“I didn’t.” Callum glances at me, confirming what I suspected.
All I could think when I stepped through the Gateway washome. I wanted to go home. Which is what this gods-awful island is.
Greer’s eyebrows pinch. “I thought Gates couldn’t open on Alyssium. It’s why we change Guard by boat. They can’t form a tie without magic on the other side.”
“They can’t,” Callum says, not taking his eyes off me. “But Elorie did.”
Greer’s lips press tight as she watches us both.
“Do you think there’s anything left?” I rub my bare arms, staring into the dark and endless sea.
The Ley Court is so far from where we are now, but I swear I can still smell it burning. Hear it crumbling. My eyes close, and I search the threads for Wilder, but they’re all dark.
“Here.” Callum wraps me with his white cloak. “You need this more than I do.”
I pull it snug around my shoulders. Blood stains make the fur stick to my neck, so I try to keep it away from my face. But at least it’s warmer than this dress.
“We should get to the village.” Callum swallows hard.
If there is still a village that exists.
There’s been no passage from Alyssium to the continent for too long. With how brutal the winter has been, and without the help of supplies and grain from the Ley Court, they might have all starved.
My stomach churns as I turn toward the forest. Greer sticks to my side while Callum leads the way.
It’s exactly like I remember, and yet, different. The air is colder. There’s a certain stillness around us. Silence that settles deep. Then there’sme. I’ve changed more than I realized. Inside, there’s this stirring that wasn’t there before. Something that whispers for me to grab onto it, but I can’t. My magic is like my mate. Unreachable.
I wrap the cloak tighter.
There are no guards at the gates to the village when we reach them, but they’re pulled closed to keep out animals. At a distance, the prison towers in the night, casting shadows where the moonlight can’t shine through the spires.
Fresh snowfall wets my feet, but my skin doesn’t numb as it should. Not like it did when I thought I was only human. Now, when it nips at my flesh, I feel the bite of cold, but then, something pushes back.
The village is quiet. Doors are closed, and no lamps burn from inside. Curtains are pulled tight. With the fresh snow, it’s impossible to tell if the lack of footprints is a sign or simply the result of the winter washing traces of people away. At each corner we round, my stomach sinks.
The village is silent.
Callum leads us down the corridor, and I pause on a familiar street. Standing motionless with my sights set on the house directly ahead.
Shingles peel from the roof, and there’s been no one to tend to them. Snow piles high at the door when there’s been no need for anyone to come and go. One of the windows is shattered.
At my feet is the memory of my father falling. Of his hand reaching out.
There’s no blood in the snow now. No indication of what happened here, and yet, I feel it.
“Is that?—”
“My home,” I answer Greer, pulling the cloak tight.
Callum frowns but doesn’t bother offering apologies or condolences. Neither of them does because we’ve all lost so much. My loss is not unique; it’s just another way this war has taken something irreplaceable from all of us.
“We can stay at my house if it’s still there,” Callum offers.
I shake my head and roll my shoulders back. My father didn’t raise a daughter who bowed down afraid. He raised a fighter who would enter the forest in search of food even in the thick of winter. Who took care of him when he was sick and looked after the village when it suffered. He raised a half-Fae. And even here, where my magic is buried, I like to think he always saw the strength I never did.
I take a step but freeze when a gasp comes from behind me. Turning, a familiar head of golden blonde hair blows out beneath a familiar leather hood.
Letia’s cloak can barely contain her hair waving at her shoulders. Her fingers shake over her mouth.
