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“What’s the difference?”
“One’s a bird, the other is more criminally inclined.”
Like a fist pounded against my heart, I fumbled to take a breath. The Falkyn Guild of the East.
“I mean, he’s a thief and smuggler, naturally he’d play games,” Calista went on, “but if anyone can whip up some tricky potion to heal the Golden King, it’d be him. We all can admit that.”
I knew of the Falkyn Guild, but didn’t know any of them personally. I’d heard them discussed in passing with Ari and Gunnar. I’d met a few members of the guild when Bracken still searched for Eryka.
“Who do we need?” I asked.
She swung her slender legs over the side of the bed, leapt off the edge, and landed in a crouch. “The Falkyn lead. Niklas Tjuv.”
My eyes popped. I shot to my feet. “He . . . he’s a potion master—an Elixist.”
The term was one I’d learned during the battle of the East, but speaking it now seemed oddly familiar. Then again, Alver Folk and Night Folk once lived amongst the isles under Riot’s reign. How many Elixists had I truly known in my life? I rubbed my forehead as muddy memories still shaped from a past I was still unraveling.
Calista nodded. “Niklas is tricky with those elixirs. Helped bring back the shadow king when his memories got all scrambled. Helped break out the cursed king when he was trapped, good and tight, in the North, too.”
I choked on a laugh. It was a ridiculous noise, wet and thick, but it was the first burst of relief I’d embraced since Ari fell asleep.
Niklas’s magic lived in potions and herbs and poisons. It lived in understanding different abilities. There was a slight enough chance he could help us with Ari’s sleep, with the poison Davorin placed in his blood.
“Gunnar Strom is waiting for my word,” I said. “He lived amongst the Falkyn Guild; he can reach out to them.”
“The thieving prince could do that,” Calista said, sheepishly. “But I already sent word.”
“What?”
“You ask that a lot. I said what I said: I already sent word that he might be needed. I shared a little—well, mostly a lot—enough to get him to act. Told him to keep his mouth shut around the shadow king too.”
“And when a falcon was mentioned you just thought it was best to keep that little detail quiet?”
“Didn’t put it together until now.”
I let out a groan of irritation.
Stefan chuckled. “Always a step ahead, Cal.”
“Wait.” I held up my hand. “Why didn’t you tell me, and when did you do this?”
Calista’s cheeks pinked and she fought to hide the embarrassment from being pressed into a corner. “The day before you arrived. There’s no telling if calls for help can even be sent from the isles right now, not with your stupid old love . . . I mean that tyrant running around. And I didn’t tell you since it was a hunch I needed to let sit for a time. Look, I think the hags are fools, but when they mentioned a falcon—I knew.”
My scalp tingled as blood rushed to my head. “If Niklas Tjuv knows of Ari, he’ll come.”
“Well, if he’s wise and heeds his wife,” Calista said. “I wrote to the lie taster. She’s the one who took me home after I was freed from the North. It’ll take time to get there, then they’ll need to prepare, and travel themselves. While we wait, we prepare what we can, then . . . I think we ought to return to the isles.”
“Agreed.” A burst of heat bloomed in my chest. I wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t bleeding eat until we were ready to leave. The pull back to my kingdom was insatiable. I wanted to protect my folk, but I wanted to place eyes on my husband even more.
Calista pointed to the last line. “I think this is about your king. A king will rise. He’s the only king on his back—well, except the dead ones.”
A king will rise, but only to his heart’s cries. Hope swelled in my heart. If it spoke of Ari, then he would wake.
“Strike the flesh, dim the foe. When the moment is right, you will know.” I grinned. “Sounds like we need to maim Davorin.”
“My favorite part of this whole prophecy,” Stefan said with a laugh.
Calista spoke through a yawn. “Remember, some of their words could be nonsense. Takes time to figure it all out.”
