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“Good, then you’ll want to be ready to bleed.” Niklas’s smile faded into something stern, something grim. “You must tell me everything you know of this corruption, no matter how small a detail, tell me.”
I told Niklas everything I knew of Davorin’s rise to power when Riot still held the throne. I told of his ability to switch faces and overtake hearts. He used it to kill. He corrupted. The more a person loved, the more they hated if the darkness of corrupted glamour spread to their heart.
Ari was guarded, but I’d never known a man who loved as fiercely. He’d be a monster if we did not alter the path of Davorin’s corruption.
Niklas scratched notes on a thick piece of vellum he’d removed from a satchel on the ground. Every few moments he’d pause, close his eyes, then reach into another pack his wife had placed beside him. The Elixist rummaged through vials and herb pouches. He’d dab a few spices or drops of sour smelling liquids onto his tongue.
Sometimes he’d write more notes. Sometimes he’d merely give me a nod to keep going.
“Now, you said when this mimicker fae took hold of Frey, your power forced him out. Explain that to me.”
I let out a long breath. “My gift speaks to the isles. I am the caretaker. If there is a threat to our land, my glamour communicates. It was more a feeling, or a whisper, that the glamour in the soil would cause him pain. Not long, but enough to wound him. It was like a collision of opposites. Davorin poisons, and I heal the land. But I can also adjust the land to alter a fated path. Like Calista writes, I might build new mountains, new rivers.”
Niklas scratched the scruff on his chin. “That’s fascinating. Can you do it anywhere like Valen?”
“I don’t believe so. In the West, I had no connection to that land.”
Niklas rolled up the scroll. “All right, well, I have a start, but it will be a challenge. We’ll need to take the tracker for his blood. He’ll be a good test subject.”
“You won’t kill him, will you?”
“I should hope not, or I might end up killing Ari.” Niklas tapped the center of his chin. “Just in case, perhaps we ought to take more than one guard.”
“No time,” Stefan said. He plucked the herb roll from his mouth. “Do you feel it? Something is coming.”
I froze, I hardly breathed. In the distance a steady beat of drums, the thrashing of brush being crushed beneath boots, lifted over the treetops. “More guards. They’ve overtaken this place. We need to get back to the Court of Blood.” I studied Bo with a touch of sympathy. “He’s not an enemy. Not really.”
“Right now he is.” Stefan stepped to my side. “This power that holds him hostage, it will spread. It can infect others. You know this.”
I bit into my bottom lip, hating Davorin for upending my home and heart, but nodded. “Bind him.”
Stefan and Ash bound Bo’s wrists with a rope brought by Niklas. I wrapped the end around the tracker’s throat, leaving enough to use as a fetter to hold. Stefan took the rope in hand as I cupped some of the water puddling in the soil.
With a soft hum, I splashed it over Bo’s face, urging him to wake.
“Did you see that?” Niklas said to his wife with true awe. “I have so many questions.”
She simply smiled and kissed his knuckles.
Bo spluttered and thrashed, swiping at his cheeks. Those hardened, dark eyes locked with mine in such a sense of hate, it stole my breath.
“You are coming with us as a prisoner and traitor to the isles of the fae,” I told him.
“Then you’ve signed your death.” He spat at my feet. “You are the traitor.”
A smirk curled in the corner of my mouth. I crouched in front of him and patted the side of his face with a bit of condescension. “Someday soon, you’ll eat those words, and I’ll expect a grand apology. Groveling, Bo. A great deal of it, or my husband will not be satisfied, I assure you.”
Bo laughed, a sound like knives on glass, cruel and uncomfortable. “Your husband? Is he not dead yet?”
A pain clung to my chest. Once, Bo laughed beside Ari at his table. More than once, Bo mentioned his respect for the Northern Ambassador, the way he connected with not only his own folk, but everyone across the kingdoms.
Now, he was a shadow of the loyal fae he was. Davorin destroyed friendship, love, hope. He replaced it with greed, hate, and bloodlust.
“Enough chattering, Raven Queen,” Calista said. “He’s not the friend you knew.”
Stefan tugged on the rope around Bo’s neck. Niklas rubbed a strange paste over his twisted wrist that had Bo screaming in pain, until all at once the bones were straightened and only a swollen bruise was left where Ash had shattered the tracker’s wrist.
Bo remained stoic on the journey deeper into the trees. Every few paces, he’d mutter about our weakness, or how he’d laugh over our corpses. He described the strength of his lord like Davorin was a bleeding god.
