I hate that he’s right. When I was in Alyssium, things made sense. The rebels were the enemy, and the Crown—albeit not very helpful—protected us from them. Nothing is as clear here.
“I might not know everything, but I know enough. King Malachi wants to save his people—my people. Which is more than can be said for you. Maybe that’s why your people tried to kill you.”
“My people didn’t try to kill me. Those Fae in the prison weren’t rebels. And they weren’t from Vaelier.”
“They were wearing your royal insignia.”
Wilder walks toward me until he’s so close I can’t breathe. “They could have been wearing human clothes for all it would have mattered. They weren’t my people.”
“How do you know?”
“Magic is unique to the Fae’s birth realm. It leaves a trace of where they’re from. Those of us who’ve been around for more than a few centuries have learned to tell the difference. We can smell it in their blood. Those who died in the prison weren’t from Vaelier. I’m sure of it.” His gaze falls to the blood on my dress.
To the blood of the dead rebels being kept beneath the palace.
The back of my neck prickles. “You knew whose blood this was when you first saw me tonight? That it’s your people he’s having me attempt my magic on?”
“Be grateful for your human senses, Elorie, or you’d have smelled too.” Wilder’s jaw tics.
I swallow hard, not sure what to say when I’m standing before him, covered in the blood of his people. Fae I wasn’t able to resurrect.
What if I never can?
I lift my fingers to my throat, grazing my neck and considering King Malachi’s threat. My death doesn’t scare me. But failing my home—failing Callum, Isolde, Greer. The list keeps getting longer, and I’m terrified.
If I can’t wake my magic, my death is simply the first of many.
Alyssium was only the beginning.
“Who were they then?” I swallow hard, dropping my hand. “If the Fae who followed me into the prison weren’t Vaelier rebels, who were they?”
“I don’t know yet. Then again, do any of us really know who we are?” Wilder reaches forward, twisting the blue ends of my hair around one finger. “I’ve never met a Fae with blue hair, but there’s mention of one in the old texts. It was said her magic was magnificent. Unlike anything that had been seen before or since. It was creation itself.”
I glance at where he circles my hair around his finger before letting it fall. “What are you saying?”
He reaches a hand up, and his magic tugs the dagger from the target, pulling it to him through the air until his fingers wrap the handle, stopping it. He flips it around, gripping the point of the blade between his thumb and forefinger, holding it out for me.
“I’m saying that maybe you should be the one throwing these tonight. Who knows when that magic of yours might wake. Especially around me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I glare. “And don’t pretend like you actually care. We both know the real reason you want my magic to wake. Because Gods forbid it doesn’t, and then you can’t use me to destroy the kingdom. Right?”
Wilder winks. “Exactly.”
Chapter 17
Malachi
In the courtyard,Elorie throws a dagger, and it lands at the edge of the target. Not exact, but more precise than her magic, which continues to be buried so deep that not even Alasdair can sense it.
Each failed attempt makes him nervous. I’m not worried. She’ll find it.
She’s the key. The vision from the unspeakable gods.
I just need to give her a little push. A little more motivation.
Wilder crosses the training ring and grabs the dagger. Elorie stands watching him, curious. Curiosity is in her blood, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
So long as it ends there, I won’t have to step in.
