”

  Endovier. She knew enough to know that the name would certainly mean something to Elentiya. Her hand curled into a fist on the table.

  “I know of them. The important things, anyway.” When he didn’t seem to comprehend, and even Emrys and Luca were looking curious, she reluctantly added, “I know Elentiya was imprisoned in Endovier for a year. I know she’s promised to burn Calaculla to the ground in memory of Nehemia. I know they’re pits straight from Hellas’s realm. What’s happened there?”

  Shoulders rising and falling in a great sigh, Rowan’s stare was anything but resigned.

  “The labor camps… were decimated two weeks ago. All prisoners were slain without mercy – butchered, from the sound of it.”

  Fenna could feel the blood draining from her face. Across the kitchen, Emrys gave a soft moan and, from the sound of it, Luca was gripping the back of a chair in order to stay upright.

  “How many – “

  “Thousands. Tens of, maybe. Men, women…” He sighed and shook his head again. “Children.”

  Fenna cut off a sob with a hand to her mouth. Now was not the time for tears. They were in the middle of battle preparation, and her people needed her strong.

  But all she could picture was far-too-tiny bodies, held up by pikes shoved through their middles. Some of them had faces. Shoving the image away, she drew in a deep breath.

  “Why?”

  Rowan opened his mouth to respond when the door creaked open. Fenna’s heart rate escalated – but it was only Malakai. They did not have to tell Elentiya – not just yet.

  But there was no putting it off forever. Because all too soon, as Rowan was giving Malakai a similar report to what he’d given the rest of them, Elentiya walked through the still-open door. Her chin was held high, as though she, too, had felt the tension in the fortress and was expecting to do battle. It occurred to Fenna that perhaps she had expected Maeve.

  She froze at the sight of the five of them, now huddled near the fire. Even the warm May day seemed cold after such news. Rowan’s back stiffened, and he met Fenna’s gaze. He hesitated a moment, and Fenna tried to make her wordless offer evident. She nodded toward Elentiya.

  I can tell her.

  And though it was not the same form of wordless communication she’d shared with Fenrys or Connall, Rowan got the message. He shook his head, just enough that Fenna could recognize the gesture, and turned to Elentiya.

  Fenna’s heart broke as the other girl’s knees wobbled. Rowan started toward her, and Elentiya backed away, shaking her head and lifting her hands, as if to ward him and his news off.

  “Please,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Please.”

  As though she already knew what was coming, even before Rowan spoke.

  Stopping in front of her, Rowan gazed down at Elentiya, and Fenna was certain only she noticed the twitch in his hands, as though he wanted to reach out. As though he wanted to hold her, even if at arm’s length, but he couldn’t do it. And Fenna knew why.

  He had to hold it together for her. Because one of them was going to break with this news, and the other would need to be a rock. And when it came to the prison camps of the western continent, if only one person could break, the only one with that right in this kitchen was Elentiya.

  “There was…there was an uprising at the Calaculla labor camp.”

  Elentiya’s eyes widened, her face convulsing once.

  “After Princess Nehemia was assassinated, they say a slave girl killed her overseer and sparked an uprising. The slaves seized the camp.” He paused for breath. “The King of Adarlan sent two legions to get the slaves under control. And they killed them all.”

  Elentiya shook her head, eyes narrowed, as though trying to believe what she was hearing.

  “The slaves killed his legions?”

  Another sob worked its way up to Fenna’s throat, and she swallowed it. Barely.

  Finally reaching out, Rowan grabbed the other girl’s hand. “No. The soldiers killed every slave in Calaculla.”

  She still didn’t appear to register the truth of it. “There are thousands of people enslaved in Calaculla.”

  That jaw of Rowan’s twitched, He opened and closed his mouth once. Twice. As though searching for words and finding none. Because while Calaculla would hurt and did hurt… it wasn’t quite as personal as what was coming next.

  And Elentiya read what was unspoken. Fenna thought her knees might give way entirely with the slump of her body, but she remained upright as she breathed, “Endovier?”

  Slowly, Rowan shook his head. “Once he got word of the uprising in Eyllwe, the King of Adarlan sent two other legions north. None were spared in Endovier.”

  Elentiya’s knees did fail her then, and Rowan reached out, gripping her elbows and holding her upright. She stared past him, at some spot on the wall, and Fenna didn’t hold back the shuddering breaths ripping through her lungs any longer. There was no point. No cause. Luca’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, and as she lifted her own to cover it, she felt the tremor in his fingers.

  Finally, Elentiya raised her eyes to meet Fenna’s. Identical turquoise orbs bored into each other, and Fenna could not read the thought behind them, but she felt the intensity in that stare. She didn’t know what Elentiya saw when she looked at her.

  Perhaps she saw similar images to what Fenna envisioned. After all, there were children in both camps.

  Her panting breaths began to match Fenna’s and Rowan bent down to look into her eyes. He murmured something, so softly that none of the others could hear it. At the sound of the word, Elentiya tore his grip off and ran for the door. Shoulders slumping, Rowan stood there, more defeated than Fenna had ever seen.

  Luca bent down until he was whispering in Fenna’s ear.

  “You need air.”

  She shook her head, struggling to get her voice under control. “I’m… fine.”

  “Fen. We all know what you’re thinking of right now. Go take a moment. We’ll manage until you get back.”

  Squeezing her heart-brother’s hand, Fenna attempted to maintain a steady pace as she walked past Rowan. She left the kitchen, shutting the door behind her…

  …and then took off as fast as she could for her own room, unable to stifle her sobs any longer and hoping no one stopped her. Fortunately, as many friends as she had in this fortress, everyone was busy with battle preparation. Those who passed her remained silent.

  As she reached her door, she felt a thick, furry form slip inside with her. And the sight of His Majesty there, staring up at her with those baleful green eyes of his, just made her cry all that much harder. She hadn’t seen him in several days. She’d thought – maybe, just maybe – he’d made his escape and would head for the healing compounds. Become their cat and catch their mice and attack their visitors.

  But he was still here. And if he didn’t leave, he’d probably die just as well as the rest of them. Or not. Maybe these creatures, whatever they were, didn’t like cat essence.

  Sinking down against the door, Fenna folded her arms on top of her knees, burying her face atop them and letting her tears flow free. His Majesty butted his head against her, putting paws up on her thigh until she moved aside so he could hop into her lap.

  Fenna settled for resting her head on his fur.

  “You should go,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I want you to be safe.”

  He simply continued purring, finally nuzzling against her face and giving a pwrorrr.

  I’m with you. If you go, I go. If you stay, I stay.

  Fenna choked on a laugh. “All right, you stubborn thing.”

  Wrapping her arms around the cat, she hugged him to her. He squirmed in protest but didn’t use those claws of his. Fenna was grateful, and she sighed against him.

  Predictably, longing settled into her. And Fenna found she could no longer keep the bond quiet. Opening herself, she sent her grief, her longing, her sorrow, down along it, all the way to Doranelle.

  Waiting, she felt that alarm and concern travel along the bond back toward her, filling her chest as always. She didn’t know how to respond. After all, she wasn’t sure if Rowan had sent word yet. Then she realized, she hadn’t seen Rendar around lately…

  And he wasn’t a warrior, so he may have gone to the healing compounds with the others, but his animal form was a goldfinch…

  Whether he’d gotten there or not, she was tired of waiting. Fenna sent everything she could even vaguely call a distress call down that bond, calling her mate to her.

  We’re in danger. The fortress is in danger. Come help us.

  I need you here.

  Perhaps it was horribly selfish that part of that need was for reasons other than the practical, but it didn’t stop him from being true. Fenna waited a good long while – longer than she was expecting, considering the last time she’d more or less summoned Gavriel with a cry for help.

  Then, finally, a response. She sighed and leaned her head against the door, letting it flow through her.

  “He’s coming,” she whispered to His Majesty. Whether the others would follow was anyone’s guess.

  But that Gavriel would come, of that much, she was certain.

Chapter Text

Doranelle, around the same time

Vaughan was conveniently seated by a window in the biggest libraries this side of the world. People said that there had been, at one time, a library larger than this had existed on the continent across the sea.

  People were fools. Orynth’s library had been huge, but nothing to rival Doranelle. Vaughan often wondered why his queen kept the real immensity of her library quiet. Probably because she found other things more important to brag about.

  The queen was also a fool.

  The rains were beginning to let up, and he’d had the window open to let the night breezes in. It did get somewhat irritating when they ruffled the pages as he was trying to read, but he’d learned to invest in several good paperweights long before. Yes, several. He wasn’t about to let the books he’d left open for cross-referencing’s sake lose his spot purely because some natural phenomenon decided they were its playthings.

  It wasn’t the breeze, however, that caught his attention tonight so much as what rode in on it. The tiny bird sailed in through the window and stared up at him, holding its foot out, five miniscule scrolls attached to it.

