Chapter 43
The group was rushed to the edge of the dais while they awaited the thoughtrus fae. Asta risked a glance at Kaid, who returned her stare with a look steeped in worry.
Gyrial turned to everyone and rattled out few but important words.
“The thoughtrus magic will penetrate your mind and examine your deepest thoughts. Do not fight it—this could cause brain damage. Do not try to hide anything from it—this will cause it to draw more attention to that part of your mind. We have nothing to hide. Do not make it seem like we do.”
“Wise words for a male who abandoned his kind,” Jek interrupted.
Asta did not like this particular male, whether he was powerful or not. She was powerful, too.
A female fae with silver hair floated into the room as if she hovered on a cloud. She stopped at the edge of the platform and held out a hand to Lady Tressa, who had shuffled to the side of the dais. The lady took the female’s hand and examined it as a soft glow emitted from her fingertips.
“She is she,” Tressa declared.
So the white glow was a type of identification magic. The silver-haired female approached the group now and Asta could see that her irises were so silver they were nearly indiscernible from the whites of her eyes—very similar to the traitor siren from the village, but far less menacing.
Gyrial stepped forward, the willing volunteer. Asta was uncomfortable with her best friend going first, but she could not think of anyone else she would have wanted to take his place. She had grown to care for everyone here, and they were all in danger.
“Hello, Gyrial Bohr. You return to us at last. I’ve been waiting,” the female said.
“I planned to prolong my return indefinitely, but desperate times—you know. It is lovely to see you, Sabella.” Gyrial got down on his knees in front of Sabella and averted his eyes to the floor.
Sabella placed her hand on Gyrial’s head, her fingertips sifting through his braids and caressing his scalp.
As she closed her eyes, the air in the room became thick with something unfamiliar to Asta.
It smelled sweet and savory at the same time and the sensation in the air caused the hairs on her arms to stand erect.
Asta didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe while Gyrial withstood the thoughtrus.
She didn’t know much about magic, but she suspected one distracted thought, one hostile emotion and Gyrial would be done.
It seemed as though everyone else in their band of misfits did not dare disturb the process either.
After what felt like an eternity, Sabella released Gyrial’s scalp and stumbled backward, disbelief overtaking her every pore.
“His intentions are pure. But his exile…” Sabella covered her mouth with a shaky hand.
“Enough of your dramatics, mindwalker. Onto the next candidate,” Jek shouted dismissively.
Sabella stared at Gyrial with—was it pity?
She seemed to be the one selecting candidates, and when she approached Revna, Asta did not worry. If there was one singular person of their group who was guaranteed to pass this test, it was Revna.
The silver-haired fae plunged her digits into Revna’s ice-blue hair until the tips disappeared.
It took the fae half the time to search Revna’s mind compared to Gyrial’s.
She steadily stepped back and nodded toward the fae council on the dais.
“Pure,” Sabella stated, then stood in front of Kaid.
Asta’s heart skipped a beat. Before she knew what she was doing, Asta pushed her way between Kaid and the female.
“Eager, are we?” Lady Tressa suggested with an eyebrow raised.
Asta mimicked a curtsey, though she ignored the usual mannerisms of a proper dip. “Eager to prove to you all that there is no need for such interrogation. Eager to prove to you all that you are delaying aid to the ones who wish to end a war.”
Lady Tressa scrunched her nose, but did not object.
Asta did as the two before her had done and sunk down to her knees. However, she did not avert her eyes to the floor. She stared deeply into Sabella’s mirrorlike gaze, and Sabella stared back.
Sabella smirked, one corner of her mouth turning up obscurely. A sign of respect.
The fae female gave a jerky nod, then pushed her fingers through Asta’s hair. The moment she felt the pads of Sabella’s fingers graze her scalp, the female’s eyes became blurry, then completely clouded over with depictions from her own conscience.
Images of Asta’s father flashed quickly, as though Sabella was flipping through her memories until she found something of interest. The mindwalker moved onto Maren, forcing Asta to relive the images of her sister bearing skin shredding teeth and pointed ears.
These memories lingered longer, as if Sabella was investigating the details more closely.
Anything Asta had pushed to the edge of her memory, Sabella dragged back front and center. She saw her moments in her suite with her friends, the times she daydreamed with Linnea, the moment she found Thurs.
Then, every memory with Kaid resurfaced in a beautiful montage of hate and want.
First, they met in the hall outside of the party the first day he had arrived.
The scene quickly changed to the beach where she kicked a bit of water at him.
Asta would always feel guilt for that—for reigniting the beacon of his princedom.
Then they were in her dimly lit bedroom, his palm resting on her stomach.
Then they were in the cave and—no, no. These memories were for Asta, not some fae she had just met.
Instinctively, she pushed. The thoughtrus lunged at her like a cobra, its fangs penetrating her protective shield around her memory. Asta felt a dull ache with every blow the cobra struck, the tattered shield still holding, but not for long.
Asta knew her defenses would only withstand a handful more hits before coming down. She knew that if that happened, she risked memory damage. She knew that it was silly to hide such a thing; to sacrifice so much for one small private memory. But she could not stop.
As the cobra reared back for the final, mind melting blow, it retreated, disappearing back toward the infiltrative mass in Asta’s mind. Toward Sabella.
