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“No.”
King Windre tilted his head from side to side. “It worked.” A bored smile crinkled his eyes. “I could feel it. It’s not meant for the Fae, so it would make sense that it didn’t do anything for Graceson.”
Geeta’s head snapped up, her coal eyes landing on the table and sliding over to Randsin. He didn’t shy away from her level stare, or the predatory way she tilted her head. Randsin and her had likely met on more occasions than one. His skin had been her prison for years upon years.
“Would you like me to break the spell cast upon your mind too?” Geeta rasped.
Randsin’s brown eyes grew wide. The room sat in silence and awe, waiting. His chin dipped with a small nod. Geeta stood, swaying on her feet for a moment before she took a shaky step forward. Dace shot out an arm to steady her, but she swatted him away.
Her hands looked knitted with black veins that bulged on top of them. Fingernails as onyx as her hair and as sharp as any sword reached toward Randsin. Her arms were held carefully in front of her. The thought of Randsin’s skull between those devilish hands made my own hands press into the wood harder. I could feel it groan under me. Hattie placed her palm on my knee.
Randsin clasped the witch’s wrist. She stilled.
“No,” Geeta said sternly as Randsin’s hand fell back to his lap. “I cannot give you your voice back. You made the trade for the token and your voice is theirs now. Only they could give it back. All I can do is unlock the memories that have been hidden.”
Her fingers wrapped around Randsin’s skull, her thumbs resting over his eyes. She whispered her chant now. I listened intently, wondering if anything she said would sound familiar. The tongue she spoke in was as odd to me as trying to speak with a cat or a wolf in the woods. There was a tune to her words now, a soft lullaby she cooed.
Randsin shot out an arm, gripping Shavarra’s hand. She yelped in surprise and tried to pull away, but her jerking movement and the sudden scream on her lips were cut short and she blinked slowly until her eyes fluttered closed and she sat still.
“What the fuck? Shavarra?” Graceson stood from his chair, leaning in front of her. He shook her shoulders gently. “Randsin, let her go.”
Geeta was the first to release, dropping her hands to her side. Randsin and Shavarra opened their eyes to the room.
Shavarra’s mouth fell open as she stared at Randsin. His face fell to the floor. Geeta stepped back and gave him room as he propped his elbows on his knees and covered his face, rubbing his eyes as if he had just awoken from a dream.
“Shavarra?” Graceson whispered, pulling her chin up to look at him.
“Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Hattie said.
“Randsin is…Randsin is from Tierasia. Randsin was a prince. His family had the token before the current queen killed his parents. His mother sent him to the well that brought him here. She saved him. Then King Ganglin found him and used the witch to hide his memories.” She shivered. “I saw his memories as if they were my own. It was so real.”
“Randsin is what now?” Graceson gasped.
“A prince, you buffoon.” Hattie laughed. “This is insane.”
Geeta’s cloak spun as she whipped around to look at the kings. “Am I free to go now? I’ve done as you’ve asked.”
The men exchanged a look. Dace finally said, “You are free as promised, but should you become a problem within Stylica, don’t think for a second that we would not hunt you for sport.”
“What a sendoff,” Jerydin whispered, leaning back in his seat.
“He means that in the most loving and respectful way,” King Windre added with a smile, patting the witch on the arm.
Geeta flinched away from his touch.
“No, I don’t,” Dace argued.
But that was enough for the witch. She yanked the hood of her cloak up and over her head, holding it against her body, and sprinted from the room. The room felt cold without her presence, without the wild spring of warmth from her magic.
“What does this mean for you?” Jerydin nodded toward Randsin.
Randsin pressed his hands against the table, his icy touch probing at our minds. “I…I can be king. Tierasia’s power is held by whoever holds the token. I have their token.” He patted his chest, his fingers tapping over the tattoo.”
“That’s perfect.” I smiled, feeling an idea spring into my mind. “Then we can split the tokens as they are meant to be.”
“Except we don’t have the second token?” Graceson pulled his chair out, plopping back into it, satisfied that Shavarra was just fine.
