by Nadine Mutas
Involuntarily, Basil had stepped closer, his mind racing with the implications of what the fae was saying.
“You see,” Calâr went on, “half-breeds may have trouble connecting with their magic because of their mixed heritage, but there is a way to facilitate the emergence and claiming of those powers.”
“Wait—half-breed? What the hell do you mean?”
“Oh, but of course.” Calâr’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t know, would you? You are not fully fae. Your father was a demon.”
His words knocked the breath out of Basil. Dizzy, he swayed, his chest tingling, his stomach making a dive for the ground. He stared at the fae in utter speechlessness.
“That is why you were taken out of Faerie and hidden with the witch family,” Calâr continued. “The relationship between your father and your mother was forbidden, and you would not have been allowed to live. They killed your father, and your mother died in childbirth. My friend managed to smuggle you out before they could kill you, too, because she had promised your mother to make sure you survived. When my friend’s death drew near, she realized her magic would lift upon her passing, and you would find out you’re more than human and might go in search of your identity. She thought it important for you to know the whole truth and learn to handle your powers. Thus, she tasked me to help you, and here I am.” He bowed his head. “I am happy to have found you safe and sound, Basil Murray.”
Basil’s thoughts whirled, trying to catch up with these stunning revelations. “How did you find me?” he managed to ask, clinging to whatever sense he had left.
“My friend gave me the name of the witch family she chose for you, and I went there in search of you, only to find out you’d left for Faerie. I have been following your tracks for as long as possible, but when I lost your trace, I used this to find your location.” He held up a compass. “It is bespelled by witches to point to someone’s whereabouts if you know their name, an old charm that I’ve had in my possession for some time.” At Basil’s frown, he added, with a humble smile, “I am an archivist of treasures and knowledge for the fae court, and I was fortunate enough to collect some valuables of my own over time.”
Basil studied him, his mind still piecing the puzzle together, his heart unconvinced. “If you met with Hazel, why isn’t she here? She’s been looking for a fae to take her into Faerie to join me, so why hasn’t she come with you?”
“Ah.” Calâr nodded. “You have a keen intellect. I understand your caution, but let me put your doubts to rest. Hazel was indeed eager to travel with me, but her witch friend—the redhead with the demon mate—mentioned a situation in the witch community with one called Juneau, and said the circumstances were too precarious for Hazel to leave and give Juneau and her witches reason to attack. Hazel was torn, for she wanted to find you and her daughter Rose here in Faerie, but I assured her I would take care of you, and that Rose was safe. I swore to bring both of you back unharmed, and she agreed to let me go in her stead.”
“Wait…you know about Rose?”
Calâr nodded. “My friend explained where she is, and that she is well taken care of. She is in no danger, and we can go take her to Hazel after we connect you to your powers.”
Basil was reeling, his thoughts a scrambled mess of ifs and buts and maybes, his feelings all over the place.
“Have you tried to connect with your magic yet?” Calâr asked.
Basil nodded numbly. “Didn’t work. I feel a hum, the buzz of power coursing in my veins, and I discovered my element is earth, but I haven’t been able to tap into it.”
“I have read of this happening. It is because your dormant demon powers are blocking access to your fae magic. There is a way to activate all your magic…I assume you don’t know your true name?”
“My what?”
“Every fae has a true name, revealed to them by the Fates at some point during their formative years, and that name holds all their power. There are rare cases of fae not learning their true name—as with you, probably because of either the glamour put on you, or your demon blood—and in these instances, there is a way to trigger that revelation. Once you know your true name, you’ll be able to access your powers.”
Calâr smiled. “I can help you with that.”
That devious, shameless liar.
Isa stared at the male fae on her doorstep, the very one she’d seen in the throne room that fateful night—when he murdered the fae who’d exchanged Basil. Oh, but he didn’t mention that, did he? No, he served up a bunch of lies half wrapped in enough truth to mask the deceit. Enough truth to whet Basil’s appetite for more, judging by the gleam in Basil’s eyes.
And who could blame him? Here he was, finally getting some more information about his heritage, as well as having the prospect of unlocking his powers dangled in front of him, something she knew he craved. This insidious male—Calâr—gave him these morsels of knowledge, gifted him with the insight into his past which Isa hadn’t been able to divulge to him.
For if she had told Basil about his half-demon heritage, about the circumstances of his mother’s death, he would have wanted to know how she knew. And how could she have explained it without giving away her involvement? No, it had been too risky, so she’d opted to keep her mouth shut and pretend she didn’t know.
And now she couldn’t even expose Calâr’s lies—that the fae who exchanged Basil had been his friend, had asked him to help Basil, that Basil’s father was long dead—because in order to call Calâr on his deceit, she’d have to reveal that she was there when Calâr learned about Basil, that she saw him murder the fae, and that Basil’s father was still alive—and looking for him.
And it would expose her as a liar as well, because she had known, and kept these truths from him all this time. She couldn’t afford to discredit herself in front of Basil, and she wouldn’t be able to explain to him why she hadn’t disclosed all she knew—not without telling him about the curse.
