Page 115 of Facade

Oh. I didn’t know why I’d thought it might have been something more. The same pull I’d felt. My gaze flicked from the fire to the window—fog snaked through the trees, butting up against the window.

“Wait—did you cause the fog and the blizzard with the useo?” I demanded.

He shrugged. “Had to cover my scent from Aiden.”

“I nearly had frostbite that night!”

He snorted. “Memory loss or not, your Gargoyle would've heated you eventually.”

“When did your eyes change?”

“Watka said the silver appeared before my coloring set in. Around 12 years old. I had no idea until later. He taught me how to control it. Hide it. But it took time. I didn’t always have this white hair.” A half smile appeared. “It used to be black.” My brows shot up. Like Aiden’s. No—he’s nothing like Aiden.

“Why the change?” I asked, clearing my throat. A weak attempt to hide my discomfort.

“Watka had me practicing wielding lightning. I was struck many times.” He laughed, the sound rich and striking straight to my belly. I shoved the feeling down.

“How are you not dead?”

“Because with the powers I have, he taught me I had to respect them. I never demanded lightning come to my hand; I asked the storms to put it there, coaxed it. But if I became too abrasive, it'd strike. Hurt like hell, but it always felt more like a reprimand. Hard to explain, I guess. You’re looking at me like I’m crazy,” he chuckled.

“I just can’t imagine… asking a storm to help you. Did no one question your hair changing color?”

“No. No one ever did. Guess they assumed it had to do with my coloring.”

A beat of silence passed between us, only the cackling flames filling the space.

“But why kill my father?” I asked hoarsely.

“My guess is the Queen commissioned his death, thinking she'd get to him before he could… well, create you.”

I finally tipped the glass back, grimacing as the contents burned hot in my throat.

“Aniah told me the Fae King made a deal with the Coven to serve as their sword if they'd give him power in return. They couldn’t offer him true magic, so instead they made that object so he could channel. But when Aniah stole it, I can only assume the King refused to march on the Southern Realm.”

“What the hell did Aiden or his mother hope to gain from betraying our whole realm?” I ground out.

He tipped his glass from side to side.

“Maybe it was to ensure Aiden a top spot in whatever new world the Coven is trying to create. The Coven wanted all powers other than Witches to disappear completely, thus creating a world where they were—”

“Goddesses?” I offered dryly, the hurt over my father quickly turning to anger.

“Basically. "

“Wait—how were they going to get power from me? Aiden had said they would… pull something from me. From our… children.”

Ryker knocked back his glass before continuing. Anger flashed across his face.

“Aniah said there’s a transference spell—once you had a child, the Coven could transfer the child’s power to the father.” He poured and threw back another, as if the spell made him as sick as it did me, then poured more in my glass. “At the expense of the child’s life.”

My fists tightened in my lap as I thought of Aiden and these past weeks. My skin crawled as I remembered how he touched and toyed with me—I shook off a chill, fighting the urge to scream.

“How do you know all of this?”

“Aniah and I pieced a lot together during our years searching for you.”

“Why save me?” I asked as I swirled the liquid, avoiding his gaze. “I know we’d become friends…” More than that. “But why risk yourself? Survivors surely needed you and Aniah to stay and help.”