My brows raise slowly but Soren doesn't react further than the tightening of his lips, his scar standing out further where it cuts through his lip at the action, but Tyton casts a mournful look at his brother.
Cerson answers him with a firm look, "I was only a child when my Mother led our coven out, I couldn't have been more than twelve years old. Rooke and Pem were a bit older but the forest kept them removed from the worst of the war and their father sheltered them from it. I know which covens made it to the Northern Lands but we can't make an accurate assessment of the power the male wields without knowing what his magic source looks like now."
My brows pinch in as I step away from the wall, catching everyone’s attention as I cross the room to stand with Soren tolook over the map. Roan shifts around the desk to make room for me easily, my Fates-blessed mate watching me closely as I press my fingers into each of the forests. There’s something about the grooves digging into my skin that helps me focus as a web of magic, broken oaths, and betrayal weaves before me.
"Hanede is the last of the Brindlewyrd witches so we’re not going to get zapped by anyone," Cerson says with a lilting tone. "And we won't face any Favored Children."
I heave out a sigh, rubbing a hand over my eyes before looking back over to her mournfully. "They cast a curse on this land strong enough to kill every high fae baby at birth forcenturies."
Cerson stares across the room at me as the horror of my words sinks in, her hand clenched the pleats of her robe and disgust etched into every inch of her face. "Fatesfuckingashes."
Roan watches her closely, his mouth tightening at the reminder his firstborn son, but the suspicion he’s been directing at her eases off. There’s no doubting her palpable disgust at Kharl Balzog's cruelest tactic. Tauron and Tyton both sit with their heads bowed respectfully, as do Gideon and Gage. The curse never touched the goblin lands, filled with lower fae and part bloods, and it was the high fae's obsession with the bloodlines that allowed the curse to have such effective destruction.
Cerson finally murmurs, "Mistwyrd witches; that's what it would take to cast a curse of such magnitude and horror— a lot of them. I'm glad Qhin went to Elysium without knowing such a thing existed by her magic and bloodline, ashes guide her."
I swallow roughly, my head dropping down to take a moment, and then up to meet Soren's watchful gaze. "The Mistwyrd Mother. She died in the last stand... the line of the womb ended with her.”
Gideon curses under his breath, shaking his head mournfully, and Gage murmur prayers for her safety in Elysium. Cerson sends them an approving look for their respects, adding her own prayers softly.
“Is the Mistwyrd relic safe? The forest will want it returned.”
Glancing up, Tyton’s head cocks to the side as it does when the forest’s whispered demands take over him and Cerson’s eyes flare. Pushing away from the wall, she inches over to the prince as though approaching an unyielding dragon but he doesn’t take notice of her until her fingers wrap around his wrist. Her eyes glow brightly, my own magic flaring in response, and Tauron shoots Soren a concerned look but my Fates-blessed mate ignores him.
“It’s safe… and it will return home soon, along with the other relics. My Æfanyadidn’t tell me there was a shade amongst your family; what a curious bloodline for you choose.”
Tyton’s eyes focus on her hand first, his gaze moving up her arm before landing on her face. He stares with a blank expression for a heartbeat before his own eyes flash with magic.
Tauron turns frantically to me and I hold up a hand to ward off his panic. “I wasn’t certain; but itisonly the Ravenswyrd forest that speaks to him. I’ve done my best not to incite panic amongst the fae folk of Yregar and there’s only so many revelations I can unleash on this household at a time.”
Her mouth downturns at me, her eyes still fixed on Tyton’s as they stare into each other’s eyes as though gazing through to the soul. “A shade is a blessing.”
“Undoubtedly, but the high fae have grown unaccustomed to magic, Cerson. Knowing he’s with shade could’ve gotten him killed before?—”
I break off abruptly, but Soren speaks easily to fill in, “Before we found the path the Fates have laid out for us all. Is Tyton in any danger from this… shade?”
Cerson doesn’t look away as she answers, swaying slightly but finding Tyton follows the movements easily. “No danger. A shade is… a spirit of the trees, I suppose you could call it but it’s a gift from the forests to aid in times of desperation. It’s rare; I’ve only heard whispers and all were about witches. It lives within the fae alongside their magic, giving a voice to the forest so all can hear its’ commands. The Blood Valley had one once.”
Gage nods. “The Ayswyrd, too. Our Vhivahrospoke with it at length to fix the problem, too many soldiers stationed nearby who cared little for covens and trees. Vahrostill talks about it like it was an act of the Fates, he was young when it came to our lands.”
Soren stares at them both before his gaze flicks back to Tyton, but he’s still willingly pinned under Cerson’s intensive inspection. Her magic streams around them both, rolling around the room in waves as she gently tests the bounds of Tyton’s own magic in a test of how much power is the prince’s and how much is the shade.
Glancing back down to the map, I move my fingers to press against Port Asmyr where it sits under the shadow of the Augur Mountain. There’s a lot of open plains between Yregar and the seaport, the Lore River and the Ravenswyrd nearby, and the bumps of villages and settlements run the whole distance. Most are abandoned but not all, the defenseless fae who bear the cost of all the Betrayers’ actions.
Soren murmurs to me in a low growl, frustration threaded through every word, "The forest has sent a shade to us to speak of the pain we’ve inflicted upon it, Kharl Balzog has witches who can unleash death curses, a legion that contains bloodwitches who’s magic so horrifying that the goblin princes shudder to think about it sails here at my uncle’s command, and we must face them all of them to see our kingdom saved?"
I sigh as I shrug. "The Fates are demanding quite a lot from us, it seems. I never expected differently."
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Soren
Messengers and scouts arrive at Yregar's gates throughout the night, some in better shape than others. With every new fae standing before my desk, a disturbing image of the conflict building throughout the kingdom is woven and our time of respite in Yregar grows shorter.
I send Rooke and Cerson to get some rest, refusing my Fates-blessed mate's protests with a firm reminder of the winter solstice rites we’ll be undertaking at dusk tomorrow. Though her magic is unquestionably vital to the kingdom’s recovery, I’d be demanding she rest no matter what tomorrow held for us both. Regardless of how capable and competent she is, I’m keenly aware of the Ravenswyrd nature of my wife. No matter how honorable the ancient ways of the Favored Children, I’ll not allow her to sacrifice herself for the sake of our kingdom. No longer will I allow her selfless giving to come at her expense; the covetous and selfish Unseelie high fae nature writhing with jealousy within me is more than capable of guarding holding boundaries for her.
Gage, Tauron, and Tyton all take their leave as well, leaving Roan and Gideon to listen to the news alongside me as the situation grows fraught. Gideon sits across from him, his arm resting on the armrest and his chin propped against his fist as he scowls down at the swirling silver lines of the plush rug, deep in thought.
“The witches sent forces to the Brindlewyrd forest after you left there, Your Highness. None have survived attempts to enter it, the same as Elms Walk. They’re traveling south, following the goblin king’s armies back to the goblin lands.”