  Vaughan frowned. That was odd on several counts. First, goldfinches were native to the continent across the sea – specifically lower Adarlan, Fenharrow, and Mellisande. They didn’t frequent these shores unless something truly disastrous were happening.

  Secondly, they weren’t often active at night. Thirdly, they weren’t typically used as messenger birds. Fourthly, this one smelled of demi-fae blood. 

  Vaughan raised a brow. “Five messages. Let me guess – you come from Mistward?”

  The bird tweeted in irritation, as though urging him to get on with it.

  Selecting the scroll with his name scribbled on the outside, he said, “All right, then. Just know you’ve already impressed me. You’re only the second demi-fae in history who’s found a way to sneak into this library. The question was, if you could afford to shift right now, would you make better use of it than the last one?”

  Giving a twitch of its wings that resembled an aviary shrug, the bird took off into the night once more.

  Vaughan unrolled the scroll. Thank the gods, the prince who’d likely sent it would have factored in the Fae eyesight. The message within, written in such tight, small letters Vaughan wondered it had been possible to write at all, was simple.

  Vaughan,
    Mistward is in danger, and its library is still just as sparse as Fenna told you. If you value learning at all, let the residents get a chance to expand it. Come aid us.
Rowan Whitethorn

  Appealing to his intellectual sensibilities, was he? Fine. Vaughan would simply have to answer this call. He’d long harbored a desire to find out just how bad the library situation at Mistward was, anyway. Not bothering to return the books to their shelves, he stood, only grabbing the paper he’d been making notes on.

  He’d already marked which volumes he was using, anyway.

Fenrys always got the impression he was bothering Connall whenever he popped up in his rooms unannounced. How was he supposed to be able to tell a week in advance whether he’d be bored or not, however? Guilt wasn’t really something he was prone to bothering with when it came to dropping in on his twin.

  Fortunately, that irritation only lasted about five minutes before Connall seemed to accept that he was going to have unexpected company. Honestly, if Fenrys ever were going to get out of the habit, he would have done it a century ago when Connall had been seeing Henri. He had walked in on a few compromising scenarios.

  But he hadn’t broken the habit then. He wasn’t going to break it now. So few of the other soldiers ever let themselves get close to his brother, anyway, and while Connall wasn’t as much of a people-person as Fenrys… he needed friends just as much as anyone.

  They’d just gotten into a debate about whether Lady Wyvern was actually a work of art or just a performance they went to whenever it premiered purely for the benefit of making fun of it. Fenrys tended to take the latter opinion. Connall, however…

  “It’s your classic ‘beauty overcomes the beast to find the person within’ trope!” he was insisting now. “What part of that doesn’t appeal to you?”

  Fenrys shrugged. “It would have been better if he’d become a wyvern, too. An inversion. Then, maybe, I’d watch it with interest every time.”

  Groaning, Connall shook his head. “It’s called a curse for a reason, Fenrys. If he became a wyvern, too, he’d also be cursed. It’s the opposite of what they’re hoping to accomplish.”

  “But it would have been more interesting.”

  To his satisfaction, Topaz, curled up on Connall’s bed, mrowrred in what sounded like agreement.

  Connall glared back and forth between the pair of them. “You’re hopeless.”

  Fenrys didn’t bother to ask whether he was also including the cat in that. It was Connall. Of course, he was.

  “I’m not saying it doesn’t have its drawbacks,” Connall said. “The fact that she nabs him and keeps him as a slave in her lair isn’t exactly ideal – but it’s not like he just starts falling in love with her because she’s the only one around. I’ve looked into the psychology of it – “

  Fenrys’s eyes had just begun to glaze over, as they usually did when Connall started talking about the analyses he’d read of different plays they’d seen, when Topaz let out a hiss.

  Both of them were on their feet in an instant, but the threat, while immediate, was minor – just a bird flying in through the open window, hovering above their heads and eyeing the cat warily. Topaz’s eyes never once strayed from the bird, her haunches coiling as though she were about to pounce, even if it meant flying through the air to reach her prey.

  “Oh, calm down,” Connall said as her jaws began clacking. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the bird, however. “That’s odd.”

  “What’s odd?”

  Finally tearing his gaze from their newest visitor, Connall gave him a withering stare.

  “The bird itself is odd enough, you idiot. But in case you haven’t noticed, that’s no carrier pigeon.” He sniffed, and his eyes went wide. “It’s definitely demi-fae.”

  The bird appeared to hesitate, still staring at Topaz, before lowering enough that Connall could take a tiny scroll from around its foot. “There’s one for you, too.” He handed it to Fenrys.

   The message was so scrawled Fenrys thought he wouldn’t have been able to read it if he hadn’t been Fae. But the words sent alarm shooting through him.

Fenrys,
Knowing you, you’re probably bored. Well, Mistward is in danger. Yes, all of it, including your carranam and, according to you, the only decent fortress food this side of the mountains. You want diversion? I’m offering it to you. Get your pampered little ass down here and help us.

  It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be. A missive from Mistward laced with insults? It could only be from Rowan.

  The bird had flown out the window again, Topaz bounding across the room to the windowsill, watching it flit away. Connall frowned.

  “It had two more messages. Which means we’re probably not the only ones he summoned.”

  Fenrys considered. “It wouldn’t be the most strategic move on his part if that were the case, would it be?”

  “Right.” Connall nodded. “You go get everything you need for the journey. I’ll go check on Gavriel.”

  “Why do you get to check on Gavriel?” Fenrys asked.

  Connall raised a brow. “Because I’m in my own rooms, so I’ll be faster in getting my own gear together. You’ll have to go to yours and back, so by the time you get there…”

  “He’ll already be on his way without any of the rest of us,” Fenrys finished, already heading for the door. “Got it.”

  He tried moving quickly but casually through the hallways. In most situations he couldn’t tell a lie to save his life – especially if he were lying to Lorcan. Though maybe that had more to do with the commander’s ability to see right through him than his own inability regarding concealment. In life-or-death situations, however, he could be stealthy if he wanted to.

  It occurred to him in that moment – what was he doing? He could just use his magic. It was incredibly useful and yet used up so much energy it never occurred to him to use it immediately. Stepping into a sheltered alcove, Fenrys waited until he was certain there was no one else in the hallway and jumped through space to his own apartments.

  It only occurred to him as he was throwing a traveling pack together that Connall would have known he was capable of just leaping from place to place. Which led him to wonder – was there a different reason his twin wanted to be the one to check on Gavriel?

“She’s got a gag order on you, hasn’t she?”

  Lorcan grit his teeth and leveled his former lover with an even, hard stare.

  “You know as well as I do even if she had, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Maeve learned a long time ago to cover all her bases with gag orders.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Essar, who’d been stalking back and forth in front of his fireplace – or stalking as much as someone of her demeanor could – plopped down in the other armchair, arms and legs crossed. She looked far too satisfied for her own good.

  “Can you at least tell me how long you’ve known” – her voice lowered here – “that Fenna is Gavriel’s mate?”

  Lorcan tossed a glance at the door, hissing, “Keep it down, would you?”

  “So you do know?”

  His jaw twitched. His fingers twitched. His entire being twitched.

  “No,” he ground out.

  Essar’s grin was nothing short of triumphant.

  “I knew it!” She grew somber once again, however. “I’m surprised you were able to travel with the pair of them together, knowing what you did. How close did you come to going mad?”

  Lorcan didn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer. Honestly, she well knew he couldn’t say anything even if he’d wanted to.

  “I’ll take that to mean you tried to keep them separated as long as possible and eventually gave up, finding that it was more expedient to focus on other things like staying alive?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Essar glared at him. “I know very well when you’re lying to me, Lorcan Salvaterre. Don’t insult me by trying to pretend you’re not.”

  Staring at her for a moment longer, Lorcan contemplated how thoroughly hypocritical that was of her.

  “Say something.”

  “If you want me to not pretend I’m not lying, then you stop asking me questions you know I can’t answer.”

  Essar threw her hands in the air. “You can answer them to some degree. I know you, Lorcan. There’s always a way around a gag order. You can at least give me pertinent information or tell me how much you know. Or how you came to know it.”

  Lorcan shook his head. “Not this time.”

  Going still in the chair across from him, Essar pondered that for a moment.

  “She was more thorough with this one.”

  Wordlessly, Lorcan nodded. The gag order pulled at him, forbidding him from doing anything else.

  Dark eyes going wide, Essar stared. “You know everything she knows, don’t you?”

  Another nod.

  “Including what’s going to happen in the future.”

  He hesitated. As much as he wanted to give her the truth, it wouldn’t be thorough if he were to continue using his method of nodding silently. He might as well lie.

