Page 13 of A Beastly Court

After that initial release, I’d been able to harness a portion of my power and unlink one cursed leaf at a time until I was drained. But the power of the ember was now spent. I needed something like it, some outside source that would convince Ossian to keep his magic to himself.

“Please!” I blurted as he reached for me. He paused. “Please, let me have today to recover. The lack of sleep, the fight with the bear… I don’t have the strength to withstand your magic.”

The fae king frowned. “Meadow, we cannot waste even one day. And—”

“I know that. I know.” I wracked my brain for a solution. “Let me go outside to the courtyard!” I exclaimed. Outside source indeed. “The little one with the rambler roses growing through the cracks. There’s no soil, but maybe I can tap into the green life energy of the roses. It’d be better than staying in my room sleeping.”

He looked ready to refuse, so I pressed, “You could go hunting with Alec.” It was his favorite hobby, not to mention his duty, after all. The fae king was equal to the entirety of the Brotherhood when it came to protecting the citizens of Redbud from the monsters that plagued it.

“And leave you alone? Meadow—”

“I’m never alone here. And you leave to hunt all the time. Besides, if it works, and you’re successful apprehending Wystan, you could take me beyond the walls of the castle. To the true earth. Imagine how much quicker I’ll unravel my grandmother’s curse then.”

Maybe it was the logic, maybe it was the hopeful shine in my ivy-green eyes, maybe it was the allure to participate in his favorite hobby, but whatever the reason was, it was enough to convince him.

“It’s cold out there,” he told me, pinching my chin and tilting my head back for another one of his bruising kisses. “Wear that white fox-fur coat I gave you.”

CHAPTER SIX

The stones of the courtyard were slick under my feet with the melting frost. Rambler roses, which might lose their blooms in the cold but none of their vivacious climbing tenacity, clawed out of the seams between the flagstones and the wall, clinging like ivy. Their many branches were heavily barbed with tiny red thorns that seized hold of everything, including their fellow roses. A wall of tangled greenery rose to the sky on all four sides.

The sight of the sky unmarred by window glass and the fresh air lifted a weight I hadn’t known had settled on my heart. I set my water canteen and the little basket of food Mrs. Bilberry had prepared for me by the foot of the stone bench and craned back with my nose in the air to breathe in deep, savoring this freedom.

Ossian instinctively kept his bare arms tucked tight against his sides. While he’d shed his fox pelt, he was still bootless and shirtless, a thick apron covering just the front of him. Instead of joining Alec on the hunt and leaving me fully unattended at the castle, he’d decided to busy himself with his silversmithing hobby. While gold was inert to magic, silver was not. Ossian hadn’t told me what project he was working on, other than to say it was critical to what happened after I summoned the portal to his home realm.

The gooseflesh along his bare arms indicated Ossian was missing the heat of the smithy, but he pulled me down to sit beside him on the little stone bench. It hadn’t been engulfed by the unchecked growth of the roses, not yet. The stone would’ve been freezing had the white fur coat he’d given me not turned away its touch as I sat down, tucking a leg under me.

The fae king took one of my hands in his, thumbs stroking along the ridges of my knuckles. “Open yourself to me, Meadow.”

His grip tightened as I tried to yank my hand away. Our training sessions always involved touch. Had this just been a clever ploy, a ruse to lower my guard?

“But—”

I flinched as he reached up and smoothed a lock of hair behind my ear. The golden haze warming the edges of my mind encouraged me to submit.

“It’s not what you think, love. Your idea to tap the roses has given me pause. A moment of reflection. Last week I was intent on breaking your curse myself. I was… remiss in upholding my end of the bargain. This is your burden to bear, as much as I hate it, but I can give you the tools to succeed. Now, surrender.”

Swallowing thickly, I allowed myself another shudder before dropping my guard. His presence filled my consciousness, uncomfortable but not searing, and we went to the shrouded oak tree of my magic. This time, he kept that painful sparking copper magic to himself and we simply gazed at the chain mail curse. Well, maybe he gazed. I glared.

“I promised you I would help you seize your potential, Meadow, and the path is simple in its explanation,” his disembodied voice intoned. In my mind, it rang with the deep bell-like tones of its actual timber, but it held none of its usual warmth.

“One of the differences between a mage, any human with magical ability, and a fae is the way we access our magic,” he continued. “Yours is a core, like this tree. Mine is me. It’s infused in every cell—we cannot be separated, we cannot be blocked. There is no distinction. It is as much a part of me as my blood, as the texture of my hair, as the color of my eyes.

“You tap your power. That is why witches and warlocks and everything in between will never be as powerful as fae. But, for the few truly talented and powerful, you can become like us.”

Become. The word held more meaning to me than anything else he’d said, vibrating in the very center of my being like a strummed harp string.

“You are Violet Ní Dara’s true daughter, heir to her power. Your core resembles an oak tree because of her. Now, you must become it, Meadow. Absorb it fully into you until there is no distinction. Its roots will become your feet, its trunk your body, its canopy your mind. Its heart—its true power—will be your heart. Become that, and you will be unstoppable.” He chuckled. “Among witches and the mages of this realm, at least.”

Ossian released his hold on me then, returning to himself. I opened my eyes to find him staring intently at me, my hand gripped tightly in both of his. My bones shifted painfully.

“In practice, I suppose it is similar to your grounding techniques. Instead of drawing externally, draw internally. Your core is alive, and everything that is alive has a rhythm. A pulse. Feel your magic like you would the plants here. Meld your rhythms together. You can start with simple breathing exercises—match your breath to the pulse you feel. Then your heartbeat to that pulse. The more you free your core of the curse—when you can truly touch your magic again—the easier it will be.”

“It’ll also be easier if you don’t break my hand,” I said.

The fae king blinked, his intensity gone, and he released my pale hand. Circulation and the flush of life flooded back into it, and I massaged my knuckles.

“I’m going to shut the courtyard door and seal it from the outside. You need peace and quiet and no distractions for this to work.” The fae king withdrew a bell similar to Mrs. Bilberry’s from a pouch on his belt and set it on the stone bench. “This bell is enchanted to be heard anywhere in the castle no matter how softly it is rung. Ring this when you’re ready to come in, and someone will fetch you.”