For some reason she couldn’t bring herself to care about, Gandrett dismissed any shred of caution, any resolution she’d made to let the male rot in Hel’s realm, and reached out to take his broad hand in hers, the dandelion sticking out from between their fingers.
Chapter Fourteen
Training that day was quiet. Nehelon didn’t tell her off for not being able to get her magic going. He didn’t saunter around the clearing, shirtless and doing workouts, while she spent hours staring at that heap of soil that still hadn’t moved. She didn’t try her luck with water again—not only out of respect for Nehelon’s loss but out of fear of what would happen if the water rushed into her the way the flames did.
Still, only the fire came when she called it. It came with unnamable tendrils of flame and was unforgiving with its heat. Nehelon didn’t casually surveil her the way he had before when she was doing the tasks he had given her. Today, his attention was that of a hawk; precise on her without any intention of hiding it.
“Why do I even have magic?” she asked halfway through the afternoon. It was the one question she hadn’t let herself think of. Because any answer might be worse than not knowing at all. There was a reason people with powers were banished to the Fae realm.
Nehelon stood beside her, eyes on her hands as she held them toward the heap of soil, which was scorched in places but hadn’t moved. “That’s hard to tell.” He stalked around her, face tight as he studied her work—or better, absence of results. “Legends say that the powers came from the gods who loved their people.”
Gandrett considered for a moment. “That might be true for the Vala-blessed,” she said and thought of Surel and the other Vala-blessed at Everrun who manipulated water with such ease and grace, their magic not a burden like Gandrett’s but an actual gift that helped them keep the lands fertile, among other things.
With a nod, Nehelon sat beside her, resting his forearms on his propped up knees. “But what of the others? What of Hel? What power does he grant? Death? For the gods know that death can be a blessing—a gift in its own way.” Gandrett didn’t interrupt to ask if he had wished for that gift in his long, long existence. Something in the way his eyes clouded over told her he had. “Or Nyssa? What power does the goddess of love bestow upon her people?”
Gandrett lowered her hands and rested them on her thighs. “Love and fertility.” Those two words had little meaning in Gandrett’s life other than that there was no one left who loved her—even her brother she had been away from for too long, and he had been too young to really remember her—and with the right tool, the civilization in Everrun had survived for over a thousand years in the middle of the Calma Desert.
“Fertility is a gift, and I don’t only mean the soil beneath your feet but the ability to sire offspring, to conceive—” He gave her an odd look that made her want to hide her face, but his gaze compelled her to stare into those diamond-blue eyes. “As for love… We Fae know love as well as you humans.” Very nice. So, he reminded her again of what they were: two entirely different species. “Love for our families… But the other type of love—the romantic type—” His voice had dimmed as if the topic was uncomfortable. “That love is rarer. And even rarer than that are Mates.”
Gandrett remembered him mentioning that that woman, Ygri, might have been his Mate, but she didn’t understand what exactly that meant. So she swallowed the concern of what she would do to Nehelon if he broke out in laughter at her question and asked, “What is that, a Mate?”
Nehelon didn’t laugh but finally looked away, releasing Gandrett from his gaze. “A Mate is the purest and strongest connection a pair can have. It is the answer to the lament of every Fae’s heart. It is more than to call someone husband or wife. When you are Mated, you become one.”
It was unsettling somehow, having Nehelon speak about such things, to imagine him as a being with a heart and the desire to find that answer. It triggered an unfamiliar sensation in her chest, which curled up and purred as she studied his thick, black lashes when he blinked and lowered his gaze to the ground. She shook her head. “And Demea, Galloris, Shaelak, and Shygon?” The gods of the hunt, war, darkness, and, of course, of dragons… What were their gifts to this world?
“Demea blesses the huntsmen … and women.” His gaze shot back up to her. “Demea favors the women of this world, so I’ve been told. While Galloris lends his strength to those in battle.”
Battle. “Then Galloris is the god I should be praying to, not Vala,” Gandrett spoke softly, frustration dampening the fire in her veins. She had fought with a blade longer than anyone should be forced to do. And she had come to love it. Her blade made of iron was her companion as much as—
She swallowed the thought that the male beside her might be the only companion she had left—not companion. She didn’t know what this was. Why he cared whether she lived or died, whether she was banished from human lands to live out her days in Ulfray. The only thing she was certain of was that she should be grateful. That his steel will was the reason she hadn’t gone mad, or she hadn’t incinerated herself. But then—what was her life worth now. A soldier of Vala. Vala’s Blade.
Her head rolled from side to side, eyes set on Nehelon’s diamonds as if she were answering a question with a hesitant no.
“Shaelak should be the god I pray to,” was all he said in return. “Or Hel.”
“Why those two?” The question was out before she could bother faking non-interest. She was.
“If that isn’t obvious…” He rose to his feet and prowled toward the tent, leaving her to move the heap of soil.
But Gandrett had watched him walk away too many times and watched him avoid questions and answer with silence. She was on her feet with a leap that the Meister would have been proud of—not that she cared; she no longer cared what anyone thought—and followed him to the tent on feet as silent as she could manage.