  But she already knew enough. And he didn’t like having an angry Essar snapping at him when snapping was senseless. She knew more than he would want her to know – would want anyone to know. Her own danger wouldn’t be increased by this bit of information.

  Through his teeth, the gag order pulling but not silencing him entirely, Lorcan replied, “More or less.”

  Essar frowned before understanding dawned in her features. “You know everything in regard to Fenna and Gavriel, but nothing else?”

  And it was finally out. Lorcan nodded, hating every moment of this.

  “Oh, Lorcan,” Essar sighed, shaking her head. “How bad is it?”

  A shudder ran down his spine. As far as Maeve had let him see… things were not going to end well. She had only shown him specific events, not the exact way other events blended together to make them happen, which gave him the uncomfortable feeling he was going to have some role in how they played out. He didn’t know what.

  And it wasn’t often he found himself feeling real, true fear. But the idea that he might be somehow responsible for what he’d seen terrified him.

  He couldn’t tell her any of that, however. It went too close to telling her what he’d seen, and the blood oath tugged on his impulses even as he thought about it.

  Sighing again, Essar’s lips pursed in irritation.

  “You can’t tell me that, either, can you?” She glared out the window. “I understand in theory it’s about instinct and desire to protect and all of that nonsense. But be honest with me – can you even tell me why you swore this rutting oath in the first place?”

  It was all somewhat murky. There were days Lorcan was absolutely certain of why he’d done it, and other days when he couldn’t come up with a single word of explanation. He wasn’t about to tell Essar that, however. She’d sit there and rail against the blood oath as a concept in general, and he’d agree with every word of it and be able to do nothing about the fact that he agreed.

  So, Lorcan didn’t answer. Sitting in silence had never been something the pair of them were bad at, anyway.

  Essar, however, was sitting up, her gaze caught by something outside the window. She frowned.

  “Lorcan…”

  Following her line of vision, Lorcan watched as the bird flew in and landed on the table between their two chairs. It extended a leg to him, looking as though it would very much like to have this over with as soon as possible. Lorcan’s frown mirrored Essar’s. Did birds have expression?

  Scenting the air, Lorcan caught a whiff of demi-fae blood and received his answer.

  And, incidentally, every muscle in his body tensed.

  Essar, meanwhile, had her head tilted to the side, examining the bird quizzically.

  “I thought goldfinches were native to the western continent,” she commented.

  Lorcan was already removing the scroll he’d found attached to the bird’s leg with his name scribbled on the outside. Of course, she’d know what type of bird it was.

  “It’s a messenger from Mistward,” he told her. He would have turned to the bird to verify, but it had already taken off for the window. Lorcan had seen who else he had to deliver to. Either Rowan was only summoning the pair of them – or the bird had already made a few stops.

  Unrolling the scroll, his eyes narrowed as he read through it.

Lorcan,
  Mistward is in danger. There are strange creatures coming to attack it, ones I’ve never seen before. We need all the help we can get. If you can at all get away – without letting Maeve know – you and the rest need to come. Now. Else this will be a worse massacre than anything the rogues this summer could have come up with.

  There was no need for a signature at the bottom, nor was there room. Lorcan already knew who had sent it.

  “What is it?”

  He’d practically forgotten Essar was there. He stood, shoving the chair back, though there was no table to impede his getting up otherwise. Tossing the parchment onto the coffee table, he stalked to his sparsely stocked wardrobe.

  “I’ll be back in a few days,” he said.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Namely because he didn’t have time to waste with it. Essar could get her answer when it was expedient to tell her – or on her own. Out of the corner of his eye, Lorcan saw her reach out and grab the slip of paper he’d discarded. She was quiet for a moment as he threw the bare minimum of what he’d need together.

  “You need to go check on Gavriel.”

  Strapping the sword sheath to his belt, Lorcan slung the travel pack onto his back and turned to her.

  “Obviously I’m going to grab him. This summons wasn’t just for the pair of us, Essar. I’m grabbing all of them. What do you think – “

  “No, Lorcan. You need to check on him.”

  “Why, exactly?”

  “Because knowing certain sensitive information that you and I are both aware of, how likely do you think it is he’ll wait for the rest of you before taking off for Mistward?” She raised a brow. “Or pace himself so he’s of any use once you get there?”

  She had a valid point. Lorcan kicked himself mentally. He was slipping, wasn’t he?

  He didn’t bother responding. He was already out the door and headed for Gavriel’s rooms.

Really, it would be convenient if every time Gavriel received a help-I-need-you-now call from his mate, the force of the bond didn’t practically knock him off his feet. Granted, last time he hadn’t been standing. But still, stumbling on the shock of it slowed him down far more than probably he or Fenna could afford.

  Gripping the bedpost and rising from where he’d just nearly hit the floor, Gavriel found himself reliving a much more desperate moment from a few weeks ago as he grabbed what he’d need. This call had been different. More intentional. It told him there was danger, but nothing immediate.

  Still, she’d seemed urgent. And gods, he wished he could understand her thoughts as clearly as you were supposed to understand a carranam’s. Honestly, what was the point of a bond if the only thing you got was a vague intonation regarding your mate’s situation?

  From what he’d gotten, she wasn’t in immediate, proximate danger, but that meant nothing. She could be anywhere from generally having a premonition to someone’s captive to… well, what if the danger wasn’t for her? What if it was someone else and she just needed him because she had no idea who else to call?

  Gavriel was so distracted by all of this that he didn’t notice the bird flying in his open window. Not until it settled on top of his pack, that was. Positioned that way, it effectively prevented him from putting anything else in there.

  He supposed he didn’t technically need the extra weapons, but still – they might come in handy. Glaring down at the bird, he suddenly thought aviary creatures were useless.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he informed it.

  The bird simply held out its leg and, if he wasn’t mistaken, nodded toward the missive attached to it.

  All right, that was odd. Last he checked, he wasn’t entirely certain what genus of bird this was, but he didn’t think they were often used as message carriers. Still, whatever the message was, it would have to wait.

  The bird wouldn’t leave until he removed the note, however, so Gavriel did so and waved it toward the window. “All right. Shoo.”

  It at least got off the bag but flitted down to the bedspread where he’d tossed the parchment and began poking at it.

  Still odd, but at least it wasn’t preventing him from doing what he needed to. Gavriel went about throwing the set of daggers into his bag once again.

  And then, as though miffed that he’d dared to ignore it, the bird flew over and began pecking at his hands.

  At least himself enough that he was loathe to harm something that tiny, Gavriel resisted the urge to swat it and instead whirled toward it, snarling.

  “Look, whatever is in that thing, it’s going to have to wait,” he told it, not certain why he was wasting time talking to a bird. “My mate is in danger – somehow, and I don’t know how, which means I have to get there as soon as possible, and she lives three days away, not to mention I can’t let the rutting queen know that I’m going, so if you can get out, that would be – “

  A flash of light and the bird transformed into a male only a few inches taller than Fenna herself, hands on his hips and glaring up his nose at him.

  “Your mate being Fenna, yes?” he demanded. “Well, if you would just look at that note, my lord, you’d know that it’s not unrelated from… whatever pull you were just responding to.”

  Gavriel blinked. He’d never met a person with such a… docile other form. The closest thing to it he’d seen was Maeve’s owl, and even that was only a theory. And even that could swallow the little finch this male had just been for breakfast.

  Still, he possibly shouldn’t have been as shocked as he was. He did, however, know it was now vital to read the thing and get the male out of Doranelle before Maeve found out a demi-fae had entered without her consent in any way but one…

  That goal was a bit delayed, however, as Connall materialized in the room, drawing a high-pitched shriek from the male in question.

Chapter Text

Connall took one look at the male and, while his shriek was not nearly as high-pitched, he definitely jumped several inches higher.

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  Hands on his hips once more and looking more or less fully recovered, the male snapped at him, “I would think I’d earned a better welcome than that. Your cat would have eaten me if I’d had the audacity to land.”

  Connall blinked. “You’re the –“ He shook his head. “Never mind. That does make sense. Wait. Why did you shift for Gavriel and not the rest of us?”

  Gavriel thought the question was somewhat beside the point. He swore, Connall and Fenrys started to sound more and more like each other every day.

  “Because you took the note when I offered it! This one kept blathering on about how his mate needed him and he didn’t have time to read the thing, and I thought it expedient – “

  “If his mate was in danger, he was already going to Mistward! There was no point in –“ The blood suddenly drained from Connall’s face. Turning away, he smacked a palm to his forehead and groaned. “No, no! Now I know! Oh, this is bad! This is very, very bad!”

  It was, but Gavriel thought now was perhaps not the best time to deal with it. Dodging between the two snapping males, Gavriel grabbed the note from the bed and scanned it. It was simple, to the point – a single sentence that whoever had sent it knew would be enough to bring him running as fast as he could.

Gavriel,
   Mistward is threatened.

