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Fern couldn’t tell if it was the book that changed or her perception, but the magical vibration from the weathered pages had dulled considerably. It was almost like it reacted to Fern as she flipped through it.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself to the next entries.
* * *
16 April 1746 / Location confidential
The magic is gone. The scouts send back their reports on the wind and by crow and raven, but there are no reports to be found of a single, uninhibited magic user. Gweyir passed away in the night. I hold no resentment for her, as she acted in Scotland’s best interest. In the end, she bound her own power too tightly. I did not listen to her warning. In my folly, I ignored the advice of a seer.
The Jacobites are defeated. The British sweep through the country, and they have demolished the human clans.
They do not remember who we are.
They crippled us without our magic. We have no sense of power.
Eòin and his supporters tried to strike at us when we were at our weakest. They aim to wipe Scotland off the map, to absorb the humans into their British tyranny, and to merge both fae courts under Eòin’s rule.
My people are torn in half. It has ripped them from their friends, families, and homes. We are powerless and stranded here.
We are in hiding and dare not reveal ourselves.
It is my fault.
* * *
Fern wiped at her eyes. The pain the prince had been feeling practically leapt off the page. She couldn’t help but picture every magical creature in Scotland, how they had been suffering in silence since the 18th century.
It didn’t only affect the fae. The fae courts presided over the entire magical community, which meant the wellbeing of all its societies fell on the prince.
“Oh my god,” Fern propped herself against the couch and held her chin in her hand. “Can you imagine?” she whispered to the empty apartment. “Not only to have your magic ripped away, but to still be grappling with your sister’s murderer? They must have been running from Eòin for all these years.”
It made sense now why Emmett and Mara had been so insistent that she should keep their existence a secret. She didn’t know what had happened since the Battle of Culloden, but the magic was still bound.
The danger was still present.
Fern couldn’t imagine how Cora’s death had affected the prince. Her entire world revolved around Saoirse and Finley. It drove her insane if she couldn’t get a hold of them for a few hours. To lose one of them would destroy her.
“Fuck.” Fern slumped. “I hope there’s been news of Eòin since this was written.”
There was only one way to find out. She had only flipped through the first few pages of the journal—she had to keep reading.
“I’m going to need something fucking stronger,” she groaned. Fern pushed herself off of the couch and went to grab the whisky.
Over the next few hours, Fern pushed herself to read every entry in the book. Her heart broke continually as she relived the prince’s pain, repeatedly. She gleaned that through the years things got worse before they got better.
The prince slowly connected with other members of Scotland’s magical community. Some of them fled the country, others dug their heels in. Fern could understand both approaches.
It was assumed that Eòin had fully taken control of the Unseelie court, but no word came from the Seelie. Their leader was stuck in this world, trying to protect everyone he could.
Eventually, he took a few trips outside of Scotland to secretly liaison with other magical communities. He found a few supporters, but none that would lend him their full forces. No other mages or witches had answers to breaking the curse.
Worse still, the prince learned that every time he left the country, he got weaker. It escalated to where—Fern was now reading a journal entry from the 1890s—he returned to Edinburgh and realized he couldn’t leave again.
The early light of dawn was coming in through the window when Fern finally pulled herself from the pages. There was one last entry to read, from eight years ago.
* * *
18 September 2014
