Chapter 19
Elariya
“Ink, Blood, and Bone.”
Isank into the chair, trying to compose myself. Wolfe took his seat in the large leather chair across from me.
I swallowed hard. This was the opportunity I'd been waiting for, a chance to learn everything I could, no matter how small the detail.
Reaching under the desk, Wolfe grabbed a goblet and a bottle of dark red wine. He uncorked the bottle, poured it halfway into the goblet, and slid it toward me.
“Drink.” The command in his tone warned me not to argue, but I was going to anyway.
“It’s too early for wine.”
“Not on my ship. Now drink.” He tapped the goblet with one tattooed finger.
I rolled my eyes and decided to oblige. We’d already wasted enough time as it was. There was no point wasting any more.
I picked up the goblet and took a sip of the wine, and oh gods, it bloomed across my tongue in an array of succulent flavors, as sweet and delicious as the first batch of summer fruits. My eyelids fluttered closed involuntarily as the flavor cascaded down my throat.
Emabelle would have loved this. She had an addiction to sweet wine. This wine was unlike any I'd ever tasted. It sang with magic that called to something slumbering in my blood.
“What kind of wine is this?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended.
I looked up to find Wolfe watching me with keen eyes, as though my reaction had revealed something that intrigued him.
“Same as any other, except it's from the Ravenwood Realm.” The faint smile played across his lips, there and gone like summer lightning.
“I thought a taste of your heart's desire was in order.” He leaned forward slightly, our eyes locked across the desk.
“The Ravenwood is said to have the best wine in all of Vaelthorne.”
I gazed at him, taking slow tentative breaths. This appeared to be an act of kindness, but I was sure it had to be another control tactic. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but feel connected to it in some small way. I’d never had anything from the Ravenwood Realm before.
“It’s nice,” I muttered with faux nonchalance.
When I took another sip, I couldn't help but notice how his eyes tracked the movement of my throat as I swallowed.
“You’re allowed to enjoy it if you want.” Wolfe raised his brows and continued observing me.
I didn’t answer. I just drank the wine and allowed my mind the respite where I imagined Emabelle sitting here sharing it with me.
“See, you don't have to be on edge all the time,” he taunted.
“You're literally keeping me captive on this ship like a pirate, sailing to some unknown land. What exactly did you expect, gratitude?”
Wolfe chuckled. “In all my years, no one has ever called me a pirate to my face.”
“Hard to believe no one's been that honest before.”
“It's true. I've lived many lifetimes, and you've managed it twice in one day. You're either very brave or very lucky.”
That’s the second time he’d hinted at his age. This morning, he said he had decades of practice. Now he was talking about lifetimes. How long was a lifetime to him? “Exactly how old are you?”
He arched a brow, slow and deliberate, looking like he was fascinated with me again. He grabbed another goblet and poured himself some wine, then took a sip before returning his gaze to me.
“How old do you think I am?” His question carried a strange weight, as though testing me.
I hated questions like that. I always felt bad if I got it wrong and caused offence.
I studied him closely, trying to see beyond the intimidation. Past the wild beard and the crude power in Wolfe's expression, I searched for clues in the youthful aspects of his face and decided again that he had to be around Thayden’s age. “Twenty-eight?”
Wolfe laughed and it transformed his face completely. The sharp edges of menace softened, genuine warmth crinkling the corners of his eyes. The laugh was nothing like the terrifying rumble I'd heard before. It revealed something softer beneath the monster.
“No, little mage. I am definitely not twenty-eight. I can't even remember what it was like to be that age. Try again.”
I gazed back at him, stumped. Something in his voice reminded me of the village elders when they spoke of their youth. It was distant and wistful yet tinged with all the experiences of life, both good and bad.
“Thirty-eight,” I ventured, adding a decade.
“I'm three hundred years old.” He said it simply.
My mouth dropped open and I gazed at him with eyes so wide I feared they might fall out of my head. “Three… hundred? What? But you don’t look…”
“The Fae age differently to humans and other magical beings.”
“But three hundred.”
The air between us changed.
Three hundred years. Three centuries of life, of memories, of power.
Three hundred years old.