“Why those two,” she demanded as she stepped into the half-light of their shelter.
Nehelon had settled down on his bedroll and closed his eyes. He didn’t move any other part than his lips as he told her to ask him again when she had mastered her magic. Then, he would give her answers.
And that was that.
That day, her magic didn’t respond, neither to anger nor to gentle calls—as the days that followed. Gandrett let Nehelon bring her breakfast every morning and sat before the heap of soil until late at night every day, not poking Nehelon again about anything. That he had bothered saving her from her magic was a distant memory by the time Riho fluttered in from the southeast.
He grumpily cawed at Gandrett before he landed on the peak of the tent and watched her with inquisitive black eyes.
“He’s not here,” Gandrett threw at the bird and studied him until she noticed a piece of parchment tied to one leg, and she jumped up, closing the gap between her and Nehelon’s feathered friend in a few quick strides. “I can take this,” she offered and reached for the tiny scroll, and as Riho didn’t show any signs he was going to let her pluck the message from his leg, Gandrett asked, “Did you find him?” She didn’t let hope flare until Riho cawed and clicked his beak. A yes? She wasn’t sure. “Is he on his way to the priory?” She didn’t pause to give the bird the chance to give another of his unintelligible sounds but continued asking questions, even if the answer was probably right there in that scroll. “Is he taking the route along the Ulfrayan border? Did Lim get to him? Is he safe?”
She had not let herself think about all the dangers along the road to Everrun. Even if Andrew made it past Ulfray safely, he still might encounter threats he had no chance of mastering. Like the desert lions. She shoved the thought aside.
Riho clicked his beak again and hopped along the top of the tent, looking rather impatient.
“He should be here any moment.” She didn’t bother saying Nehelon’s name. Something told her the bird understood. The same way he had carried her messages to Nehelon. “What kind of creature are you?” she asked, only half-aware
that she was speaking, but Riho hopped closer and stared her down.
“All right. No answers then until he’s back.”
As if Nehelon had heard her, the wall of wood and greenery untangled behind the tent, and the male entered her beautiful forest-prison with a dynamic gait. “About time,” he said to the bird by way of greeting.
Riho took flight and circled over Gandrett once before he landed on Nehelon’s shoulder with a caw and held out his leg for the Fae to detach the scroll.
“From Andrew?” Gandrett could hardly control her beating heart as she anxiously waited for Nehelon to unfurl the parchment.
But he shook his head. “The Meister.”
It was all he said before he kept reading.
So, Gandrett exercised patience until the male looked up, brows knitted together, and said, “You’re leave has been extended.”
“By the Meister?” Gandrett couldn’t ask any other question than that. “Why?” She had hoped to hear about Andrew, that her brother would be safe in Everrun, but this—“
“Consider your service to house Brenheran extended, Gandrett,” Nehelon said with an unreadable face. Even that warmth that had filled his eyes since he had shared about his history … it was gone.
Gandrett felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. “No.” She folded her arms. “No, I was done with my task. I was free.”
Nehelon chuckled darkly, not with mischief but with some sort of understanding that was even more disturbing. “You yourself have told me once that you will never be free of the Order. Even if your task was accomplished and you were done serving Lord Brenheran, you have a new assignment now.”
Gandrett stormed toward him with an outstretched hand and grasped the piece of paper from his fingers. The Fae male let her.
My dear friend,
The traveler will be welcomed with open arms, and I will make sure he remains safe at my priory until Miss Brayton returns.
Your news of the Prince of Sives has caught my interest. Take Miss Brayton back to Ackwood, and use her in whatever way helps the heir of both Sivesian houses most. Unity of Sives is the first step. The others will follow in time. I will be expecting your reports.
Pete Nemey
“Pete Nemey?” Gandrett blurted out. “That’s his name? Pete Nemey?” It was the first thing that she could comprehend in the cleanly scripted lines.
Nehelon fashioned a grin but said nothing as he took a defensive stance.
“And use her in whatever way you need?” She held up the parchment, ready to tear it to pieces as the heat inside her chest flared. “In whatever way? Seriously. That’s what I am to you? An object to use? A weapon? A puppet?” Her breath came raggedly as she started pacing, no longer able to remain in one spot. Especially not when Nehelon had gone utterly still, a handsome statue in the summer breeze. “That’s what my life is going to be like? I will be handed over like a tool? And to what end?” She flung her arms in the air as if she could shake an answer from there. “And Andrew? What if I don’t want to go back to Ackwood? Is he collateral? A hostage? Will Pete Nemey lock him up in the empty cells at the priory?” She thought back of that first day she had locked Nehelon there, how the Meister had welcomed him with open arms and how they had talked—conspired—about her mission with a smile on their faces.
Nehelon still wasn’t answering, but her magic was. It tinged in her arms, then palms, then it crept out of her. Not fire, but something else. The ground shuddered beneath her feet. Mildly at first; then it cracked where her foot had been a moment ago. And cracked. And cracked. And cracked further.
Gandrett froze, following the line as it slowly cleaved open in front of her, right toward where Nehelon stood, his face now blank with surprise.