  Since Fenna had only to summon him through the mating bond and wouldn’t require a messenger system, Gavriel assumed this was a cry for help from Rowan. If Rowan knew, he’d likely have asked Fenna to wait until they might have received his message to send any sort of distress call.

  Part of him thought it clever. The other part of him resisted the urge to grind his teeth – audibly. How long had they been preparing for whatever the danger was, and how long had Fenna been holding back from him because Rowan deemed it necessary?

  Hang strategy. That wasn’t how the mating bond was meant to work. It was meant to be between the two individuals sharing it, not subject to outside influences.

  Which reminded him of the situation at hand, and just how very loud Connall and this male from Mistward were being.

  “Would the pair of you keep it down?” he hissed, “Connall, if you keep going on like that, not only will you know, but so will Maeve! And if we bring anyone else here with this racket, she’s going to know that there’s a demi-fae in the city, that she did not authorize and who’s here in a very different context than the norm! So if as many of us are to get out of this room as unscathed as possible, the pair of you will please” – Gavriel inhaled deeply to curb the possibility of his own hypocrisy – “need to stop shouting at each other.”

  The male from Mistward had gone just as pale as Connall.

  Taking another bracing, steeling breath, Gavriel turned back to his friend and asked, “You said the rest of us.”

  Connall nodded. “There were only yours and Lorcan’s left once he got to me and Fenrys.”

  “Prince Rowan summoned all of you,” the male filled in.

  That would make sense. And there weren’t any left once he’d gotten here, which meant that Lorcan had already received his. Which begged the question, if Connall were here already, where on earth was –

  The door slammed open. Which really was unfortunate, because Gavriel had just started using his lock regularly and would probably need to get it fixed when they got back. But, true to form, here was Lorcan, travel pack just as ready as Connall’s and looking more on edge even than when Gavriel had confronted him after returning from Mistward.

  But there was also steely determination to him. And Gavriel realized – for no one more besides perhaps himself, this was personal for Lorcan. Just as this winter’s mission had been.

  The commander’s eyes raked over the demi-fae male, then over Connall. They widened in surprise for a moment before turning to Gavriel.

  “I’d have thought you’d be halfway off your balcony by now.”

  Figuring he’d play this casually and address the fact that Lorcan was not pretending he was no more invested in this than the rest of them later, Gavriel replied, “I thought you might have some better strategy regarding how to get out of the city.”

  Lorcan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t deny it. Turning to the Mistward male, he asked, “Do you have a name?”

  In all the chaos, Gavriel had forgotten to ask it. Instinct didn’t have quite so firm of a hold on him that he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt as he realized it, but Connall’s face was impassive. Suddenly, Gavriel remembered just what Connall’s opinions on demi-fae were. He’d always been willing to bet they were mostly ingrained into him by this culture, and not what he would have developed without that influence. And both Connall and Fenrys were decent to Fenna.

  But they knew Fenna. And it didn’t change the fact that Connall wasn’t blinded by instinct right now and could very well have learned the male’s name. He just hadn’t thought it necessary.

  “Rendar, sir,” he said.

   Gavriel raised a brow. Most people assumed every member of the blood-sworn had a title, rather than just him and Rowan. And he knew it grated on Lorcan to hear the term “my lord” when he wasn’t technically nobility. Just as high-ranked as a noble, but not a drop of blue blood in him.

  But this one either had enough knowledge of them already, had done his research… or been coached by Rowan. Considering the circumstances, each option seemed increasingly less likely.

  “Well, Rendar, if you’re feeling noble today, head back to wherever Mistward has stashed their non-combatant citizens. If you’re feeling smart, head for Wendlyn and wait for word of the fortress. Either way, you won’t be able to stay here. Not unless you want to stay a goldfinch for a few weeks.”

  Rendar bowed his head. “I’d rather not, commander. I’ve mastered the form enough to use it when necessary, but I’m much more at home in my – “

  “I understand,” Lorcan cut him off.

  Another brow raise, this time from Connall, who made eye contact with Gavriel.

  “But right now, you’ve got to get out. If you fly out now, no one will question it. Find some cave to hole up outside of the city if you’re too tired to hold the shift for too long. Do you have any weapons on you?”

  The male absently patted his pockets, as though some he may not know about were hiding there.

  “Never mind. Just hope you don’t see Maeve’s wolves.”

  Nodding, Rendar shifted with a tiny flash of light, like a miniature lightning strike, and sped out the open window.

  Jaw setting, Lorcan turned to Connall. His eyes looked the younger male over, censuring. Judging. Predictably, Connall met them with nothing but defiance.

  “Something you’d like to say?”

  “I have to say, I’m a bit surprised to know you’re coming along,” Lorcan said. “I’d hardly think the threat is worth it to you.”

  A muscle in Connall’s jaw twitched. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

  “A fortress full of demi-fae, threatened by an unknown supernatural force? Haven’t you weighed and measured the risk here and found it wanting?”

  “Gods, Lorcan, I’m not a complete monster.”

  Glaring at him a moment longer, Lorcan jerked his head at the door. “Give me a moment with Gavriel. Go check on Fenrys and Vaughan.”

  Connall didn’t move, then, stiffly, headed toward the door, muttering under his breath.

  Lorcan turned to Gavriel, arms crossed and permanent glare dark.

  “You’re not snarling at me, knowing full well I’m going along and will have full access to plant just whatever ideas I want in Fenna’s head. Why?”

  Itching to be out of this city and on the way to Mistward, Gavriel forced himself to hold steady and meet Lorcan’s glare as calmly as he could.

  “Because I’d rather have you along than not,” he said. “If for no other reason, than there’s no one else I’d rather have running this group, or watching my back. And, even if it weren’t for my benefit at all, it’ll be better for Mistward if we have you along. You said the threat is supernatural?”

  Lorcan nodded.

  “In that case, which of us is most likely to be able to do anything about it? Your power is the closest we have to anything from another realm. Are you really suggesting I’m not going to recognize, even if I didn’t want you along, that it’s better to have you than go completely unprepared? Besides, I’m not going to keep you, of all people, from lending Mistward aid.”

  Predictably, Lorcan didn’t respond. Just stood there, arms folded over his chest, waiting.

  That’s not all you have to say, is it?

  All right, fine. And while Gavriel knew it was best to keep this information from as few people as possible… He may not trust Lorcan to not do his best to deter Fenna from any sort of continued contact with him, but he did at least trust him with everything else. He wasn’t a fool.

  No matter what Lorcan might think after this.

  So, he leveled a look at Lorcan and stopped questioning whether it was a bad idea to tell him.

  “She’s my mate, Lorcan. My mate. You are free to do whatever you want, and I won’t stop you. But I’m asking you to stay out of it this time.”

  Lorcan still kept silent, but it was different. As though there were something physically restraining him from responding. And Gavriel knew in that moment what he’d suspected months ago. He’d thought then that Lorcan might have a gag order on him, but not what it was about.

  Now, he had no idea how Lorcan would have known they’d been in the same village Fenna had grown up in. Maybe he was under multiple gag orders at once.

  Still, Gavriel was fairly certain he had at least one answer to what had been bothering him for a long while. And no part of it was set to end well.

  “You already knew, didn’t you?”

  Once again, no response. Verbally, anyway. But, as Lorcan’s eyes fell away from his, Gavriel had his answer. And if Lorcan knew, it meant Maeve knew. No, there was no way she didn’t know, if Lorcan was forbidden from speaking about it. Only one person would have kept Lorcan silent this long besides himself – and there was no point in not acknowledging the truth once Gavriel was aware.

  Maeve knew. She knew.

  Urgent plea for help or not, Gavriel found he suddenly couldn’t move. He was rooted to the floor, staring unseeing straight ahead. Maeve knew. She knew Fenna was his mate. She knew the only thing she ever needed to know to have every sort of leverage on him – and she already had enough. And she was, apparently, still possessive of him, in more ways than the obvious.

  Fear like he’d never known rolled over him in waves. Maeve knew.

  “We need to leave,” Lorcan said, cutting through Gavriel’s mental onslaught. “Before she finds out we’re going.”

  He was right. The longer he stood here, the more time he wasted, and the closer danger got to Mistward. And if it did, and they weren’t there, it might not matter whether Maeve knew or not. Grabbing his traveling pack off the bed, Gavriel wordlessly headed for the door.

  “Gavriel.”

  He paused, hand on the doorknob, before glancing over his shoulder at Lorcan.

  “Your mistakes are your own to make. But even if I did try to convince Fenna how utterly reckless this whole idea is… I’m not sure you realize we’re dealing with an entirely different female this time.”

  He did realize it. And it still baffled him every time he remembered Fenna actually wanted him to come back. But he understood Lorcan’s meaning.

  If Fenna wanted this, nothing Lorcan could say would stop her. No matter how completely reasonable it was.