He couldn’t know. He couldn’t ever find out about her involvement in his past, that she’d dragged his mother back into Faerie, that Roana had cursed her…that she needed to take his life to save her own.
Which was why she hadn’t even told him his father was alive, even though she knew it would be incredibly important to him. For if he found out his father lived and was searching for him, he’d want to find him, of course.
But any meeting with the demon would put Isa’s life in grave danger—Basil’s father saw her that day in the palace, when she brought Roana back. She’d worn her bounty hunter garb, her face half covered, but there was a chance he might still recognize her as the one responsible for surrendering his lover and unborn child to the king and queen. And considering the bloody revenge he took on the whole of the royal court, he might butcher Isa where she stood if he realized who she was.
The web of lies she’d spun now threatened to trap her as well. She choked on the irony of calling Calâr a liar when she was no better. But what did he want with Basil? Whatever his endgame, it couldn’t be good, and he couldn’t be trusted. She needed to warn Basil without exposing herself.
“How will you do that?” Basil asked, startling her. His gaze rested on Calâr, his brow furrowed. “How does this true name triggering work?”
“There is an ancient oracle,” Calâr replied. “One of the facts it can reveal is a fae’s true name. I will guide you there and show you how.”
Isa narrowed her eyes. Was he speaking of the Nornûn? She’d heard of the temple, and how its worship had fallen neglected over time. Most fae didn’t practice the old ways anymore, and many cult sites of old lay long forgotten. She’d never heard of the Nornûn being used for a true name revelation, but then again, she hadn’t known of any cases like Basil’s before now. Knowing one’s true name since the early days of childhood was so natural, it hadn’t even crossed her mind that Basil might never have learned his.
Basil’s expression was thoughtful. “What about Rose? I set out to find her. I feel like we should ch
eck in on her first.”
“I understand your concern.” Calâr inclined his head again. “But rest assured, Rose is safe, and no harm will come to her where she is. There is no rush. You have ample time to claim your powers and your identity.”
What a load of deer shit. She barely held back her snort. If Calâr truly knew where Rose was, Isa would grow a pair of fairy wings. No, there was no way he had any information about her whereabouts. Isa had heard what the fae who exchanged Basil told both Basil’s father and Calâr, and it hadn’t included anything about the witch changeling’s location.
But once again, she couldn’t tell Basil Calâr was lying without betraying her own duplicity.
Still, she had to try. “Basil, can I talk to you for a second?”
His eyes of myriad shades of brown met hers. “Sure.”
She nodded at Calâr. “Excuse us for a moment.” And with that, she closed the door in the male’s face.
Basil raised his brows. “What is it?”
She signaled him to walk farther into the house with her. Once satisfied they were out of earshot, she said, “I don’t think you should trust him. He seems insincere.”
Basil blinked, jerked back his head. “Why would you think that?”
“I…” She closed her mouth, gritted her teeth. What could she say to convince him? “I’m just not sure he’s telling the truth.”
His brows drew together. “Everything he’s said so far rings true to me. He knows all these things about me, my family, and my past. And it makes sense.”
“I don’t think he is who he claims he is.”
“Okay, so who do you think he is?”
Again, she opened her mouth only to close it again. She huffed out a breath. “I don’t know. Someone with ulterior motives. Not someone who’s on your side.”
“Do you know him?”
She suppressed a sound of frustration. “No.”
“Then how do you know he’s false?”
“I don’t, not for sure. He just…rubs me the wrong way. It’s a…gut feeling. I sense he’s not being truthful with you, and I think you shouldn’t assume he has your best interests at heart.”
The hypocrisy of her argument slammed into her with the force of the rock she hurled at the flesh-eating fae. Dear Fates, could she be any more duplicitous? She had no right to cry foul at whatever trickery Calâr had planned, considering her own nefarious agenda.
Her breath stalled, threatened to choke her for her deceit. Darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. Exhaustion settled over her like a mantle of stone, and suddenly she had no strength left to argue with Basil.
She shook her head, closed her eyes, her voice thin. “Just be careful with him.”
“Hey.” He cupped her cheek with one hand.
She looked at him, and drowned anew in the finely sculpted beauty of his features, the warmth of his concern for her.
“I’m not discounting your warning,” he said, his voice velvet over her raw senses. “Right now, he’s my best shot at claiming my powers, but I’ll keep my guard up around him, okay?” His thumb caressed her cheek.
She nodded. He dropped his hand, and she wanted to snatch it back up, lay it on her cheek again so she could snuggle into his touch.
“But,” Basil went on, “is he right about the true name thing?”
“It’s possible, yes.”
“Every fae has a true name? You, too?”
“Yes.”
A small smile played about his lips. “I’d love to know yours.”
She bristled, straightened. “It’s secret. You don’t ever tell anyone else your true name.”
“Why?”
“Like Calâr said, it holds all of your power. It is strong, age-old magic, and it could—” Pieces clicked together in her mind, and she gasped.
“What?”
“Basil,” she whispered, “be very careful with Calâr. Knowing a fae’s true name gives you power over that fae. He might be trying to learn your true name so he can control you.”
