“It’s safe,” he says, nodding at someone over my shoulder. I turn around and spot Callum, a Leth. The boy ducks his head respectfully at me, keeping guard for us near the door. And taking the job very seriously, despite the fact that he’s half our age.
“And what’s this about a goldfinch?” I ask Samson. I already burned the page Kitty delivered, but Samson knows what I mean.
He tells me what he found from Darnley, ending by thrusting a letter into my hands.
“I can’t read this,” I say. The words swirl about the parchment; as soon as I focus on a letter, it transforms into a different one. This is…complicated. Beyond a glamour. Could it have been made with a Red Cap tool? Just because everything I’ve intercepted so far has been aweapon doesn’t mean it’s not possible for them to make something else. Or it could be old magic, like the comb and mirror I have.
“See?” Samson says. “It’s fae!”
He’s all proud to have spotted the obvious, but I’m caught on the idea that for the first time, both of us have someone to confide in, someone to help the other.
Then he frowns. “But you can break the spell on it, right? Make it so the words stand still.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have that sort of magic.”
His shoulders slump.
Enchantments like this can be broken by someone who can see and pull on the threads of magic. I squint at Samson, looking at his aura—purple and orange and yellow. He’s so sincere; I’m certain he’s not tricking me.
At least not with the letter.
But the fae are notorious manipulators. A full-blooded fae cannot outright lie, but they know how to say just enough to dance around the truth or trick someone into believing something they don’t explicitly state.
“I can’t break the spell on this letter, but I know someone who can,” I add, holding my finger up to stop Samson from saying anything. “Before I take the letter to her…”
Samson’s face falls. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
I cringe. “It’s only…” What if Darnley is using Samson to lure me out? Samson may not know how rare this sort of magic on writing is and how only a handful of people have the knowledge to break such a spell, but Darnley might know, might be laying a trap for me…
Samson shakes his head. “No, I understand. Magic, royalty, murder. Big stuff. You’ve got to be certain.”
“A full-blooded fae cannot tell a lie, but with human blood, Leths have a little more flexibility.”
Samson ducks his head, then looks up and meets my eyes. “How can I prove myself to you?”
Ach, I’m mucking this all up. I don’t mean that I can’t trust him…just that this game is too dangerous to let my heart blind me. But I can tell from his aura that he won’t be swayed from this line of thought; he needs to prove himself to me. “Would you mind if I bind you to your word?”
“What would that mean?”
“Swear to me that you mean me no harm, know of no trap, and will protect me if Darnley or one of his ilk attack.”
I expect him to push back. This is too open of a contract, and I’ve offered him nothing in return. Instead, he says immediately, “I swear it.”
I’m stunned at him, the ease with which he tosses around oaths. “No,” I say. “You have to say the words entirely.”
“I swear that I mean you no harm, know of no trap, and will protect you.”
He’s made it even more open-ended, but I take the vow, wrapping magic around it as he speaks. It’s crude, but it works.
It pangs my heart a bit, to take advantage of him like this. But it will also protect both me and my country. I’ll warn him to make better deals later.
“Scotland’s magic is tied to the natural world,” I say. “If you break this oath—”
“Scotland will eat me whole?” He’s smiling, far too easy with this.
“Yes,” I say.
“What, really?”