  And if Lorcan couldn’t stop her, neither would Maeve.

  Lorcan apparently didn’t require a response. “Let’s find the others.”

Vaughan and Lorcan, at least, could have shifted and flown out of Doranelle. There were two reasons why they didn’t – the only explicitly stated one being that Fenrys, Connall, and Gavriel had predator forms, not avian ones. Therefore, only a fraction of their force would be out of the city successfully.

  The other reason Gavriel was fairly certain only he knew was that Lorcan hated shifting. Most people just assumed he wore his other form on a regular basis and a slightly smaller, fully human one was his natural state.

  For some demi-fae, that was the case. But no. Lorcan was either huge or a bird. Gavriel was the only living member of the blood-sworn who’d seen the other form, and he thought “bird” was a bit of an understatement. Lorcan, when he spoke of it, used the term disparagingly. Gavriel suspected he would have only been happy with an animal form that allowed him to defend himself.

  Running away from a fight was about the only use Lorcan saw in a bird form.

  Well, that and scouting. Which, ironically, was what Lorcan and Vaughan were doing at the moment, still very much in Fae form, while Gavriel and the twins waited in the mouth of one of Doranelle’s many sewer tunnels.

  Connall’s nose would probably never unwrinkle, Gavriel thought.

  “Sewers,” he growled. “It had to be sewers. We couldn’t have conveniently had some escape tunnels built in eons ago when the city was constantly under attack and the civilians might have needed to get out? Dusty, damp, probably full of rotting things. But at least it wouldn’t be the entire city’s sh-“

  “Shhh,” Gavriel hissed, holding a hand up. He’d thought he’d heard something. While it could very well be Lorcan or Vaughan coming back to retrieve them… it might not be. And Gavriel would rather be paranoid than caught.

  But whatever had caught his ear, it had only been a brief moment. Some nocturnal creature snapping a branch, not a Fae. Sighing in relief and regretting that he’d have to inhale again, Gavriel turned back to the twins.

  “What were you saying about our surroundings?”

  Connall glared at him, and Fenrys laughed under his breath.

  “Something about the city’s shit?”

  “The pair of you are used to this sort of thing,” Connall grumped. “You can hold your tongues.”

  In fact, this was only the second time Gavriel had had to use the sewers as an escape route in his life, and he was finding it to be not exactly a pleasant experience, but better than the last one. He’d been in a city that didn’t take its sewer system entirely seriously. Maintenance was low, and danger was higher – along with everything else that came with a sewer.

  Doranelle, at least, had some upkeep regularized for their sewer system. So while part of him was still relatively certain he was going to vomit as soon as he had time to think about it, they’d at least had the equivalent of a sidewalk to walk on most of the way. The rest of the way, the water had been relatively shallow. They’d never had to swim through it.

  He repressed a shudder at the memory and reached out through the bond one more time.

  Are you there?

  Unlike the last two times he’d tried to reach her since receiving the initial call, Fenna reciprocated this time. A quick, abrupt response, no less gentle for the fact. He’d been there for battle preparations before, and he didn’t know what Fenna would be doing, but he had no doubt she’d be finding a way to make herself useful. He was only distracting her at this point.

  But she was responding, which told him that though his time was limited, she was willing to communicate for a time.

  We’re coming, love. I’m coming. Just hold out for a few days.

  He doubted they’d even take that long. Even if Lorcan refused to shift, with the rest of them in their animal forms, they could make it there in a little under a day’s time. And last he’d checked, animal forms were the plan.

  Another brief response, what he’d come to think of as the equivalent of a hand squeeze, and she was gone.

  Sighing at the hole her absence left, Gavriel looked back to the twins, who were eyeing him, Connall knowingly, Fenrys curiously.

  “That’s her?” Connall asked.

  Nodding, Gavriel glanced at Fenrys, who was frowning, his mind obviously trying to puzzle a few things out.

  “Wait. If that little… thing you just did there” – he gestured erratically in the air – “was communicating with Fenna, that would mean the pair of you were – oh, gods.” His eyes widened. “How rutting long have you known about this?” He turned to Connall. “How long have you known?”

  “Unofficially? Same as Gavriel – about two weeks. Officially? About two hours.” Connall’s sardonic, bitter tone dropped into seriousness as he said, “By the way, neither of us has technically said anything out loud, so you don’t know. Got that? You. Don’t. Know.”

  “Of course, I get it. I’m not an idiot, Con.” Fenrys eyed Gavriel, head tilted to the side. “So you can communicate with her. How?”

  Gavriel shrugged. “It’s not like the carranam bond, where you can hear each other’s thoughts. It’s more a sensing of emotion. It’s also slightly less invasive than the carranam bond has potential to be. You have to reach out to your… the other person. And they don’t have to respond. So just there, I was telling her we were coming. I have no idea what she was saying in response, but there was definitely a response.”

  “So, in theory, if I wanted you to tell her hello for me…?” Fenrys asked.

  “I’m fairly certain I’d only be distracting her at this point,” Gavriel said, a corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Talk to me after the battle.”

  Connall, meanwhile, was craning his neck to see farther out of their alcove.

  “What’s taking them so long?” he muttered. “This seems like a bit of a time-sensitive mission, wouldn’t you say?”

  Something uncomfortable roiled in Gavriel’s gut. Feeling once again that precious bond within him, he swallowed the very real fear he’d been holding at bay for the last few hours.

  At least if they were too late, they’d know. He’d never experienced a frayed mating bond before, but from what Rowan had told him… he was fairly certain he’d be going mad, and it wouldn’t be a quiet thing. The others would be more than aware.

  He shoved the thought away. They wouldn’t be too late. They wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even let himself contemplate the possibility.

  For the moment, he contemplated the irony – a group of the most elite warriors in a city that generally only considered demi-fae good for one thing going to aid a fortress full of them. Folding his arms and leaning against the more-or-less clean brick wall, he let a bitter smile form on his mouth. At least this city sported some decency.

  He contemplated the twins across from him for a moment. If he were being perfectly honest… he hadn’t ever thought they held any different opinion from the rest of the population. And he still wasn’t convinced. He knew well enough that when Maeve had no use for them, they both were frequent customers of the escorts that roamed the gates by the amphitheater. None of the common ones, who weren’t affiliated with any brothel. Just the high end ones, who were clean and well fed – and well-trained.

  Not too different from the twins themselves, when he thought about it. Not too different from what he’d once been.

  Which told him there was only one reason they were able to justify it. A sudden rush of fury filled him, and as much as he tried to tell himself he was just on edge, it wasn’t enough to hold back his words.

  “Why are the pair of you coming?”

  They stared at him blankly.

  “Really. Why are you coming?”

  Connall’s eyes narrowed, but, predictably, Fenrys was the first one to answer.

  “For Fenna. Obviously. The same reason you’re going – well, maybe not the same, but you get the point.”

  He was sincere enough, but Gavriel’s suspicions were only that much closer to being proven accurate. Holding both of their stares, he plowed forward.

  “I would be going whether Fenna were in danger or not. What about you two?”

  Connall’s frown darkened. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I wasn’t aware the pair of you thought demi-fae were worth saving. As far as I knew, they were only good for one thing.”

  Connall’s jaw went as tight as Rowan’s, but Fenrys wasn’t quite done speaking. He was, however, growing increasingly agitated.

  “What are you saying, Gavriel?” he demanded. “I was there this winter, just as well as the rest of you. Of course, I’d be going even if it wasn’t for Fenna.”

  “Really?” Gavriel demanded. “Explain to me that escort you brought to the palace last week, then. Did you ever stop to think maybe the demi-fae in this city don’t want to be in the positions they’re in? Or did you consider that the entire lot of them might have feelings, and not just the few individuals you know?”

  Fenrys’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he seemed to settle on silence. Defiant silence, but silence, nonetheless. Because in the end, he knew Gavriel was right. They both knew it.

  It didn’t mean Gavriel was finished. Not by a long shot.

  “I could ask you what if that had been Fenna, but I won’t. If you have to personalize it to feel any semblance of remorse, at least put yourself in their shoes. I think you’ll find it’s not all that rutting difficult. It definitely wasn’t for me when I put the two things together!” Pausing to draw breath, he forced his voice to steady. “The only difference between you and that female last week – between any of us and her – is that you and I are and have been forced to be with only one person. Those courtesans you frequent? They’re forced to be with whoever wants them as long as they pay well enough! And why do you think that’s fine? Because they’re demi-fae?”

  Fenrys didn’t have a response, and Connall was just as silent as he’d been for this whole conversation.

  “What made Fenna any different when you first met her?” Gavriel asked. “Was she any different?”

  “No!” Fenrys snapped.

  Gavriel knew he probably thought he meant that. For once, however, Connall’s eyes slid away, and Gavriel sighed in resignation – and exhaustion. Bigotry was a complex thing – more complex than most wanted to make it.

