Chapter 2
Wolfe
Of all the stupid missions I’d gotten sucked into, this one was by far the stupidest. I tromped my way up the winding dirt road that cut through a grassy hill, the tall blades brushing against my thick leather-plaited trousers, lined with wool to protect from the cold wind.
“It wouldn’t kill you to smile, would it?” Cillian said from beside me, shooting me what I knew he thought was a dazzling smile, white teeth practically sparkling under the rays of the sun.
I grunted in response and kept my pace as I crested the hilltop.
“So you’re not in the mood for talking, I see. But maybe we could take a break?” He spread out his arms. “Enjoy the magnificent view, enjoy each other’s good conversation—”
I kept walking down the other side of the hill, ignoring the High Prince of Fairwitch Isle and his inane chatter, which on the best of days annoyed me and on the worst of days made it impossible to remain clear-headed and alert.
Today was the worst of days. Not many would dare defy the high prince, but I was his older brother—even if I was a half brother—and that meant I just so happened to be one of the few who could call him out when he was wrong.
And right now, this was one of those times.
“Wolfe.” He grabbed my arm, and I stopped, turning to look down at him. His hood covered his wavy ink-black hair and pale skin. “I know you think this is a bad idea.”
I snorted at his simplification of the matter.
“A bad idea is you spending all night before the meeting of the majesties drinking so you’re hungover during the entire session and then puke on the High Princess of Bergenay.
A bad idea is deciding to give everyone in Fairwitch Isle a week off work, which almost made our entire society collapse. ”
He winced and scratched the back of his neck. “I should’ve thought that one through a little more.”
I rounded on him, sword thumping against my thigh, that familiar prickle of anger rising like it did whenever Cillian acted carelessly. “A bad idea is pretending to be a peasant so you can have a day out in the city as a nobody.”
“That was a great day,” he said wistfully, blue eyes twinkling.
“But this?” I thought of all the ways we could die out here. All the ways Cillian could die, and my heart cracked. “Is downright stupid and reckless.”
“Tell me what you really think,” he said.
“I just did.” I’d already lost one brother, and I knew I wouldn’t survive losing another.
I spun on my heel and continued my way down the hill, which gave view to a valley surrounded by swelling hills, the grass so tall it looked like it would reach my waist. My black cloak fluttered behind me as the gusty wind blew, cutting and biting against my skin.
I stopped as I laid eyes on a tall stone tower in the middle of it all. A tower with no doors or windows. Nothing that signaled anything was inside.
This was impossible. I squeezed my eyes shut as Cillian bumped into me. The tower was real, but it also looked far too ominous for my liking. What kind of tower had no doors or windows? What lurked inside?
“What? What is it . . .” He trailed off as he came to stand next to me, then let out a whoop and thumped me on the back, which only irked me further. “It’s here. It really does exist. I told you this was meant to be. As soon as I heard the prophecy, I knew this was what we were supposed to do.”
My nostrils flared. The prophecy. Which was nothing more than some riddle a fortune teller in some other small town gave Cillian the day he decided to play peasant. A riddle he became obsessed with, sure it would be the answer to Fairwitch Isle’s problems, to all our problems.
What we should’ve been doing was using strategy, putting plans in place to save our people should our walls be infiltrated. But no. Instead, we were here, where Cillian was convinced his future wife was in this tower, that we were somehow going to rescue her and that she would save us all.
Stupid. So, so stupid, and as much as I’d protested the entire thing, he was still the high prince, and I still had to listen to him.
“Let’s get this over with.” I stomped down the hill and toward the looming tower, its shadow stretching over the valley ominously, dousing us in its shade.
Cillian shivered and pulled his thick red cloak tighter over his body.
“Why are you not happy about this? For months you’ve been grumbling about this tower not being real, about this being some”—he used air quotes—“‘setup’ to lure the High Prince of Fairwitch Isle into a trap. But I was right.” He tilted his head, stroking his clean-shaven jaw.
“In fact, I think I want to hear you say it.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Come on.” He nudged me. “Say it.” He gestured. “You were right, Prince Cillian.” He said the words slowly, enunciating each syllable like I was a foreigner who didn’t speak our language.