“How in the gods’ names—“ He leaped aside with a vulgar curse while Riho fluttered back to the tent as Nehelon kept cursing and cursing while the crack in the earth continued until it hit the wall he’d built with his magic.
Gandrett, to no small satisfaction, understood the change in his features for what it was—fear. Nehelon was scared—of her magic, of her being uncontrollable, or of dropping into the canyon that was now snaking past his feet, she couldn’t tell. But the fear, that was real.
Chapter Fifteen
The day was baking hot for so early in summer. Midsummer Solstice was just around the corner, and if Nyssa looked upon them kindly, she would send some rain before the celebrations so the bushes and trees in the gardens could breathe that they would be lush and inviting and soft.
Brax reached down and ran a hand over the lawn. Too dry. The rain had been stuck in the east, the thunderclouds never just making it over the mountain ranges that separated most of Sives.
“Worried the girls will scratch their backs on the dry grass?”
Brax shot up as Josh jogged toward him, the heir of Sives in his burgundy jacket, black pants, and polished boots. Perfect for his role, royal, his golden-brown hair reflecting the afternoon light, making it look alive.
Straightening up, Brax loosed a laugh that sounded forced, but Josh came to a halt beside him and laid an arm over Brax’s shoulders. “Just kidding, brother.” He squeezed. “But if I believe the servants, during the past few Solstices, you have built quite a reputation among the ladies in court.”
Brax frowned at Josh’s lighthearted chuckle. How could he push aside what had been done to him? How could that smile remain after years in the claws of someone else’s control? His own mother, for the gods’ sake.
“Anyone in particular you have set your eye on this year?” Josh asked and pulled Brax forward, back to the palace, passing servants busy with erecting gossamer tents.
Brax shook his head, hair sliding into his eyes, but instead of pushing it away, he lowered his gaze to the ground and studied to browning blades as they seamed the white gravel path that led to the main building. How could he explain to Josh that there was one person he would very much like to see for the Solstice, and he would never dare bed her on the grass—or anywhere else? She was bound by an oath, and for what it was worth, Brax respected that. It intrigued him. For once, someone was on a path that was clear. Not like his own winding path of life that ended nowhere but in random girls’ beds. Not that it wasn’t enjoyable. Just… some meaning would have been nice.
“Let’s see if someone catches my eye this year,” he said as they entered the palace, and he laid his arm around his brother’s waist. Josh was back. He was happy. That was all that mattered, wasn’t it?
They made it down the hallway before Mckenzie approached them with a stern face.
“Did you see it?” she asked, her neck and face flushed under her fair curls as she stalked up to them, carrying a piece of paper in her hands.
“See what?” Josh responded first.
“She invited them all.” Mckenzie ran her index finger over the long list of names as she stopped before them, blocking their path with her short frame but with the heart of a queen. “All of them.” She spat the words, and Brax understood that she was talking about the guestlist for the Solstice.
Josh plucked the sheet from their sister’s hands and held it up for everyone to read.
“Aucrosta, Aphapia, Grenta,” he read out the houses of the territory of Lapidos, south of Ulfray. “Saza Brina, even Dumcon.”
Brax shared a look with his brother. While the House Saza Brina ruled the territory of Phornes in the south, encouraging the people to thrive, the House Dumcon was still rooting for the old ways, undermining the progress that had been achieved in Khila. The capital of Phornes was a colorful place of culture and education for both men and women, unlike what it had been before the House Saza Brina had defeated Dumcon in the Battle of Khila after the assassination of Sentra Dumcon, Queen of Phornes at that time.
“You won’t let this happen, Josh, right?” Mckenzie looked at him with those same child’s eyes she had always had.
“Let what happen?” Josh’s gaze bounced back and forth between the tw
ins.
“Do you want to tell him, or should I?” Brax tilted his head as he waited for Mckenzie to speak.
Not surprisingly, Mckenzie took a deep breath before she cursed colorfully at the plans Brax had overheard a while ago. “Do you agree with Mother,” she finally asked after she laid out the horror of being sold off to a foreign noble.
Josh’s eyes had widened, dismay gracing his gentle features. “I didn’t know,” he said quietly but not weakly. “But it wasn’t Mother who invited them all. It was I.” Mckenzie’s features twisted in hurt. “Not for the reasons that she has, sister, but to anchor the position of a unified Sives in all of Neredyn. If I am to become king and protector of Sives, I will need allies who have until now supported the split, east and west, separately.”
“So you invited them and are now playing into Mother’s hands.” Anger flickered inside Brax’s chest as he listened to Josh’s explanations.
“Your mother has always made her own plans, in case you haven’t noticed.” Something bitter had entered his gaze as he glanced from Brax to Mckenzie and back to Brax. “Smile at the men from our potential allies at the Solstice; dance with them. Don’t promise them anything. Let them believe what they will, and when the celebrations are over, let them return to their kingdoms and negotiate with your mother. That will keep her busy while I prepare the future with Armand Denderlain.”
Brax’s mouth went dry. That was what his noble brother had to say? The brother he had admired all his life—until he had disappeared.
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