  No, it wasn’t the bigotry that was complex. It was the people who, unwittingly or not, ascribed to it. Connall may like Fenna. He may even see nothing wrong with Gavriel being with her even before he knew about the mating bond.

  But there was a distinction in his mind that definitely wasn’t there for Fenrys, even if Fenrys held it for others. Fenna was demi-fae. And that made her inherently not like him. Likewise, the courtesans at the theater were not like him, either. And therefore, there was nothing wrong with their situation, despite its relative similarities to his.

  Gods, it made him furious – but less so at Connall and more the society that had formed him. That had formed them all.

  Yes, he was furious. But it wouldn’t do him any good to sit here and rail at the twins. It certainly wouldn’t do Mistward any good. And right now, Mistward needed to be his top priority.

  He could educate the twins on the evils of prejudice later.

  Fortunately, he didn’t need to smooth things over quite yet – the footfalls he heard approaching the opening in the wall were accompanied by the smell of midnight rain and sea spray.

  He eyed the twins, keeping his voice low.

  “I’m not actually angry at you. I find many things about our people… frustrating. And obviously, it’s hitting a bit closer to home than usual tonight. So let’s put this on hold for a bit.”

  Fenrys nodded in agreement. Connall’s nod was slower, but it came eventually, cautiously.

  Turning to meet Lorcan and Vaughan, Gavriel sent one last sentence down the bond – a reminder.

  I’m coming.

  He’d have all the time in the world to say anything else he may need to once they won this fight.

Chapter Text

All preparations were made. The fortress was as fortified as it could be. There was no more food to lay away, no more walls to erect. The ward-stones were holding strong.

  Now, there was nothing to do but wait.

  The entire kitchen family – Rowan and Elentiya included – ate together that night. Fenna missed Aludra’s sweet, quiet presence there, but was also glad she was gone. She didn’t want her friend here when there was nothing she would be able to do to defend herself or anyone else.

  So she made the most of those she did have with her, for as long as she could.

  After the meal was finished and cleaned, the six of them filed out to the garden wall and sat, just looking up at the clear May night and the stars. As they always did, the sight of stars against the tops of her trees made Fenna think of Gavriel. She hadn’t felt anything along the mating bond since last night.

  Knowing him, he probably thought he’d be distracting her from battle preparations. Or she was distracting him from the same thing. While Fenna certainly didn’t mind having him check in every once in a while, he wasn’t necessarily wrong.

  The last thing she’d felt had been reassurance – the last in a series of many of the same, each one with more power than the last.

  As though reading her thoughts, Luca squinted at the sky one more time then turned to address both her and Rowan.

  “Well. I certainly hope your friends show their faces sometime soon.”

  Rowan frowned. “Gavriel at least, we can count on. Probably Vaughan. I have no idea about any of the others.”

  “They’ll come,” Fenna said. Practically every head swiveled toward her at the assurance in her voice. “What? They will. Do you know them, Rowan? They came through last time. They’ll come this time, as well.”

  Rowan snorted. “You must have greater faith in their loyalty and moral backbones than I do.”

  “Always have,” she retorted blithely, lifting her head to the sky and smiling. Her smile disappeared after a moment. They probably had at least two days before the attack came. More than enough time for the blood-sworn to get here – especially if they were in their animal forms and coming at a run.

  Still… what if Rowan and Elentiya’s estimations were incorrect?

  Fenna had the same gnawing discomfort she’d had the day Chancellor Greynar showed up wounded, and if that didn’t bode ill, nothing else did. Tearing her eyes from the stars, she lowered her head and reached out across the bond. He may not be contacting her, but it didn’t stop her from contacting him.

  You’d probably better hurry.

  Fenna loved this bond, but there were times the only vague communication it allowed her was something of an inconvenience. Alarm flooded her chest, and she immediately tried to calm it.

  No, no. It’s not urgent. Any more than it was last time, that is. Just… a feeling.

  A moment passed before that same assurance, tinged with a fair amount of relief, passed through her. He’d be there as soon as he could. They all would.

  No, Fenna had no doubt they’d come. She just hoped it would be soon enough.

  Everyone had fallen into quiet again. Predictably, Luca was the one to break the silence once more.

  “You said they drain a person, leave them a husk. How do they do that, exactly?”

  Elentiya shrugged. “Not quite sure. We never saw them do it. But the person we found…” Her lips pressed into a thin line and she shook her head. “I think they’d been feeding off of him slowly. The female in the woods a few weeks ago, though, she’d been drained all at once, I think. There’s always the possibility she made an escape attempt, but I don’t think anyone could do that after what they’d clearly been through.”

  A shudder ran through Fenna’s body, and she felt Luca shifting uncomfortably on the wall next to her. Nudging his shoulder with hers, she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. She knew to know she was around was more than enough.

  Another moment of quiet passed among them, then Emrys spoke.

  “We haven’t had a night quite this clear in a long while. I can’t decide whether that’s a good or a bad omen.”

  A low laugh ran through each member of this party, then Rowan spoke up.

  “There’s not as much air pollution as there is in some cities in Doranelle,” he commented, arms folded and staring up at the studded sky above them. “Still, it’s never quite the same as it is out here. In the wild.” He came the closest to smiling Fenna had ever seen. “I always preferred it out here – even if the food leaves something to be desired.”

  Luca snorted.

  “Watch your tongue,” Emrys said. “You may be a prince and at least a few centuries older than me, but with what’s looming over us I won’t hesitate to rap you on the head with a spoon.”

  Rowan inclined his head in the kitchenmaster’s direction. “Forgive me. I wouldn’t dare to malign your cooking again.”

  “Especially as you wouldn’t just be an ass to do so, you’d be incorrect?” Elentiya quipped.

  To Fenna’s shock and delight, a corner of Rowan’s mouth tipped upward. “Something along those lines, yes.”

  Glancing over at Malakai, Fenna thought he’d been quiet for a while. Arm around Emrys, he stared up at the stars. In fact, Fenna thought that of all of them, he’d not taken his eyes off them this whole time.

  “What are you thinking, Malakai?” she asked, hoping it was something he didn’t mind sharing.

  The old soldier shook his head, still tilted upward toward the sky.

  “I was born in a prison cell,” he said. “I grew up there, too. They took those of us who were born to the inmates and trained us to be wardens later on in life. Most of the wardens were children of former inmates, too. I never knew which of them was my mother. I assumed I’d been conceived out of prison – there weren’t any Fae guards from the outside, and the prisoners were all human.”

  Fenna and Luca glanced at each other. They knew this story – knew it quite well, in fact – but this was mostly for Rowan and Elentiya’s benefit. So, though Fenna had asked the question, she kept quiet.

  “The prison was below ground. They had rooms lit by magic that stimulated daylight. They didn’t want us to become creatures of darkness entirely – though the cells didn’t have the same service, so it was perfectly fine for the prisoners to become so.

  “No one had ever escaped that prison – warden or inmate. One night, a group of us made a break for it. I was the only one to succeed. The others were all cut down before reaching freedom. The pursuers were too distracted in stopping the rest of them to notice me slipping out and into the world beyond.” He shook his head, grey eyes glistening. “I was fifteen years old. That night was the first time I saw the stars – and it felt as though I were truly seeing for the first time.”

  No one spoke. No one felt as though they had the right.

  “If the stars were the first sight my eyes truly beheld, I don’t mind them being the last. I don’t mind it at all.”

  No one said much afterward. Fenna embraced Emrys, Malakai, and Luca, and turned in her own direction – and was surprised to find Elentiya walking alongside her.

  “What? You’re not going with Rowan?”

  Elentiya shrugged. “I’ll wander that way eventually. He’s planning on pulling the first patrol tonight. I’m taking the second. I wanted to walk with you.”

  Fenna didn’t mind at all. She let Elentiya fall into step beside her and they kept onward.

  “What will you do after we survive this?” Fenna asked. Surely Maeve wouldn’t want to see her yet, but still… Elentiya had never seemed as though she intended to stay long.

  “Go back to Adarlan. Bring the king down. Free magic again. From there… I don’t know.” She glanced around her. “I know there is something waiting for me across the sea again… but it feels as though everything worth keeping is here and won’t be coming with me.”

  Fenna wondered if she was talking about more than just Rowan.

  “For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “I’m glad to have met you. You’ve been a very good, unexpected friend.”

  To her surprise, silver pooled in Elentiya’s eyes. She wouldn’t meet Fenna’s gaze as she asked, “That Chancellor fellow. Is he recovering?”

  Fenna nodded, thinking it an odd change of subject. “He is. Not quite fully there yet, but mending. It’s a shame – he’s a fairly good warrior. We could use him.”

