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I shake my head.
“See what?” Kane asks.
Garanthian narrows his eyes at me. “We were told that you could—” But he stops himself before he can finish. “Close your eyes, both of you.”
“No,” Kane says.
“Then, blink.”
My eyes shut without a second thought. A blink. A flutter of my lids. And it happens, a trick of the light, a split moment of insanity as I gawk up at the stone fortress now filling the empty land.
I flinch and latch on to Kane’s arm.
But Kane is silent. He’s gazing up at the majestic architecture the way one would stand before the golden gates of heaven.
It is not the kind of castle you’d see in a child’s storybook. No, it’s the kind that you’d see pikes with human heads warding off unwanted visitors. The kind that could survive a plague, a firestorm, a war. The kind that was made not for royalty but for survival. There are towers, cuts, springalds, and statues of men and women dressed like Garanthian surrounding the great walls.
It’s ancient. Older than our Dellilian castle, older than the Red Oaks.
A wooden drawbridge lowers.
“I don’t understand,” I say to Garanthian. Kane remains completely silent.
“This keep was built on the tombs of our fallen snow elves. Their essence will forever protect us. A veil to keep your kind from stumbling upon us.”
I can’t seem to swallow that down. A power from dead elves that made me see an empty field one second, and then a stone fortress the next.
But no one speaks again as we are led into their home.
Despite the snowy weather on the outside, the inside of this keep is toasty warm.
We were escorted through the ancient, glorious castle to the main dining hall where a feast awaited us.
Kane pulls a dark-cherry wooden chair out for me to sit. The table of men, women, and children chow down on roasted pig, mounds of mashed potatoes, steamed carrots and asparagus, and heaps of freshly baked bread. There are thousands of candles lit across the hall. Candles dripping down walls from their scones. Candles hanging from the Gothic ceiling arches. Candles spread across the long table that seats at least fifty people.
Once Kane takes his place next to me, I unfold my napkin, set it on my lap, and lightly lift my fork and knife from either side of my plate.
I examine the food in front of me. Too much.
I can’t eat this much.
I begin pushing the majority of the food to one side of the plate. Only keeping three shreds of meat from the pig, four steamed carrot slices, and three sticks of asparagus.
No potatoes. Potatoes are carbohydrates.
People watching.
Forks stop hitting plates. Chatter dies down. Silence.
Even Kane turns to look at what I’m doing.
“You don’t have to do that here.” Garanthian clears his throat. “Not while you’re in our home.”
I look up at him, at his vibrant hazel eyes, at the pity spreading across his face.
“I’m not doing anything,” I say, cheeks flushing with rising heat.
Stop looking at me.
