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Nona had a heart of gold and went out of her way to help those in need. If anyone sought her out for assistance, she never hesitated to provide help, whether it was salves for scrapes or tonics for colds. Unfortunately, some superstitious villagers believed that she was an enchantress, which caused many to fear her and avoid her. But those who didn't fear her quickly learned that she was the epitome of kindness and selflessness.
Despite the rumors and accusations leveled against her, Nona never spoke ill of anyone or held grudges. She was a beacon of light in my world, always ready to lend a helping hand to those in need. I couldn't recall ever hearing her utter a harsh word about anyone, and I doubted she had a mean bone in her body.
Even after. . .
No. I would not think about him.
Not now, not ever again. But fear still wove its way over my nerves. I could not imagine what he would have to say once I was back. I would not imagine it, no!
My mind was made up.
I would stand my ground, stand up to him. He had no more power over me than anyone else did. I was my own person, I would not cower before him in terror or allow him to continue his ill-fated pursuit. But the thoughts of Kaston did not leave me, they lingered like a vulture over a dead carcass. However, my mind questioned how much of this had been by his own fruition and how much of it had been influenced.
I so desperately wanted to believe that was not the real him.
Another face flashed before me, his mismatched eyes, his scent, his white blonde hair. My heart fluttered again as I remembered the way he held me at the Conwell’s ball. The warmth of his hand on my skin, the intense gaze as the people around us all melted away. The melody played in my head, the feel of his strong arms as he whirled me across the marble floor.
Lost for a moment in the memory.
It flickered in and out as it morphed into another. This one was not one I recognized. This one was not mine. She was there again, the little girl, but she was in the arms of the same man I’d seen before. The one with the coronet of laurel leaves upon his brows. His strong hands held hers as her feet rested atop his.
Their laughs echoed through the room.
The room was dark, with wood paneled walls lit with a warm glow from the fire and sconces. Covered in paintings of centuries long past. The lush deep burgundy carpet under her feet muffled, deafening her giggle as she smiled. He held onto her, her little feet atop his as they danced. Their laughter reached the far corners of the room.
The smile he had, matched hers as he showed her the proper steps.
The music was a tune they all knew well. A tune they shared with her every night. In the corner a woman sat in a large settee; her white cotton dress puddled around her feet, watching the pair. A soft smile on her lips as she embroidered, the needle going in and out of the white satin.They did not speak, they did not need to.
She could feel the love from them, from the pair of them. She was their world, and soon they would be joined by another. Soon the three would become four. The excitement she had felt earlier that day had continued as the time wore on. The fire crackled in the hearth, the flames dancing along the logs. The music had hit its crescendo and as it came to an end, she bowed to him.
The little girl ran to the woman, tugging her hand as she led her back to the man with the laurel crown. Taking her in his arms, she restarted the music for them. As she watched them dance across the room, her heart burst with joy and love. The warmth of love and happiness shared within the stone walls of their home never seemed to end. Nothing could be better than this, nothing could separate them.
Not ever.
When the memory faded, the image wavered before fading to black, it left me alone in the tall grass. My heart aching, wishing to know who they were. Why I was having these visions. What the purpose was behind them. Was I supposed to see them, supposed to help them?
Who were they?
The biggest question that hounded me over and over. The question burned like a hot knife. If I wanted any answers I would have to ask. But who? Who would know? I glanced up at the castle again. It was at least another day’s journey away. It was then that it occurred to me. The Goblin King would know. He had to know who they were. With a renewed sense of purpose I made a dash for the castle. Going as far as I could before I lost my breath. I needed to cover as much ground now as I could, I needed answers.
ChapterEighteen
THE GOBLIN KING
In the rippling water of the seeing well, I caught a glimpse of her determined face as she made a beeline towards the castle. Her lithe figure moved with a purpose that hinted at her strength and determination. I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe as I watched her, a small smile tugging at my lips. She was truly something else.
As the sun began its descent, the stained glass windows bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. Time was of the essence; she had only two days left to complete the task. If she succeeded and everything went according to plan, I would finally be free. Free to seek the revenge that had been burning within me for so long.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps on the stairs broke my reverie, and my heart leaped to my throat. I was no longer alone. The door slammed open, and Hendrix barged in, his presence shattering every sense of calm and serenity I had cultivated.
Tossed out the window.
Hopefully followed by Hendrix as he tried to speak to me. If he didn’t stop huffing soon. . . his failure to catch his breath was grading on my patience. Whatever it was that he had to say must have been important enough for him to run all the way here. Despite being Fae, the curse limited far more than just access to power, to the magic, to the veins of it that flowed through the land. The power of healing was limited to all of us.
Lesser Fae and immortals could not access any of the Realm’s magic, not while it was cursed. What power I could access had little to do with the curse. It was part of who I was, just like Hendrix. While we both could transform, we were restricted in what power and magic we could pull. I learned early on that if I sacrificed a little bit of myself, I could pull more. Weaving spells and webs in this game.
Hendrix, however, was aspecialcase. I eyed him carefully as he finally tried to speak.
