Chapter 4 The Songbird #2
“I’m not the greatest teacher of explaining affinities when I truly only ever speak to my folk.” A pinch to her mouth hid a smirk. “Think of my power as a summons. Shadow elven can use their gifts like me in most ways.”
“What do you mean, most ways?”
Her eyes went glassy. “I will tell you this, fae. There are gifts—perhaps more curses—the gods saw fit to bestow upon me that ought never be used.”
Hair lifted on my arms. I wanted to press her more, but she’d already shifted back to her lighthearted, deliberate tone, silencing my curiosity.
“Some elven do not darken what they take like me. Some gather light, and it is clearly written upon their palms as they use their gifts. Certain elven can even carve through gleams in a room and walk through them to other areas of light in a structure. Difficult and terribly exhausting.”
“Seems odd for shadow elven to use light.”
“I did not say it was my folk who used the light. There are clans.” Her shoulders stiffened. “Light elven—or Ljosalfar—use light and fire. You will see for yourself soon enough.”
“Why does it feel like you keep alluding to things, yet you never speak plainly?”
“Why, indeed?”
Gods, she was irritating. I studied her. Lovely, a little mischievous whenever she grinned. It struck me in the next breath. I was bound here. What if she faced the same fate? It was possible she could not tell me much of anything.
Yet, if that were true, here she was, a stranger, subtly attempting to help. This was a way to help.
A burn of new hope took hold in my chest. “I have a heartbond, a connection with my king. Did the spell casts shield that in the same way?”
“The spell casts concealing us are strong enough to keep us locked away from the whole of the world if we wished,” she said almost dreamily, as though simply spouting off words from a bit of parchment.
“There must be a way to break them.”
She shook her head. “Not these blood spells. Only those marked may step foot on Natthaven now. And only the sea witch does the marking.”
“It’s possible to leave then.”
“They’ve only marked one other soul who steps foot off the isle.
Larsson bears the ability to cross through the wards, but he will not leave.
Not yet. You are connected to the witch, fae.
However, if you were, let’s say, forced from the isle, it would shatter the spell casts.
But that would be wretchedly painful, and of course, deadly. ”
I would risk death to be free of this damn place.
“Naturally, death of the spell caster brings the end of some magic.”
“So, kill Fione? Gladly.”
“You do not understand. There is no killing any who stand against you.” The elven’s expression twisted into something dark, almost fearful.
She looked over her shoulder for a moment, then lowered her voice.
“Forbidden spells made them your enemies, and once the forbidden has been tasted, it corrupts until it is no longer forbidden.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You cannot kill them,” she whispered. “Bonekeeper is shielded by the sea witch. He cannot die so long as that spell holds. And she has shielded herself so fiercely she cannot be ended without a white iron blade.”
“What is that?”
Another glance into the trees. “Elven made. A blade that does not kill from the strike, does not even draw blood. But it rots the heart, draining magic from the pores, until the lifeblood ceases to flow. A painful death.”
“Elven made!” I shrieked. “If you have these blades, why in the hells have you not used them?”
“Why, indeed?” The woman’s mouth tightened, her lips bloodless.
She couldn’t. Something had her trapped from acting against anyone, that or she was being threatened. What had she said? She cared more for the good of her people. What if Larsson had harmed someone she loved?
“How did they overtake your isle?”
“It was not overtaken. Bonekeeper is known among elven clans, so I did not think much of it when he was in the travel party.”
“Known?”
“He is part elven,” she said, slightly befuddled, as though stunned I hadn’t known.
Bleeding hells. “He tricked you, then. Came as a friend, then betrayed you.”
“I cannot say he betrayed anything,” she muttered, trailing her fingers in the tides. “He did not do much talking. Although, I did not take kindly to the sea witch and the sea fae who joined them.”
Them. Were there more sea fae here? Larsson had sent assassins to kill Erik once, but I’d not paused long enough to think he might have more support than I knew.
“Is there someone else besides Larsson and Fione?”
“There is.” A throaty timbre came at our backs.
There, at the edge of the trees, a man with hair like the sunset sneered at the two of us.
“Skadinia.” He grinned—snarled, was more fitting—at the woman. “What is all this?”
She stood swiftly and stepped from the tides. “Arion. Our arrangement lent me the task of tending to her wellbeing.”
“You are to keep her alive, not stroll along the shore.”
“The fae was distressed. I chose to orient her to Natthaven. Nothing more.”
“Why, then, did you speak so poorly of my cousin, chridhe?”
I didn’t know the term he’d used, but it caused Skadinia’s nose to wrinkle. “I spoke plainly of Bonekeeper. If you consider that poorly, then perhaps he should think again on his actions.”
Arion was a broad man. Ears sharply tapered and capped in gold. His brows were thick and expressive, but it was his eyes that unsettled me. For the warmth of his complexion and hair, the deep brown of his eyes was cold and distant. Like hope would be drawn in and left to die.
This was what she’d feared, no mistake. All this time, Fione, even Larsson, hardly shifted Skadinia’s tone. Only when she hinted of more did she ruffle. Arion, he’d brought Larsson to her isle. This was the man who’d trapped her somehow.
Another elven.
Dammit. If it was true, if Larsson’s folk were elven, then his connections were of no small means.
“It is time,” he said. “Bring her to the hall. And, Skadinia, do it silently.”
I choked on my own stun when Arion waved his hand and a golden fissure split through the fading skeins of sunset until it seemed as though the firmament divided and he walked through, abandoning the shore.
Breathe. Focus.
“Come,” she whispered, taking hold of my arm. “I’ve shown you all I can of Natthaven.”
“Skadinia—”
“Skadi,” she said, voice low. “Only one other calls me by my full name, and he is not Prince Arion.”
Prince? Another damn royal.
“Skadi,” I said. “Clearly, something is keeping you bound to them, but we can—”
“You cannot help me,” she said with venom. “You do not understand the elvish ways. Listen to me, fae. There is nothing more I can do for you, so long as Arion holds to agreements made, he is the voice of Natthaven.”
So many words were being left unspoken. I wanted to shake her, wrench them from her throat, but in the next breath, we were met with the two guards we’d left at the doors.
Skadi’s shoulders slumped. “I will be by your side. He seeks blood, fae. Not your life.”
She linked her arm through mine, much like Mira or Celine might do, and gently nudged me up a serpentine path where Larsson Bonekeeper awaited.