Page 288 of Blade of the Nightking

She was slight and wiry, wrinkles fanning from the corners of her eyes and across her brow. She possessed the confidence and stillness of an old wolf, one that didn't need to bare its teeth to hold its place.

“He'll recover,” she said matter-of-factly. “His magic has already begun knitting the wound closed.”

Relief loosened something inside my chest. “Thank you.”

She inclined her head before lowering herself onto the log beside me, bracing an elbow against one knee. Saskia remained on my other side.

She gave me a measured once-over. “It’s not normal for an Eidra to look so… human.”

“My father was human,” I admitted, resisting the urge to touch the rounded points of my ears. “And I lived in the mortal lands before the fall of the Veil.”

She nodded, as if she suspected as much. “Is that where you and the Prince intend to go from here? Back into the mortal lands?”

Rìan had trusted Saskia enough to bring us here. That had to mean something.

“Yes,” I said. “We have… unfinished business there.”

“We crossed over when the Veil fell. To see what the mortal lands had become. We couldn’t go far. The Bone-Wrought have taken it over.” She tilted her head. “You knew that?”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat and nodded.

“It’s a dangerous place to venture. We can only hope the scales rebalance soon. Perhaps then there will be peace again.”

The words of The Book of Old Tales rose unbidden: He came not as conqueror, but as corrector. The Plague swept forth before him, and those it claimed rose again as the Returned, bound only to his will and driven to rebalance the scales. For no power was ever meant to grow unchecked.

“You’re not afraid that the Firstborn are back?”

“On the contrary,” She reached across and took my hand. Rìan's blood still stained the creases beneath her nails. “It was the best thing that could have happened to this world.”

I stared at her.

Aedric. The Full Circle. Every story I'd ever been told had painted the Firstborn as creatures that should never have been released. And seeing what the Bone-Wrought had been capable of even reaching through the Veil... seeing how a single Vaelorii had reduced Solmire to ash within minutes... even the way Rìan had controlled hundreds of minds at once in Pelaga... it was impossible to deny the danger they posed.

Myself included. I'd reduced guards to mist with a single thought, just as my own kind had done to the Flame army.

The Bone Mother must have seen the conflict on my face. She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

“History is always kinder to the victors,” she said softly. “Especially when the victors are the ones who write it.”

She released my hand and reached into the pouch at her waist. Her elongated pinkie nail emerged dusted with chalky powder.

“You may think us monsters for what we do,” she said. “That we hunt the Fae. Eat them. Grind their bones into dust and breathe them into our own bodies.” She shrugged. “We adapted, Elowen. We had to. They came to our shores looking for a new world after destroying their own.”

She paused long enough to lift the powder to her nose, inhaling sharply before rubbing the lingering flecks along her gums.

“Yes,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Humans were here first. So were the lesser faeries. And the Firstborn. It was the Fae who came later. Who corrupted the Veins and stole their power from the land. They dammed the flow of magic, twisted it to serve themselves... and then they began to kill.”

Everything I'd ever been taught claimed the opposite.

Saskia shifted closer, eyes bright. “We resisted. Humans and faeries. Again and again. That's how our people became hunters.”

“But the Firstborn…” I said carefully. “Are they not deadlier than the Fae?”

Saskia snorted, but the Bone Mother simply looked toward the hut where Rìan lay.

“Your kind were always... forces of nature. A hurricane does not choose sides—it simply destroys everything in its path. The rest of us merely learn to stay off that path.” She winked. “Your human blood has tempered that part of you, I can see it. Just as his,” she said, jerking her chin toward the hut, “was tempered by Fae blood. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t stomach the cruelty of his people. He turned against his own kind to protect the rest of us. That’s how we were able to claim the Barrows for ourselves.”

I blinked. To the Bone Women, Rìan wasn't the villain of the story. He was the reason they’d survived.