  “We’ll have his two mobile warriors, at least.” Elentiya peered at her. “I still can’t quite believe he dropped everything to come bring you back your memories.”

  Fenna smirked. “You’ve clearly never met a Berellan before. It wasn’t an odd concept for his people to wrap their brains around, I would imagine.”

  They’d reached her door, and she turned toward Elentiya, wrapping her arms around herself to shield from the night breezes.

  “He didn’t give them to you, though,” Elentiya commented. It wasn’t a question so much as a statement.

  Fenna shook her head. “He was about to. We were on the brink of it when you and Rowan showed up. There hasn’t been much time sense.” Nor a good time, really. Depending on how unhinged she would be afterward, during battle preparation was not necessarily the best time to find out who you were.

  Elentiya appeared to weigh and measure her next words. She opened her mouth, then closed it, shaking her head and looking away.

  “What is it? You can ask, you know.”

  Sighing and looking as though she hated herself for it, Elentiya raised her head, her identical gaze holding Fenna’s steadily.

  “Is there any part of you that would want to come with me? To free magic?”

  Fenna blinked. She hadn’t expected that by a long shot.

  “I know it probably hasn’t been on your mind. After all it… it’s not your continent. And I know you aren’t a warrior, but you’ve got magic at least, and I know you have compassion. And I think you would be a great asset in my… well, I’d like to have you along. If you want to come.”

  Fenna was surprised to find herself tempted. After it had truly sunk in, what a role she’d played in the world as a whole last winter, she hadn’t minded the idea of continuing that legacy. If she ever found a reason to leave home again, that was. To have a cause – especially a good one – filled some deep hole within her she’d never known existed.

  But as much as that appealed to her…

  “I’m honored you would ask, but… no.”

  Elentiya’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but she remained quiet.

  “This is my home. It always has been, and no matter where I go, my heart will always be here, in this fortress. If it’s still standing when all of this is over, I want to remain if I can. Besides, while as my friend, part of me will go with you… everyone else I love will be here. My friends. My family. My mate. And at least one of those quite literally can’t come with me, so… no. But for what it’s worth, I hope you succeed. And I hope you melt the walls on that glass palace.”

  Mustering a snort, Elentiya shook her head. “Believe me, it’s a bit of an eyesore anyway.”

  “I can well imagine.” Stepping forward, Fenna wrapped the other girl in an embrace. Elentiya stiffened for a moment, then returned it. “Whatever happens in the next few days, I’m glad to have known you.”

  Quiet at first, Elentiya finally sighed and squeezed her tightly. “And I you. You’re easily the best person I’ve ever known.”

  It was Fenna’s turn to snort. “I don’t believe you’ve met Luca.”

  Elentiya stepped out of the embrace, hands still resting on her shoulders.

  “I’ll make this world better for magic users in general. Not just the western continent. The world.”

  Fenna nodded. “I know you will.”

Fenna didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but she doubted it was more than two hours later that someone was pounding on her door. His Majesty, who’d slipped in as she was bidding Elentiya farewell, immediately leaped to his feet and growled.

  A dread gripping her heart, Fenna grabbed the cat, and for once, he didn’t protest at being lifted into her arms. If this was what she thought it was, and he was to be here for it, she would at least have him in the hospital wing with her.

  Running to the door, Fenna found Elentiya waiting for her, sword in hand.

  “It’s time, isn’t it?”

  Grim faced, Elentiya nodded.

  His Majesty still tight in her grip, Fenna ran after Elentiya, suddenly wishing she’d thought to sleep in her clothes. It was a silly worry now, but she didn’t like the idea of running around the hospital wing in her night dress.

  “I thought they were farther away than this,” she hissed as they raced down the corridor.

  “They were,” Elentiya muttered back. “Rowan thinks we’ve been betrayed.”

  A sick feeling roiled in Fenna’s gut. “Do we know by who?”

  Shaking her head, Elentiya paused as they passed the kitchen.

  “You remember how to use the shields?”

  Fenna nodded. “I’ve been practicing on small things. I didn’t want to expend too much magic on rehearsing them.”

  “Good.”

  Elentiya might have gone on, but Fenna’s attention was drawn by something over her shoulder. The sight of it threatened to choke her with panic. Clutching His Majesty tighter to her with one arm and pointing with the other, she managed to whisper, “What is that?”

  Because rolling across the horizon toward them, blacking out the tops of the trees and the stars themselves, was a wave of pitch blackness.

  Elentiya’s mouth set. “Nothing good.” She jerked her head in the direction of the hospital. “Get inside. And Fenna?”

  Fenna had already begun the trek to the hospital wing, but she turned to find Elentiya frowning again, as though trying to decide what to say.

  “If you need to impale any creatures with tree limbs… don’t miss.”

  And even though it may not have been the most pleasant memory, in the wake of what was coming… Fenna felt herself giving a weak, tight smile.

  “I won’t.”

Why had they paused? They were nearly there. Why were they stopping now?

  They had, of course, stopped periodically throughout the journey, only for fifteen minutes or so here and there. It was only logical that they not completely expend all their energy in the getting there. It was going faster with most of them in animal form anyway, even with Lorcan not.

  It didn’t stop Gavriel from wondering why they were doing it every time, when all his instincts told him he had to keep going. And it certainly didn’t stop Lorcan from reminding him every time.

  This last one, however, had been a bit too much for him to handle. And it wasn’t helpful that he was in lion form. Instincts were one thing when they were purely Fae. When they were coupled with animal instinct… well, he wasn’t exactly being reasonable.

  So when Lorcan had suggested that perhaps this was, in fact, still their best course of action, Gavriel had done what any irritated mountain lion would do. He’d snarled and swatted at him.

  Lorcan had dodged his claws, then demanded that he scale a tree and help Vaughan with scouting. If they saw anything out of the ordinary, the breather was over.

  Eyes trained on the tree tops, Gavriel scanned the horizon. Even from this distance, he could see the trees dip just slightly into the hollow where Mistward lay. He sent another tentative reach down the bond. No response, but no blocking him out, either. Perhaps she was just sleeping, like anyone sensible would be at this time of night.

  He’d learned it didn’t necessarily prevent her from feeling his message, so he sent another reassurance. We’re almost there.

  A contented, slow, lazy response, one that gave him the impression she hadn’t even had to think about it. Sleeping, definitely.

  A flap of wings, and Vaughan landed on a branch near him. Gavriel cast him a glance before training his attention on the vista in front of them. Any other time, he might think of just how odd it was that this height had no effect on him in lion form. In Fae form, his heart probably would have stopped about ten minutes ago.

  Vaughan pecked at the branch he currently perched on. Gavriel turned back to find him pointing with his beak toward the ground. Sighing, Gavriel glanced down. He was right. Lorcan, Fenrys, and Connall were all looking restless, casting looks in the same direction Gavriel was consistently coming back to.

  Giving the distance one last look, Gavriel inhaled to draw a feline sigh… and froze.

  What in Hellas’s dark realm…?

  Over the tops of the trees, what he could only describe as a black fog was rolling across the sky, not quite blotting out the stars. Not from this distance. But it was surrounding on one side that same hollow where Mistward sat.

  Vaughan let out a screech and dove. Not bothering to get a closer look, Gavriel followed.

  This was bad, this was bad, this was bad… Lorcan had estimated from Rowan’s message to him that they had at least a day longer than this. It would take them at least an hour to reach Mistward, if not more. And whatever was in that black fog…

  Something told Gavriel it wasn’t exactly benevolent.

  He hit the ground running just as an explosion of fear and panic that wasn’t his own flooded him. Oh gods…

  Fortunately, Lorcan and the twins had already started running after Vaughan, who was heading in the same direction they’d seen the fog. Gavriel certainly wasn’t stopping to explain things to them.

  Loping through the trees, Gavriel tested his connection to Fenna. The bond was still intact, completely. That told him something. But it didn’t tell him enough.

  Holding back his own blinding panic, Gavriel sent a question down the bond. The same one he’d sent two weeks ago.

  Are you there? Are you all right?

  Please. Please be fine.

  Finally, he got a response. Tentative, still full of fear, but affirmative. She was fine – for now.

  The rest of Mistward, he had no idea of. And, at this point, he wasn’t sure what good it would do any of them if he were to know.

Chapter Text

The healing compound was in relative chaos as a steady stream of the wounded poured in. Fenna had helped bind a wicked arm gash on Narcisa and listened to a report of what the enemy looked like. Not creatures from another world, as she’d expected, but men – highly trained men who didn’t distinguish between young and old, soldier and civilian. Most of who they ran across were soldiers, but still… there were those who’d had to stay for battle preparations. Those without battlefield magic had been set to leave tomorrow morning.

  The betrayal, wherever it had come from, had prevented that from happening. Fenna continuously had to actively stop thinking about just who she did and did not see in the hospital wing. The plan had been, in event of an early attack, for all civilians left to fall back here.

