Page 50

Did my mother really⁠—

Arkyn snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Riv, are you all right?”

I nod.

“Is she all right?”

My eyes drop to the witch cradled in my arms. Her breath is light, her face free of her usual playful scowl. In her sleep, she looks so… young, so innocent. Every trace of the cunning female I’ve gotten to know is nonexistent. A ribbon of guilt unspools in my stomach. I shouldn’t have pushed her. I should have let her end the connection when she told me it was too much for her.

Achlys, still a fluffy white fox, whines as he circles my legs.

“She’ll be fine,” I tell them both. My grip tightens around her like my determination alone can will the words into action. “She’ll wake once she’s rested.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Ark asks.

“She will,” I snap, baring my teeth. “Now, take us home.”

Arkyn studies me, and I can almost hear the questions he wants to ask but won’t. Instead, he simply withdraws the blade I gifted him several Yules ago and slices it across thin air, opening a portal to the Fae Isles.

Chapter 14

RIVEN

The palace halls echo with the sound of our footsteps as Arkyn and I race toward Gwyn’s suite, her limp body cradled in my arms while Achlys’s claws click against the marble at our side.

We burst into the room. Ark yanks the chain beside the door, the bell clanging to summon Lettie, while I lower Gwyn onto the bed, my hands fisting uselessly as my sides.

She is my responsibility. Someone I vowed to protect.

And yet… I pushed her too far.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I should’ve listened.”

The weight of Arkyn’s gaze is so familiar I don’t have to look up to know my friend is watching me, assessing every fleeting thought that might be playing out on my face.

“What happened to her, Riv?” he asks, dragging two chairs beside the bed.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, collapsing into one and rubbing my jaw. “I think she used too much magic, but I’m not familiar enough with witch lore to fully understand the repercussions of what I made her do.”

Achlys, back in his hound form, leaps onto the mattress and settles in beside Gwyn.

Tentatively, Ark reaches out and scratches behind the dog’s pointy ears. “And what did you make her do?”

“I made her hold the connection with Rosemarie long past her limits, even after she warned me it was taking too much of a toll on her.” My head falls into my hands. “I just thought—” I swallow. “I thought after I gained some insight into the blight from my grandmother, I’d be able to save the Fae Isles, fulfill my bargain with Gwyn, and move on with my life.”

“Let me guess,” Ark begins. “Rosemarie told you what you needed to know, but it somehow makes everything worse?”

I lift my head and hold his gaze. “Pretty much.”

Achlys whimpers and nudges Gwyn’s limp hand with his nose.

“Great.” Arkyn frowns. “What’d she say?”

“I’m cursed.”

“This conversation is going to require a drink.” He ventures to the cart overflowing with spirits and grabs two crystal glasses and a bottle of sage liquor. Filling each glass halfway, he hands one to me. “What’s the curse?”

I down the drink in one gulp and hold it out for a refill. He pours until it’s nearly full, and I knock that one back too.