“Thank you, that’s very kind, but I’m not hungry.” Not after the snake, and Luther’s scrutiny. “That language Luther used sounded so familiar… What is it called, exactly?”
I meet Nick’s eyes. He blushes, that fiend, and averts his gaze.
Lysandra beams with pride. “It’s the language of the Tides—the tongue of his ancestors.”
“Are there many Fae who speak it?”
“Not anymore. I’m almost fluent myself, but it would take me years to reach Luther’s mastery.” She lowers her voice in a conspiratorial manner. “He’s actually a prince of Faerie, though the Tidecallers relinquish their titles. We don’t believe in royal hierarchy, so Luther has left the Storm Court for good.” She hails the bartender again. “Gods, I’m famished.”
“What do ye want, hun?” Herbert asks with an affable smile, polishing the counter in front of her with a rag.
“Bread and stew.”
“Make that two, please,” Nick says politely.
“Ye got it,” our host replies, but he comes back almost immediately, spinning on his heels before entering the backroom kitchen. “Want a thick slice of rye from Eterna? I’ve got a handful of spring-yeasted buns in the back if ye prefer.”
Lysandra pouts, bringing a hand to her stomach. “Don’t tempt me, Herb. I’m fattening up as it is.”
“Nonsense!”
I take the opportunity, while Lysandra chats with Herbert, to kick Nick’s shin and whisper, “Mom was a Tidecaller?”
He fucking shrugs. “I think so.”
“And you hid this from me because…” I scold him.
He gives me a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d believe me.”
By the time we’re done with our littleaparté, Lysandra has settled for the rye, and Herbert serves us all a bowl of steaming stew.
Meeting my inquisitive gaze, he lays a spoon beside the bowl. “Eat, hun. We all have a big day tomorrow.”
I offer him a quick smile, and he goes back to polishing his counter, humming a quiet tune.
I pick up the spoon not to insult anyone. “So, Lysandra, you’re a Tidecalleranda witch?”
She tucks her hair behind her ears and nods. “In a sense. I’m originally a witch from the Bloodvale coven. We had almost completely assimilated to mortal life before the Lord of the Tides opened up our world, and very few of us were still practising. I’ve been recruiting lost, abandoned witches from the new world ever since, trying to regrow our numbers so we become strong enough to unseat the Reds. Luther’s men are here to help, butit’s not their homeland. They don’t understand the forest the way we do.”
She picks apart her bread and dumps it into her bowl. “When I met Nick, and he told me how you two were born in Scotland?—”
So he didn’t tell her the whole story of his impossible birth.
Phew.
Nick and I eat as she goes on about her childhood, about growing up in the New World, and I listen intently, sharing bits of our past as well, surprised by how similar our stories are.
Lysandra recounts their first meeting, and there are no half-truths, no red flags. She’s as transparent in her crush on him as she was in her lust for the dark Fae prince.
“I knew Nickolas had to see this.” She gestures to the tavern and beyond in a circular motion, her expression softening. “We’re more than rebels—we’re family. Witches and Tidecallers, whether Fae or seed, and from all courts, we don’t discriminate. All we want is to end the Red Queen’s tyranny over the Red Forest—all kings’ and queens’ tyranny—and put the power back into the common folk’s hands.” She rests her hand over Nick’s and sighs. “We’ll make them pay for what they did to us. Together.”
Nick flips his hand over to link their fingers. “Absolutely.”
The look they exchange is all heat, and I bite back a smirk. My brother, holding hands with a girl… I never thought I’d see the day.
She scrapes the bottom of her stew and pushes the empty bowl aside. “Well, I’m heading upstairs. Herb is right, we need as much rest as we can get. There’s an empty room available for visitors.” Lysandra stands, her eyes never leaving Nick. “Just ask for the key when you’re ready to turn in, Max.”
She shoots Nick a smoldering glance as she leaves, and he stumbles to his feet.