  And there were significantly fewer than Fenna had hoped to see.

  As Fenna tied the bandage tighter than was perhaps necessary, but not so tight as to hurt, Narcisa hissed and cast a glance at the door.

  “At least that cloud thing is holding steady,” she muttered. “It kills every creature it touches. The same way Whitethorn and Elentiya explained it – they just shriveled up and died, looking like they’d had the life drained from them.”

  Fenna repressed a shudder.

  “At least that’s good,” she replied. At Narcisa’s look, she added, “That it’s holding steady. Not that it kills everything it touches.”

  An instant fury flooded her, one that was all her own. How many creatures in her forest had been killed by this flood Narcisa spoke of? She’d take on the cloud herself if there was any chance of her surviving.

  There were too many other things she could get herself killed avenging to spend the opportunity here.

  “All right.” Narcisa flexed her good arm and began to rise. “Back into it, then.”

  Alarmed, Fenna pressed a hand on the good shoulder and tried to push her friend back down.

  “Absolutely not. You’re wounded, and that’s your sword arm.”

  “It’s just a scratch.”

  Honestly, why were any soldiers with even a drop of Fae blood in them so rutting stubborn? Fenna pushed harder, causing Narcisa to give just slightly.

  “You would have bled out if you had stayed away much longer,” she snapped. “The only reason you didn’t was because Malakai – “

  “He had a valid point, but now the valid point has been taken care of. Let me fight.”

  Fenna expected, of anyone, Tyron to back her up, but he was busy with another, more grievously wounded, patient. No, help came from an entirely different field.

  “Trust me, Narcisa, a wound of that degree is more serious than it looks.” Greynar, on the bed directly to their right, sat up and eyed her shrewdly. “I understand the feeling useless bit. But if you’re not feeling the need to convalesce just yet, think about making yourself useful in other ways?” He glanced at the door. “Guarding the healing wing is far from in the thick of battle itself.”

  After a moment of considering his words, Narcisa finally nodded and rose.

  “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Sighing in relief, Fenna turned back to the chancellor. “Thank you for that.”

  He nodded, brow furrowing for a moment, then turned back to her.

  “Fenna, I don’t think it’s any secret that we are running out of time.”

  She knew what he was suggesting, and part of her sang with that same thrill she’d initially felt upon finding out he’d come with her memories. But another part of her felt the dread at what his words portended.

  Shaking her head, she gathered the leftover bandages, unable to meet his eyes. “No. No, Chancellor. I’m needed at full capacity, and I can’t operate at that if you’ve got me – “

  Another pounding on the door, bolted and barred.

  “It’s me! Let me in!”

  Recognizing Luca’s voice, Fenna rushed to the door and unbarred it, admitting him entrance.

  Not sparing her a glance, he lugged the soldier he was assisting to the nearest available bed. Fenna cast a quick look around. They were running out faster than they should have been.

 His cargo deposited, Luca finally turned back to Fenna, shoulders heaving in heavy, panting breaths. Immediately, she knew something was horribly wrong – more than usual. She had never seen him look this haunted before – like something had taken a hooked blade dug into his gut, hollowing him out. What alarmed her more, however, was the blood spattering his face and armor.

  “Where are you hurt?” Gently grabbing his shoulder, she looked him over but couldn’t find any specific wound. “Luca? What’s happened?”

  He shook his head once. Twice. Drew in a few deep, shuddering breaths. And then his brown eyes finally met hers.

  “I found out how they got inside,” he said bleakly.

  Fenna’s heart trembled. How had he found out – and what had he had to do?

  Sinking down onto one of the few still-empty beds, Luca rested his elbows on his arms and leaned forward. “It was Bas. The scout leader. He let them in – I don’t know why.”

  Fenna didn’t know the male well, but she could guess without knowing. Bribery, manipulation – of the magical or non-magical variety. Any of it was a plausible option.

  But Luca wouldn’t be looking this hollow at just a betrayal. Fenna reached out and took hold of his hand.

  “Luca,” she asked again. “What happened?”

  He bit the inside of his lower lip, giving another shake of the head.

  “I killed him.” He inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, matting it with blood Fenna was certain he didn’t realize was there. “I didn’t have time to think. He was letting another round of them in and I had to shut off the entrance and I knew he wouldn’t let me – “

  “Hey. Look at me.” Fenna waited until he did. “You did the right thing. What Bas did would have killed us all.”

  It still could.

  As though sensing her thoughts, Luca cast a glance at the door, blinking hard. “I need to get back out there.”

  He was right. He was unwounded, and able to fight. They needed him guarding the door. Fenna gave his hand a squeeze and nodded.

  “Be careful.”

  Giving her a weak half smile, Luca rose. “Always am.” He picked his sword up from where he’d left it leaning against the bed and strapped it on again. “I should probably tell Rowan the entrance is sealed. There’s still a rutting ton of them in here, but there won’t be any more – “

  The door slammed off its hinges, and five soldiers that decidedly did not belong to Mistward came charging into the hospital wing.

  Fenna and Luca briefly entangled as each tried to shove the other behind them, but it was just long enough for the soldiers to act. Two remained at the door, while the other three surged into the crowd, beginning to cut down the wounded, healers, and civilians alike.

  Stepping aside, Fenna envisioned shields flowing over the ground, reaching up to cover beds and those standing and anyone but the five enemy soldiers. They were meant to stop attacks of magic. They didn’t stop the swords entirely, but the certainly repelled them to a degree.

  Luca, along with Narcisa, who’d charged in after the soldiers, wielding a sword in her non-dominant arm, waded into the fray and engaged of two of the interlopers.

  The third had identified Tyron and was slowly making his way through the throng toward him. Fenna sent a pair of thorny vines trailing along his ankles, tripping him. As he stumbled, he had just enough time to turn and see who had attacked him.

  “The girl!” he shouted to his unengaged comrades. “Get the –“

  And his words were lost as he disappeared behind the nearest set of beds.

  Fenna just had time to register the fact that they were advancing toward her before a shimmering silver aura surrounded her, settling into her skin. Wielding a dagger in one hand, Chancellor Greynar rose stiffly, his other hand lowering from where it had sent the shield around her.

  “I don’t have much raw magic,” he said. “What I do can cover you.”

  One of the soldiers went for her, the other for Greynar. Reaching out with her magic, Fenna used the same tactic. Only this time, the vines shot out of the ground, wrapping around the men’s torsos. Ignoring their cries of pain as the thorns pricked their skin, Fenna yanked them first apart, and then back together, slamming them against each other.

  The only further sound from them was a groan and a sickening crunch.

  Fenna turned back to Greynar. He was blinking at the prone bodies on the floor. Lifting his eyes to hers, he gave a weak laugh.

  “Well, you can imagine how useless I feel about now.”

  Shaking her head, Fenna turned back to the room at large. “You’ve been more than helpful.”

  Greynar muttered something but didn’t take his shields from around her.

  Fenna searched for Tyron or the soldier who’d been going after him – and breathed a sigh of relief as she held back a grin of pride. Three of the healers had tackled the man to the ground. One sat on his legs, the other straddled his torso, the third had a foot trained over his neck and his sword held aloft.

  Narcisa made her way over and dispatched the squirming man before he could break free. Pulling her sword, newly bloodied, out of his body, she turned to Luca.

  “Go!”

  Nodding, he ran out the door.

  It occurred to Fenna that if they’d gotten in… the other sentries were probably dead. She bit back her sorrow. She could mourn later. Now she needed to defend those who were still alive.

  Retracting her shields from around the individuals in the hospital wing, she forced them outward, covering the building as a whole and sealing the entrance. She hoped Elentiya’s information was accurate.

  It would be helpful if she could let anyone useful inside.

They were almost to the rise before descending to Mistward. They were so close.

  And it was a good thing they were approaching from behind, because that black fog was surrounding the entire front half of the fortress.

  Still, there was only one entrance. Walls were not something he could scale in this form – ones made of stone, anyway – and while Vaughan could technically just fly into the fortress, they were better as a team. So as a team they would enter.

  Even as every inch of him wanted to just. Get. Inside.

  With the rest of them, Gavriel raced around the side of the fortress, making for the entrance – and paused. He shifted, hoping to call at least someone’s attention to what he was seeing.

  “Lorcan!”

  The commander slid to a halt just before following the other three inside and came back to his side.

  Three males, obscured by the swirling black cloud, stood just inside, looking as though they were feeding off of the female holding them off with nothing but bursts of fire and her own weakening shields. For a moment, Gavriel thought he was hallucinating.

  Then, as his vision cleared, he saw that he was not, in fact under the thrall of those beings – whatever they were. It wasn’t Meira on her knees before the three figures. Rather, it was the female Rowan was here to train – the fire magic should have given that away from the beginning.