I inhaled deeply through my nostrils and out through my mouth—four counts in, eight counts out, slow and steady. He wasn’t right. He thought he was right because he didn’t take anything seriously, which was why I had to take everything too seriously for the both of us.
“That big vein above your eyebrow is bulging.” Cillian’s ice blue eyes twinkled, and he bit his bottom lip. “Based on that and the fact that your hands are clenched into fists, I’d say the deep breathing isn’t working.”
We approached the bottom of the hill and walked into the meadow.
I pushed him behind me, drawing my sword, gaze sweeping the area for any threats that might be hiding among the tall grass, tempted to throw him over my shoulder and march back home.
He clapped his hands together. “Okay, so you’re still angry at me? Even though I was right about the tower? About the woman inside?”
“You don’t know there’s a woman inside.” And if there was, getting her out would be a nightmare.
The tower was impenetrable, and the longer we spent out here in the open, the more we opened ourselves up to danger.
My gaze snapped to the right, where I could’ve sworn I’d heard a rustling.
The glossy leaves shimmered in the breeze, and uneasiness trickled through me.
“Of course there’s a woman inside,” Cillian said. “Everything is as the seer foretold. It’s all going according to the plan, and she will be the key to saving Fairwitch, to saving our magic.”
“There’s no magic key to saving our home,” I muttered, raising my sword just as a small bunny burst from the grass.
My shoulders slumped while it hopped by.
“We can’t stop the brotherhood from attacking us, from trying to conquer Fairwitch and take our magic.
All we can do is create a plan. A defense. ”
“Wolfe.” Cillian clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’m worried about you.”
I turned my sword horizontal, then swept it over the grass in front of us, bending the blades so I could better see if anything was hiding, ready to pounce.
Maybe one of the brotherhood. They lurked everywhere, pillaging magical items off anyone they came across and using it to gain power. To tear families apart and wreck lives.
I pushed that dark memory away. I couldn’t focus on the past, not when my brother needed me.
Cillian stayed close. “You have no life outside of being my guard, and really, that would be fine if you seemed happy, but you don’t. You’re actually”—he squeezed my shoulder—“and, I say this with the utmost care, a miserable bastard.”
“It’s not my job to be happy,” I said through gritted teeth and whacked my blade against the tips of the tall grass, annoyed that he was choosing this moment to have a conversation about my life. “It’s my job to protect you, and that’s it.”
“Right.” He dragged out the middle of the word. “Sure, sure. Makes sense. But, and again, I am saying this with the utmost care—”
“Just say it.”
“Don’t you think you can do both? Have a happy life and protect me?”
Cillian didn’t understand because he was the beloved High Prince of Fairwitch Isle.
He was charming and affable and everyone loved him—and what’s more, he deserved it all.
He genuinely cared about his people. He even cared about me when I didn’t deserve it.
That was the part he’d never get. I didn’t deserve to be happy.
Not after . . . my jaw clenched, and I turned in a different direction, back to him.
We wove through the meadow as he chattered on, his voice fading to the background while I assessed our surroundings, mentally noting every danger that could be lurking and how I’d react should something happen.
“You could date,” Cillian was saying, ticking off his fingers. “You could go on a stroll. Have you ever done that? Just gone on a walk and taken in the beauty of our world?”
“No,” I said, voice gruff.
“Right. You should get a pet,” he said, and my head snapped to him.
“Absolutely not.” I was not fit to care for another living creature.
“Maybe I’ll get you a pet.” He waggled his thick dark eyebrows mischievously.
If I knew anything about the high prince, it was that he didn’t threaten—he followed through. “Don’t blame me if it ends up somewhere in a ditch.”
“That was dark.” He frowned as we stopped in front of the tower. “A little funny, but very, very dark. You need to work on your humor if you’re ever going to make friends.”
“I don’t want friends,” I said, “and I’m serious about the pet. I better not show up at my cabin one day with some cat lurking outside.”
He raised his finger. “How about—”
The ground beneath our feet rumbled.
Cillian arched an eyebrow. “Was that your stomach?”
My jaw locked as I slowly looked up to see the tower bending over. My jaw dropped open. The tower was moving, and not just moving—transforming. Ice flooded my veins, a pounding filling my ears as I thought through every bad scenario that could happen right now.