What was I to him but a mayfly, here and gone in the blink of his immortal eye? And yet the way he looked at me... It was with that same captivation that had remained since the night I met him in the tavern.
“We reach our prime at thirty and stay that way for several millennia before we look old by human standards.”
“Several millennia?” I couldn’t even fathom the word, much less imagine living for so long.
“Indeed.” The muscles along his forearm corded, drawing my attention to the tattoo designs that were similar to Garrick’s.
“You met most of my Veythral Circle. We’re roughly the same ages, except Arielle, who is a year older than you.
When you reach Galaythia, you’ll be around older Fae.
But even then, someone who may not look that much older than me could be well over a thousand years old. ”
“I can’t even comprehend living that long. A life throughout the ages.”
“Mages are blessed with long lives, too. Our common Elvin ancestors enhanced their magic because of the links to the Fray.”
I read about that in Grandmother’s books. Mages and the Fae had shared Elvin ancestry from way, way, way back when. That’s where mage magic begun. Whereas the Fae looked like the Elvin and inherited their immortality, mages were born with the unique ability to connect with the Fray.
The Elvin were said to have ascended into another state of being thousands of years ago, leaving the world as it is now.
I just realized something. We’d just gone from that intense encounter to this, where we were talking like normal people who’d just met.
Sure, I was the one who pried about his age, but he opened the door to this lighthearted conversation by pouring me that drink. There had to be a reason for it.
“Why are we talking like this?” I asked in an almost whisper-soft tone. “You don’t seem like the type to invite me into your study for wine and light chatter.”
“You’re right. I’m not.”
So, these were more mind games, then. “Why are we doing this?”
“Because we’ll be arriving in Galaythia in less than two days and there are certain things we need to discuss. Things you won’t like.”
That did not sound good. I didn’t know what those things were but I already didn’t like any of them.
“Am I to be locked away in a dungeon when we get there?” I imagined being chained to a wall in some grimy dungeon at the bottom of his castle. There, he’d probably use me for his spell until he had no more need for me.
Wolfe levelled me an unreadable stare, making me feel small even though he wasn’t still towering over me. “That depends on your level of compliance.”
Compliance. Of course. The wine turned to acid in my gut, and I set the goblet down. “What exactly does my compliance entail?”
He drummed his long fingers over the arm of the chair. “Compliance,” he echoed slowly, “means you listen. You don’t try to run, or outwit me, or fight what’s already been decided.”
My breath lodged somewhere between a gasp and a curse. “So, obedience, then?”
“Willingness,” he corrected with that same infuriating calm. “There’s a difference.”
I shook my head. “I’d beg to differ.”
He smirked. “I’m sure you’ll beg for many things during our time together.”
I begged for nothing, but I had a bad feeling we’d get to that stage whether I wanted it to happen or not. Then I may have to fall to my knees if I had to save a life. Either my own or my father’s.
His expression hardened once more. “The difference between willingness and obedience is the least of your worries.”
“What happens if I’m unwilling?”
He didn’t blink. “I assure you, you don’t want a problem with me, Elariya.”
A cold weight dropped into my stomach. I wasn’t sure what was worse.
Him calling me by name or any of the other irritating endearments he’d allocated me.
Admittedly, hearing him say my name twisted my gut because I knew he was talking about more serious matters I didn’t want to think about.
Matters that made me even more terrified of him.
The silence stretched between us as endless as the sea, and my pulse hammered. I couldn’t even come up with a snarky comment to counter him. Wolfe was showing me once again that I was out of my league and powerless.
“The spell to locate the ring requires precision,” he finally spoke. “It will use your blood to summon the ring’s trail and show me where it is. Due to the high-level nature of this spell, it has to be performed in Galaythia.”
“Will it hurt me?”
“Yes and no.”
Great. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse. “What does yes and no mean?”
“A spell like this doesn't come without risks.” His voice dropped to a whisper that seemed to darken the room. “That's why I need your compliance. Your human side is fragile.” He leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. “If you resist or fight, the magic may consume your soul.”
My stomach churned violently. Cold sweat beaded along my hairline as bile rose into my throat.
“My soul?” My fingers clutched the edge of the desk until my knuckles blanched white. “What happens if it consumes my soul?”