Airlie smiles, and her expression is like the first rays of sunlight after a great storm, her shoulders rolled back and her posture perfect as she radiates joy. It’s an emotion I haven't seen from her since her first pregnancy, a joy I wasn't sure she would ever be capable of again. I know that the memory of her first son still lies heavy in her heart, but with her second son sleeping safely on her chest, she once again has hope of a future she always dreamed of. Children she shares with her husband and a long lineage for their house.
A future the Fates are also dangling before me, only a twisted and distorted version of that joy.
I step away from the two of them to speak to one of the soldiers, checking that the village has been peaceful all morning and there’s no sign of danger down there. If anyone attacks, the staircases can be sealed to keep Airlie safe up here, but I’d rather not leave her side.
I have more experience with the rituals and talismans of our enemy than Airlie does, thanks to the war, so when she sought me out to ask about the ward, I was well aware of what the witch was doing. Casting a boundary around the castle and claiming it for herself, so that any witches who come here will know she resides here and will look for her.
It’s nothing more than a declaration of inhabitation, and harmless to the castle. We’ve crossed a hundred ward lines in battle and never lost a single high-fae life because of them. I don’t know why the witch is bothering, but if she wants to wave her flag over this castle, then I’ll play along, let her weave her deceptions…and drown her in them the moment I can.
She’s watched so closely that we’ll know the moment she prepares to strike.
My first reaction was to say no, of course, but I need to draw her out, let her think she’s slowly worked her way into our good graces so when she eventually moves to betray us, I’ll be three steps ahead. I’ll step into the game alongside her and entrap her with her own confidence. She'll have to get over her seething fury at me if she wants to get back to digging her way under my skin. Too bad for her there are no cracks in this armor.
Airlie and Roan will be devastated when her acts of salvation to them are proved nothing more than calculated moves, but that will spur them on for retribution. I waited a thousand years for this Fates-cursed mate; my patience is now ironclad and ready for the tumultuous future ahead.
The witch presses her hands against the stone, staring over the small turret and the village to the barren farming plains beyond the outer wall. Her gaze follows the Lore River as it runs past the castle, and I’m certain she’s planning out the positions of her little pouches of deception.
She ignores the murmuring of the high-fae soldiers around her as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. The air up here is clearer than in the castle or down in the village, the desperation and stink of a crowded population beneath us waiting for our return.
Her eyes open, and she looks at Airlie.
Her voice is firm, that of a healer who expects nothing but full compliance from her patients. “You and the baby need to stay up here where it’s safe. It’ll be too strenuous for you to walk up and down all of these stairs needlessly.”
As meek as a springtime lamb, my cousin nods and leans against the stone wall. She, too, looks out at the destroyed plains that were once a thriving farmland and are now a dust bowl. “I’m quite happy up here. Although, I have so much energy after all those days being cooped up in my bedroom that I'm quite looking forward to the walk around the perimeter.”
I frown—there's no way I'm going to let her walk the entire distance with us—but the witch simply nods. “I’m not sure Prince Soren has time to make the entire journey, but I'm happy to take it easy. With some breaks to sit down, the walk will be good for you.”
Airlie smiles again and watches happily as the witch follows me down the second set of stairs that lead to the outer side of the wall. The small door at the base of the wall, tucked closely to the gate, is made of solid iron and with steel bars locked into place, one each at the top, middle and bottom. It's impenetrable and always has been, and the witch takes no notice of the offending metal as she drops to her knees and murmurs a prayer to the Fates in the old language, the words rolling off her tongue like a melody.
Even with the trowel, it's hard work for her to bury the satchel in the hardened clay, but once she deems the hole deep enough, she drops it in without ceremony and then scoops the clay back over it. As she presses on the mound to flatten it out, her magic seeps into the earth around it, her eyes flashing silver as she murmurs words of anchoring and concealment.
I'm expecting her to cut her hand open and press her blood into it as well, but she doesn’t, simply sending the tendrils of her power down to secure the talisman in place. I watch as her hands glow, the shine from her eyes lighting up the clay, and the magic soaks into the earth. It’s subtle and peaceful, but my stomach clenches as I feel the magic, a foreign sensation to me. It’s a lesser but similar sensation to the fae door, somethingelsearound me that I can’t see or hear fully but there’s no doubt it’s there. I don’t usually sense magic like this, at least, not anything more than the Fates tugging and pulling at me, and yet…as she pushes power into the talisman, something stirs deep in my chest.
When the witch straightens and brushes at her skirts, she doesn’t show any concern at my scowling fury or the suspicion written all over me, just follows me without a word as I lead her back up the staircase. I lock the door securely behind us, my hands steady despite the overwhelm in my mind, her calm demeanor irritating me further.
I want to poke at her, to claw at her mind the way she does mine, but her promise of death still lies between us. The threat was treasonous enough to have her hanged even if she wasn’t a witch, but I keep all the cutting words trapped inside my chest as I observe her instead.
Walking with them both for a third of the castle wall, I listen as Airlie leads the conversation, asking question after question about the work of the witches and their former role within our kingdom. The witch answers her patiently, setting a snail's pace and watching as Airlie comes to life the more she moves. This outingisgood for her, if nothing else.
When we reach the watchtower to the north, I see horses riding toward the castle walls—messengers arriving—and I leave Airlie and the witch there under the protection of Reed and Alwyn and make my way back to the castle in haste. Far too much of my day has already been taken up with this fruitless task.
I stop outside my reception room only to find my aunt waiting there, forcing me to take a calming breath as I try to remember all the reasons I can’t kill her. Aura’s arms are crossed, a haughty look across her face, and one of her guards stands at her shoulder, cringing away from the ire she’s emanating.
Too bad for her, I’m not so easily cowed.
I give her a smirk as I say, “I have messengers to see first, Aura, you’ll have to wait.”
* * *
Though I was hoping my irreverent treatment and the long wait would scare her away, Aura stomps into my reception room two hours later, more irate than I’ve ever seen her before. I have no sympathy for her, the sound of her silver and diamond bracelets clinking together grating on my last nerve.
“I’m not leaving this room until you assure me that you’re going to pry this witch out of Airlie's heart and push her into the flames of the Fates where she belongs,” Aura snaps as I shut the door behind me, no greeting or respect given as she rages.
I raise an eyebrow at her until, grudgingly, she stands and bows, every part of the action clearly grating on her as shown by her jerky movements. I walk around the desk and take my seat before I nod for her to do the same, accommodating even as I bite my tongue against the hard truths I want to hit this female with.
Shoving her out of the castle gates is the only course of action I want to take but, without offering her an escort, it isn't safe for her to return to the Unseelie Court, and if anything were to happen to her, the vote she holds doesn't pass on to her daughter.
Unfortunately, Aura has a cousin who, by the twisted and fickle laws of the Unseelie high fae, would take her seat on the court before Airlie. Ayron is obsessed with the regent, all of my uncle's syrupy lies and philandering ways singing to the indulgent corners of the male’s heart, and with a single rash action the regent would gain the majority.