He blinked in surprise, then frowned. “What for?”
“I don’t know, but it can’t be good.”
“But he’d only learn my name if I told him, right?”
“Right…”
“So I just won’t tell him.” Shrugging, he smiled. “Thank you for the heads-up.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek again, his eyes soft and warm. “I appreciate how much you care, Isa.”
Her heart splintered.
Silence. Finally.
Calâr rose from the sofa in the living area of the female’s house—Isa of Stone she’d called herself—and stole down the hall toward the nook in which Basil slept.
When Isa shut the door in Calâr’s face, he thought that was it, that she’d try to keep the half-breed from him, and he’d have to resort to more desperate means to steer Basil toward the oracle. She’d introduced herself as Basil’s protector, owing a life debt to him, though from the looks of it, there was more between them.
Whatever she was to the changeling—as long as she didn’t get in the way, Calâr would tolerate her. It was easier for the time being to have her come along, and to use gentler methods on Basil to get him where Calâr wanted him. Once there, getting rid of the female would be child’s play.
They talked for a bit when she allowed Calâr to enter her home, and agreed to start their journey toward Nornûn by the first light of morning. If it had been up to Calâr, they’d have left right away, but as it was only shortly after midnight, and Basil hadn’t slept, Calâr had not argued too much against staying until morning.
Just as well. Casting a spell on someone was a lot less difficult if the person was asleep. He might not get a better opportunity than now.
Standing over Basil’s bed, his pitiless gaze on the half-breed’s slumbering form, he smiled and called on the intricate magic to weave into his mind.
Chapter 18
Doing yard work, Rhun found, was a most excellent way to distract himself from a problem. Even one as large and looming as how to get Merle to cancel the fucking deal with Arawn and send Maeve to the Demon Lord.
That stubborn—he yanked out a weed—big-hearted—he hauled out another—damnably caring witch of his. He threw the weeds on the ground and trampled them for good measure. He’d have to hog-tie her after all, wouldn’t he?
Blinking at the morning sun, he weighed the risk of Merle hating his guts for the rest of their lives if he forced her to surrender Maeve, versus losing their baby. Damn it, the entire mess didn’t even make sense.
Maeve was promised to Arawn anyway, and sooner or later he’d claim her, and Merle would have to let her go. So why not give her up now? Keeping her around for a few months longer…it was not worth risking the life of their baby.
He jerked out another plant that didn’t belong. He’d always been a fan of ripping off a Band-Aid in one second instead of sloooooowly peeling it off over several minutes. It has to be done, it’s inevitable, so let’s get it over with.
“Uh, Rhun?”
He turned toward Merle’s voice, saw her standing on the back porch, her eyes still red from crying. Fuck if that sight didn’t punch him in the guts and shred them for good measure. If he could take her pain and make it his instead, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He enjoyed verbally sparring with her, but this? Fighting with her about Maeve bruised her soul, and he hated himself for it.
“You’ve got a visitor,” she said.
Frowning, he looked behind her to the door leading into the kitchen—where Maeve appeared. She nodded at her big sister, and Merle kissed her on the cheek.
“I’ll be in the library,” Merle muttered and went inside.
Rhun blinked at Maeve, tilted his head. “You’re here to see…me?”
In all the months since he helped rescue Maeve, had lived here in the old Victorian with Merle—Maeve having moved to the Murrays’ because she hadn’t been able to be around Rhun without having a panic attack, what with him being of the same
demon species as the bastard who tortured her—Maeve had never truly talked to him, especially not alone. In fact, he couldn’t recall that they’d ever been in the same room without someone else present.
He understood, of course. He’d seen first-hand what that fucker of a demon did to her, and in his darkest moments, images of Maeve’s bloody, beaten, sliced-up body still flashed across his inner eye, rivaling the gruesome memories of his sister’s death.
Maeve nodded and pushed her hair behind her ear, then froze. Looking down, she pulled her hair back over her face again. But it wasn’t enough to hide the nasty scar running from one side of her chin and over her nose to the opposite temple.
Rhun gritted his teeth. He wanted to kill that motherfucker again so badly, his whole body hurt.
Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, made sure his voice was gentle when he spoke. “What can I do for you?”
“Accept my apology.” She still sounded so husky.
He raised both eyebrows. “You didn’t do anything.”
“Exactly.” When he frowned, she elaborated. “It took me all this time to realize…I never thanked you.”
“For what?”
“You saved me.” Her tone indicated she was quite baffled about needing to explain it to him.
He shrugged, put his hands on his hips and looked to the side. “No need to thank me.”
“But I want to. You deserve—” She took a deep breath. “I should have thanked you sooner. I was just…too much of a coward to talk to you. I’m sorry—”
“You’re not a coward.” It came out harsher than he intended, and he grimaced. “Look, I get it. You don’t have to apologize to me. I never even expected any thanks—”
“Is it true you ripped his heart out?”
He paused, his chest heaving just from the memory of being in that blood-drenched warehouse. “His tongue, too.”
The corners of her mouth twitched.
“Broke every single bone in his body.”
Her eyes sparkled.
“Flayed the skin off his hands.”