Carefully, I place her wrist on her own knee before I force myself to let her go and clasp my hand around the cup once more to ensure it doesn’t find its way back to her skin unbidden.
“I walk it with you. I have since the very beginning, whether you could see it or not… or whether I could too.”
She takes another breath, glancing in my direction as she drains the last of her cup. Setting it to one side, she doesn't stand. Instead, her legs stretch out before her. She presses her hands to the stone step on either side of herself and relaxes as though preparing herself for a long night sitting on this stone beside me, and I do the same.
Not another word passes between us but, hours later, I find myself furious at the early morning rays when the sun finally breaks over the horizon and the day begins around us, the quiet peace between us shattered in an instant as the demands of our kingdom beckon once more and Rooke is forced back into her quarters to heed their call, leaving me the grapple with the ice that settles in my bones at her departure.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rooke
As the winter solstice grows closer, I focus all my attention onto Thea as Yregar transforms into a hive of activity around us. I welcome the distraction from the maelstrom of my mind as the preparations for our Fates-blessed union continue around the castle. I spent years wondering what it would be like to meet Prince Soren in person, never daring to ruminate on the finer details. After I returned to the Southern Lands, months passed as I fought to prove to the stubborn male that I wasn’t one of Kharl Balzog’s generals here to destroy the Unseelie Court and snatch his throne.
Now, weeks of my temper distracting me have come to an end and all that’s left to consider is how in theashesI’m going to wed this male in the traditions of my coven without destroying myself in the process. Even if I’m able to make the required arrangements, how will I make it through the ceremony without tearing my heart in half?
The prospect seemed far less difficult before my nightmares drove him to me in the middle of the night, his fierce expressionand halting admissions softening some of the sharpened spikes within me as we shared a pot of soothing tea and whispered secrets. After losing far too many hours of sleep, I finally wake one morning before dawn with a clear head for the path before me. Brewing yet another pot of soothing tea, I drink it by myself with parchment and quill in hand while Thea sleeps peacefully. By the time she rouses, my message is on the ashes to the Northern Lands and the task of my fate is set in motion.
May the Fates be merciful and not lead me to regret my decision.
The new recruits continue their training under Kytan’s and Roan’s watchful eyes, regardless of the snow that has begun to fall. One particularly frosty morning, I take a break from my efforts in reinforcing the frames over the garden beds to watch the sparring rings, relieved to see some serious improvements in their techniques under their competent tutelage.
No matter our progress in other areas, Thea stays within the confines of the healer’s quarters. Even the thought of going outside into the walled garden I’ve worked so hard to cultivate is abhorrent to her, tremors enveloping her any time I bring it up. Seeing my charge filled with anguish drives me to make accommodations for her, and it takes only a few days for a routine to form.
Intent on establishing clear boundaries for her to grow secure within, I divide the daily duties of the healer’s quarters and take all the garden work for myself while the tasks of processing the harvest become Thea’s responsibility. She’s an adept student, frighteningly so, and my own work is quickly overshadowed by her fastidious attention to detail.
Tyra offers to stay inside with Thea while I’m in the garden and, surprisingly, Thea readily agrees, the two of them signing rapidly about the tasks I’ve set. The early signs of a friendship play out before me, and I’m careful to make space for it. Tyra isgentle with the female but speaks to her as though she’s another fae under the employ of the castle with no formalities to trip over, and Thea thrives under such care.
Secure in the knowledge that my charge won’t be startled by the approach of any stray member of the household, I go into the healer’s gardens only to find a high-fae prince waiting there for me. Sitting on the small stone chair with his mouth already pulled into a grimace, Tauron clearly knows the details of my newly implemented routine.
When he resolutely ignores my presence, I set about my tasks without comment. The earth is already frozen, forcing me to gently push my magic into the soil as I work, easing life and fortitude into the plants to ensure they survive the dormancy taking hold. Humming old lyrics and lullabies under my breath, I let the busywork become a balm to my soul after so many days within the castle, and it’s easy enough to forget Tauron’s seething presence altogether.
His voice breaks the quiet peace, the melodic sounds of the old language softening some of the anger his words hold. “My fate was a mate—tortured, terrorized, and abused, and that I couldn’t shield her from that violence. For hundreds of years, I’ve waited to find her, and all this time, I assumed it was witches who were responsible for her suffering.”