Then, an image that wasn’t true but could very well become a reality poured through Asta, bleeding into every crevice and congealing.
Asta saw herself, hunched over something wrapped in a tattered blanket. She rocked rhythmically, counting aloud.
“Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight. One, two, three…”
The counting continued in a loop as Asta rocked a newborn child.
The baby screamed in her arms, but she was too lost to the counting.
Too lost to her ritual. The only indication that this alternate-reality “Asta” acknowledged the child was the crinkle of her crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes.
But she could not stop. She must count, and count, and count.
Not only that. She must produce child, after child, after child.
One heir was not enough. One heir was not enough.
One heir was not enough. Birth the children, raise them, marry them off.
That was her purpose. And it drove her mad.
She watched as the elder Asta lightly tapped the edge of the blanket—tapping, tapping, tapping.
Rocking and counting. Tapping. The screaming persisted from the baby.
It was her own personal Hell. It was her greatest fear.
That was what thoughtrus was intended for. Through her greatest fears, Sabella could determine her greatest desires.
Sabella withdrew, the tendrils she had wrapped around Asta’s brain retracting with a tickling sensation. When Asta returned to the throne room, she was still staring deeply into Sabella’s silver gaze. The female gently smiled at her, her cheeks flushed and a sheen of sweat on her brow.
Was thoughtrus draining? Had Asta’s been difficult? She did not see the fae female look so drained until she completed Asta’s assessment. Her stomach churned with nausea from both living through her worst nightmare paired with Sabella’s pending result.
The blonde princess dared a glance at Kaid, who was breathing heavily in anticipation. She wondered if her thoughtrus was longer, like Gyrial’s, or shorter, like Revna’s. Either way, Asta had pushed against the magic, which Gyrial had specifically instructed she not do.
“I need… time,” Sabella announced over her shoulder toward the dais. “Let me gather my thoughts while I continue assessments.”
Jek stood up, his hands fisted into tight balls. “I demand you report whether she is a threat or not. Your council demands answers!”
Sabella snapped her gaze to Jek, baring her elongated fangs with a hiss. “You will not rush me. Am I not your only mindwalker? Am I not the only one who understands what this power requires? Magic does not abide by our rules. We abide by the laws of magic.”
To Asta’s surprise, Lord Karlana sat back on his throne without another word, his face deep crimson.
Sabella quickly worked through her assessment of Soren. Moving onto Kaid, Asta’s chest tightened. The thought that continuously gave Asta comfort was that she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Kaid’s intentions were pure in wanting to help the sirens bring peace to the Ventarin Seas.
The siren prince’s assessment was swift, Sabella hardly touching Kaid’s head before she determined that he was trustworthy.
They only had one more person—Tova. The sea dragon shifter was shaking like a leaf, her usual carefree demeanor buried with worry and anticipation. Asta did not know what she had to worry about. She wanted the sirens to be free of war as much as everyone else here.
As the thoughtrus fae approached Tova, the sea dragon glanced toward Asta and shook her head before averting her gaze.
Sabella grabbed Tova’s head and jerked, her arm stiffening and her fingers grasping roughly at Tova’s scalp.
The females breathed heavily in unison, their bodies shaking.
Before long, Sabella released her grasp and fell backward onto her rump.
Tova fell to the side, convulsing and foaming at the mouth.
Asta rushed to her friend’s side. “What have you done?” she shouted through gritted teeth. “What is wrong with her?”
“She resisted,” Sabella crawled back, awestruck. “I could still see her memories through her fight. She had no reason to push me.”
Asta brushed Tova’s hair from her face as her eyes lolled back and her convulsions subsided. She was still breathing, but what the fuck was wrong with her?
“Tova? Tova! You need to wake up!” She shook her friend’s body.
Asta felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Kaid, lips turned in and sympathy in his gaze. “She resisted, Asta. She knew the risks. There isn’t—” He shook his head. “We will take her home with us. Maybe being in a familiar setting will help.”
Lord Karlana clapped slowly, dramatically, as he stood once again. “A traitor in our midst, as we expected. And what of the blonde creature?”
Asta instinctually hissed at him, her siren at wits end with this fae council after losing her friend.
Sabella gestured toward Asta. “She is of pure intent with the trident. She is of pure intent of anything she sets her mind to.” The silver-haired fae faced Asta and continued speaking in hushed tones.
“I worried, regarding your relationship with your sister, that you may wish to use the trident to reconcile with her somehow. But I see now that you are one who says what you feel, and acts on how you feel. And above all else, you covet the moments you share with others when you are acting on your emotions. I cannot fault you for such a thing. Truthfully, I commend you on your willingness to risk your wellbeing to protect those moments. You are not your fears. You are not a vessel for breeding. Your rituals do not make you mad. You are you, and that is valuable. You are you, and you should not question your worth because of habits you cannot control. They do not define you. Do not let them.”
Asta, grateful to the mindwalker, bowed her head—an action a princess should perform for no one besides kings and queens.
She was forever indebted to the female for respecting something she coveted so dearly even though she could have snapped her mind in two for harboring a memory.
Through it all, her honorable intention was clear and allowed her to pass the thoughtrus test.