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She leans forward, closing her eyes as she slams her hands against the ground. Silver sparks from her fingertips as she releases her magic unto my lands. Slowly, the blight recedes, revealing a small patch of lush, green grass.
A single flower bursts from the earth.
A smile lights up her face for only a moment before her expression twists into a thing of pain.
She rears back as the blight surges forward, swallowing the healed land entirely.
Her eyes fly open. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
My brow furrows. “Pardon?”
“The sensations I just felt… They’re not indicative of a curse on the Fae Isles, Riven.”
“You already said that.”
“How closely is your magic tied to your lands?”
“Why?”
“Just tell me.”
I sigh. “They are inextricably linked.”
“If that’s the case, then perhaps it’s not your lands that are cursed.”
“Meaning?” My chest tightens, a cold knot forming in my stomach.
“You are.”
Her words are a gut punch. I’ve long suspected something was amiss—ever since the pain began—but I’ve pored over tomes and consulted scholars, never finding any proof. Never thinking my agony could touch not just me and my lovers, but also my kingdom.
“But who would curse me?” I murmur, the question spilling out before I can stop it.
She shrugs. “That’s what we need to find out.”
“Maybe you’re misinterpreting what the lands are saying to you.”
“If you don’t trust my judgment, we can ask someone else in your bloodline—someone whose magic is as closely tied to the land as yours. Only they would be able to sense the blight as you do.” She tucks the vials back into her bag. “Any suggestions?”
“I’m an only child,” I say.
“And an orphan,” adds Arkyn, startling a yelp out of Gwyn.
She presses her hand against her chest. “Where did you come from?”
“Someplace dark and unpleasant, most likely,” he says, cutting her a devilish grin.
I try to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. “So if I’m an only child and an orphan—thank you for that unnecessary reminder, Ark—that leaves…”
Gwyn’s mouth twists to the side, and I can tell it pains her when she says, “Someone dead.”
“If you don’t feel comfortable—”
“It’s only a summoning. But who do you think will help you?” Her eyes darken as she suggests, “Godrick?”
“Fuck no.”
My words are a knee-jerk reaction that make her smile.