My hands stay busy as I check the fastenings of the structure over my thriving patch of solarys-tears, a rarity in the Southern Lands. The golden-leafed bushes are prone to frostburn and are known to struggle in harsh climates, but the cuttings Gage brought were in perfect condition, and so far the crop is faring well. The plants were a very generous gift from the Goblin King, and I’m well aware of the significance of such a gesture, even if the high fae appear to be oblivious to it.
I turn my body just a little bit to acknowledge that Tauron has spoken, slowly to be sure he doesn’t leap to any ridiculousconclusions of my intentions. “If you’re here to interrogate me and uncover some nefarious ruse I’ve crafted against the high fae, I can assure you there’s no mistaking Thea’s responses or reactions. Firna has spent some time here with us as well as Tyra, they can both attest to the truth of my statement. Unseelie high fae are responsible for her torment, and their crimes against her are prolific.”
The silence that greets my words is charged, as volatile as unspent magic at the fingertips of a bumbling high-fae novice, and when I glance in his direction, I find his jaw is clenched and a violent look has spread across his face. It’s the same one he’s directed at me a dozen times already, but the moment my gaze meets his he turns away from me sharply with a muttered curse.
I’m not scared of this prince. I never have been, but I’m also certain I’m no longer the desired target of his violence. I’m not naive enough to think he’s changed his mind or thinks well of me, but he’s backed down, if only to ensure Thea’s care isn’t hindered by his doing. His back is against a wall right now and desperation is a curious—and dangerous—thing.
“When we found you at Asmyr, I thought nothing could be worse than your silver eyes and the stink of your magic, but then Tyton began talking about that cursed forest more.”
The words are barely a whisper, though loud enough for my hearing. He means them for me, even if his gaze has taken on a dreamy unfocused quality as he stares at the white dusting of snow.
The longer I work without giving him any scrutiny, the easier his words seem to come to him. “The Seer didn’t give me an amount of time I’d be forced to wait, like Soren had, or any lessons the Fates were trying to teach me at her expense, and yet with every day that passed, I knew I was failing. Every village gutted and burned, every blood-soaked traveling band we found, all of the carnage of the witches taunted me. The horrors myFates-blessed mate was surely enduring at the hands of your kind… and yet now she stays in the healer’s quarters, calmed only by a witch’s presence and terrified at the mere sight of a high fae. My own people are to blame for her terror, and every assumption I’ve held as truth is alie.”
It’s the first time he’s uttered the wordwitchwithout it coming out like a curse, self-loathing dripping from every syllable instead. I stare at the wall for a moment as I’m almost overtaken by a broken chuckle, pressing my lips together until I’m sure it can’t escape me.
The Fates are masterful, but viciously cruel, in their weaving.
It took Hanede Loche, a Brindlewyrd witch and one of my closest friends in the Sol Army,centuriesbefore he could look at any high fae without his lip curling and vitriol pouring from his lips. Pemba was better about holding his tongue than our friend ever was, even in our first years in the Northern Lands, but he struggled not to show his disdain even as we served alongside thousands, including high fae, in the Sol Army. I watched them both overcome ignorant hatred, I saw them confronting and accepting the good and evil that exists within all fae folk and letting go of the prejudices within their hearts.
I’ve watched the lessons of the Fates play out before me a hundred times over, and so I can look upon Prince Tauron, with his anger and loathing, and see the male underneath it all who can be set on the right path forward if he chooses. His choices regarding Thea, so far, have been to adhere to my guidance and to seek me out when he’s sure it won’t harm his Fates-blessed mate. I can feel the desperation roiling within him to help the female he’s never spoken to and barely laid eyes on.
While other fae are usually given vague fates, puzzles to decipher and navigate carefully, I’ve long since come to terms with the fact that the Fates were so explicit in their wording of my fate for a reason. The witch who grew up in the Ravenswyrdwas incapable of the task set before me, and the moment the Seer spoke my fate in her temple I ran to the Northern Lands without thinking twice. The Fates ensured the Sol Army would cut me in all the right places, to shape and mold me to the exact design this kingdom needs to bring the fae here back from the edge of despair. I’m so very tired of being what the Fates need me to be, a lesson for everyone else to learn at my expense, and yet my feelings and opinions mean nothing here.
It’s the Ravenswyrd way to give until my last breath.
