“Not by blood, but the Old Queen saved us from the Reds,” Nick says. “We lived with her as children in the new world and took on her last name.”
I nod emphatically at that. For whatever reason, it feels important to set the record straight.
“What’s your birth name, then?” Luther asks.
He’s acting nonchalant, but that’s hardly the kind of question that can be asked casually in Faerie.
“We don’t know. Our mother passed before she could tell us,” Nick answers.
“And your father?”
“A mystery.”
“Mm,” Luther grunts.
Nick is playing fast and loose with our secrets, and my brows furrow. I’ve never known my brother to trust anyone, let alone answer truthfully to a flurry of questions from a man he’s meeting for the first time. Does Lysandra know he was born here, in the Red Forest?
Fear pools in my belly. A man born on Red soil would be of apocalyptic significance to the Reds. If Nick revealed his true identity to the wrong person, it could cost him his life.
Luther squints at me, but not like a man interested in my body—no. He peers into my eyes as though he’s trying to see past my flesh and bones, down to whatever sits underneath.
Nothing about that stare makes me feel human.
He finally takes my hand and brings it to his lips, and I stand there pretending it’s perfectly natural to be greeted that way.
“There’s something about you, Lady Morgan.” His lips linger on my knuckles, as though he wants to dissect me with that one touch. “Have we met before?”
I wonder if Luther is not picking up on E’s bite of power, and not mine.
With so many Fae and witches crammed into one room, I wouldn’t be able to track E if he weren’t standing right behind me, and that’s with weeks of practice. Luther might be able to sense his bite of power without being able to pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from.
“No, sir,” I answer with confidence.
He tilts his head to the side. “Well, I’m looking forward to introducing you to the Lord of the Tides tomorrow. You two are new here, so we won’t expect you to fight?—”
“I want to fight,” Nick shoots back.
Luther’s eyes grow a little clearer, a hint of violet sunlight breaking through thick clouds.
“He’s a good fighter. We can use him,” Lysandra says proudly.
“What about you, Lady Morgan?” Luther asks.
“I’m a doctor. I can take care of the wounded,” I offer.
The dark Fae smiles as though mortal medicine amuses him, but he quickly sobers up. “That can come in handy. We haven’tgot enough healers as it is. Good, then. Meet me in my tent before first light, Lysandra—and bring them along.”
Lysandra dips into a quick curtsy. “At your service.”
The way her eyes track Luther on his way out, I get the sense she wouldn’t mind servingallof him, if he asked—which cools my enthusiasm for her and my brother’s romance.
After Luther exits the tavern, she corrals us over to the bar and hails the bartender. “Herb. Three bloodroot specials, please.”
Nick and I drop our backpacks to the floor, tucking them under the counter, and I check on Lady, but she’s sleeping.
We all sit on the stools as a burly man with brown hair and a thick mustache serves us each a mug of a rooty, tangy, beer-like concoction. The honey and dill taste sticks to the roof of my mouth, coaxing a grimace out of me. It’s warm, though, and eases the ache in my muscles.
“You had quite the journey here, I bet,” Lysandra says. “There’s plenty of food if you’re hungry. Herbert makes a mean stew.”
