“What offering would you give the earth to have it aid you?”
She doesn't stop her work at my words, her hands busy as she soaps up the water in the basin and begins to scrub the tools she’s selected. Her gaze drops to the fireplace and, from out of nowhere, flames burst into life there.
It’s a small act of magic, but still more than many witches have ever had within them. She shows more control of her magic than any high fae I’ve ever known, at least here in the Southern Lands, and she does it as though it'snothing. A simple act to make her life easier as she sets the now clean pot on top of the stove, water boiling within it.
“You asked what I was doing in the dungeon and how I sustained myself? I gave a blood offering to the earth and, in return, it sustained me. It doesn’t want to take from us without giving something in return, so why should it give to us if we don’t offer the same?”
We watch as the water on the stove begins to boil, and she places each of the tools within the pot as the bubbles engulf them. I don't understand this practice, but none of it appears dangerous to Airlie or the baby. Still, I watch it all.
“The Goblin Lands…you think the king makes an offering to the land and that's why his land flourishes?”
The corners of her lips tug up as she replies, “I know he makes offerings to the land. I could hear it in the earth as we rode through, couldn't you? Have the high fae forgotteneverything?”
The skin at the back of my neck itches as a snarl curls my lip. I hate the way she says that, the superior tone of her voice…and I hate the way it's true. Wehaveforgotten what it means to take care of anything but our own affairs, starting with our magic.
The high fae forgot how to use it long ago—long enough that my father didn't have access to his own magic, nor his father before him—generations of high fae with a power within them they don't know how to touch.
Firna steps back into the room, balancing a tray in her hands and a satchel tucked under one of her arms, never once faltering as she places everything on the workbench that’s now been scrubbed clean by the witch’s own hands.
I turn to her and wait until she bows, her task clear, before I leave them behind. Firna will watch the witch’s every move, both learning and guarding to be sure she’s true in her intentions to help, while I move my focus back to finding out where in the Fates-filledfuckRoan is.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Rooke
Three Unseelie high-fae princes hover around my seat at Airlie’s side, glaring and savage, as they watch the princess drink the tea I brewed for her.
She doesn't sip it slowly, instead downing the glass in two goes, as if she’s desperate to get it in her body and working as quickly as possible. She sets aside the cup on the small table by her bed as her hand strokes the back of the sleeping baby, who’s content in her arms as he dozes. There's a tug in my heart at the sweet and gentle noises he makes, a small reminder of the other babies I’ve seen into the world and honored in this way.
The princess’s gaze is sharp, but she keeps her voice low, conscious always of her son. “How did the Goblin King know that the curse was broken?”
I take a seat in the small armchair sitting by her side of the bed, moved there by one of her cousins as they’ve kept a vigil over her and the baby. I doubt it will end until Roan's return, each one of us holding our breaths as we wait.
Watching the steady breaths of the sleeping baby, I keep my voice low. “The goblin lands are still green and lush, their people are unaffected by the curse, and so their land prospers. If I were to guess, I’d say the Goblin King still has access to his magic, and his family never forgot such things. He speaks to the trees.”
Her lips purse as her brow furrows, and I search for the best way to explain. “Magic like that doesn’t hide itself—it’s too powerful to be a secret. The curse covered the entire kingdom—I could feel the reach of it the moment I stepped foot back in the Southern Lands. It’s an old power that might’ve waned over the years without new deaths to sustain it, but it was still strong enough to linger over your son like an executioner's blade. I didn't know the specifics of what it did to the high fae until I spoke to you, but I knew the magic was there. A lot of power went into casting that atrocity, sacrifices made and then reinforced with every death of the innocent high-fae babies. I’m not surprised that the Goblin King felt the moment it broke.”
A soft frown settles on her face, and she nods slowly. “I can feel its absence, but I passed that off as relief. Tyton says he can feel it too, but I thought that was because he was so close to where the curse was undone.”
I shrug. “His magic is more…wildthan that of most high fae, enough that it bubbles out even without training. I think no matter where in the kingdom he was, he would have felt the curse break if…”
Airlie sends me a sidelong look. “You mean if he’d been conscious to do so?”
There's unhappy grumbling behind me, but I nod, not about to apologize. The baby is alive because of what I did, and if he really wants to hold a grudge about it, then I suppose I’ll just have to deal with it.
Airlie’s hand is gentle as it runs down the baby's spine, comforting herself in the petting, the small way she enjoys the feel of his steady breathing on her chest. No doubt it’s a reminder that he's here and safe. There's been no mention of a name yet. No one has asked her in my presence, either, so I take their lead and leave such things for later.
The quiet of the room stretches out, and when the princess yawns delicately, I ask her, “Do you have someone staying here with you tonight? Firna or one of the maids? Your son is perfectly healthy, but you shouldn’t be alone while you recover.”
Airlie shoots the princes a stern look and then says, “I was hoping you would stay with us for tonight, and then Firna can stay tomorrow. Roan should be home after that, and I won't need any more assistance.”
There's no protest at her request, so it mustn’t be new information to Prince Soren. I nod, settling back in the seat, ready to take up watch without another word. When her eyes begin to grow heavy, I help the princess move the baby back into the small crib and then encourage her to rest.
I haven't slept, but I have more training than most in going several days in a row without a moment of sleep.
Tauron and Tyton both disappear, but Prince Soren pulls another chair into the corner of the bedroom, far enough away from the princess and me that he won't disturb us, and takes up watch there. His gaze follows me as I go through the routines of early child care and tending to a new mother, his presence impossible to fully ignore no matter how focused on the tasks as I am. He doesn't say a word or interrupt in any way as the night goes on in a blur of tasks and it makes the work easier for me. The baby wakes, his diaper is changed, his mother feeds and burps him, smiling at his grunting as he works through his wind, then settles him back in the crib for a few hours only to start all over again.
Prince Soren watches it all and never once closes his eyes. Neither do I, the two of us standing guard over this precious gift of life as we see Airlie through her first night, the biggest adjustment to the constant demands of a small one, all while her body heals from its incredible journey to motherhood.
