CHAPTER THIRTEEN
T ORRENCE
I stare down at the text message that asks me to go on a date , of all things.
I’ve never been on something so human as a date in all my Goddess-damned life. Gobbelins take and fae tease, but neither do anything as polite as date. And how the hell did she get this number? Then I actually read the rest of the message, and rage builds hot and fast in my chest.
I’m going to fucking kill Arlo.
Apparently, I’ve done too good a job letting him think we’re friends. Even though I rely on his candor surrounding the restaurant, maybe it would be better to send him underground to the blood mines. I can’t afford to upset the balance we have here with the local humans, and I certainly don’t need a whole evening trying to resist Ruby’s scent.
And I sure as hell don’t need a pair of curious humans poking around Goblin Market .
Unfortunately, I can’t deal with any of it right now. It’s almost time for my scheduled meeting with Julianna.
I take a few minutes to cloak myself in layers of ice magic, cooling the anger bubbling inside me before heading deeper into the woods. She would be on me like a bloodhound if she scented it, always so fucking eager to gain a scrap of useful information. Anything I’ve ever cared about has been taken and twisted by her, used against me to get something she wanted.
This town, this restaurant. Even these silly humans. It’s a piece of the world that’s mine now, and she hates it. She’ll destroy it soon enough, just to keep me under her thumb.
Aside from any other danger, this is the best reason to keep the hell away from Ruby. If I showed any true interest, my mother would join the hunt. She would drain away everything that makes up Ruby, creating another of her zombie blood slaves, and the pleasure I could gain from this little human isn’t worth the pain of losing to my mother’s jealousy yet again.
When I reach the rocky outcropping at the heart of the woods, Julianna hasn’t arrived yet, and I’m relieved to have any time to myself.
I settle onto a moss-covered boulder, my palms soaking in the hum of nature magic that lives here. Unchanneled and weak, compared to what flows in my veins. Atrophied, compared to anything that might be found in Haret. And barely more than a whisper, against the power Julianna hoards.
As a sister world to mine, Earth still holds plenty of magic, even though humans wrote the truth out of their memories centuries ago. They’re good at fooling themselves, forgetting the things that might have saved them from what’s coming. But every year, they chop down more of these old forests and pollute more of their air and water, dulling the elemental magic even further.
It’s pathetic, really, to watch them become both villain and victim in the same story. I don’t waste pity on them, though. Wolves think little of sheep.
This is why I’m not surprised that the residents of Clearwater haven’t felt the change that began a few weeks ago. The woods are waking up in a way that has nothing to do with the passing seasons. There’s new magic here, and I’ve pinpointed it to the woods around the bookshop, barely more than an echo still. I told Julianna the truth, though - the sisters aren’t the source. They’re both human, and even if one of their ancestors carried magic in their blood, it’s too diluted now to matter.
I debate how long I can continue to hide my theories and plans.
Julianna likes to think I’m completely obedient to her. Docile and subservient. I’ll do about anything to make sure she keeps believing it, but she’s always a few steps ahead of me. She hasn’t spent as much time in this town as I have, though, and she knows nothing about its people.
I suspect the changeling is long dead, and the change is because Ruby and Rose have disturbed the books William always kept locked away.
Books created with pulp and wood chopped from the same forest that surrounds me now, the trees’ secrets hidden and silent on dusty shelves for decades. William knew which books to keep hidden and which ones to sell. Now, all those silent books are being found, opened, read, sold. If someone with magic of their own touches the wrong pages - even diluted magic - the effects could ripple all the way to Haret.
When magic stays trapped for so long, it turns volatile. Unpredictable. It could turn out to be the weapon we’ve searched for to win this war, or it could be the fuel that burns everything to ash around us. Boost us to victory, or ruin us completely.
If I find the right books in that store, Ronan’s changeling will be no more worry than the gobbelin I killed earlier.
The moon is high overhead when I finally sense Julianna crawling up through the dirt, and I’m glad to know she hasn’t been snooping here all this time. Her magic swirls into the forest, sharp and cold, like ice crystals against the skin. She emerges from the rotting leaves and clumps of dark soil, perfectly clean and leached of color except for her black hair and glittering eyes, nearly all gobbelin black now, except for a slim ring of gold that still hints at her fae side. Humans might even think she was a ghost, until they got close enough to feel the grip of her hands around their throat.
“You stink of humans,” she says without greeting me. I keep silent. “And the forest stinks of fae.”
My eyes narrow, and I play dumb. “Where? How do you know?” She’s more powerful than I am, but she shouldn’t be able to scent Ronan any longer. He was careful.
She describes the place, not far from Goblin Market . She ignores my second question. “They’re checking up on you. The princes.”
“They have no reason to interfere. We’re careful.”
“They don’t need a reason, idiot. We need this supply chain. And we can’t afford much more time. The princes have been without mates for too long. The fae magic is unstable. I can feel its tremors, even so far from Aralia.”
“You truly think they would mate without love?” I ask, an uneasy feeling in my gut. Ronan admitted as much, at least where Brigance is concerned, but I’ve hoped they would hold out hope, continue to resist. Our plan is contingent on their weakened state. If even one of them chose a queen, Julianna’s fight would be infinitely harder, and many more lives would be lost. Magriel would remain a distant dream.
“Ignea never loved anyone but herself, yet mated again and again. There are three unmated sons. One of them will crack soon. Brigance, perhaps. We must be ready to move the army before he does.”
I don’t answer. I know the risks, but she knows the restrictions. We can’t simply make hundreds of humans disappear and expect to go unnoticed.
For now, ours is a war of waiting - building, planning, hoarding. Until the balance tips, giving Julianna the window to destroy the fae princes and Aralia’s way of life forever. Or, if Idris and I are successful in our coup, the window to destroy Julianna and rebuild Magriel.
Julianna fastens her dark eyes on me, like bottomless holes, and I feel the powerful cold magic seeping from her. I force my muscles to stay still, resisting a shiver. Her lips smile without her eyes, and she knows the effect she’s having.
“This is our last season here, Torrence. Make it count double, or I’ll intervene.”
“Last?” I spit the word out too quickly, and the gold ring in her eyes flashes dangerously, her power hunting for any sign of disobedience or hesitation.
“I’m done wasting time. Thousands of humans pass through here every day in the warm months. The number and nature of their disappearance won’t matter if we disappear with them.”
I have to work to hide my disgust with the idea. Not that I have loyalty to the humans. They’re nothing more than a source of blood, a means to an end.
But unexpectedly, I’ve grown attached to Goblin Market . I bury this thought immediately, although I know Julianna can’t read my thoughts when I’m awake.
I can’t afford to give her a reason to try when I’m asleep later.
“I’m trusting you, Torrence. No mistakes this summer.”
“Of course not,” I murmur, the picture of princely duty and agreement with the self-appointed queen. She studies me a moment longer before deciding she’s satisfied. Then, with a stab of her magic, she forces the water in the air to coalesce, forming a giant icicle that sinks into the ground between us.
Julianna slides back into the earth, following the maze of tunnels we’ve been expanding. I imagine her shooting through the bowels of the earth until she reaches a secret exit next to the Path to Haret. It’s risky for her to come and go so often, but I no longer care much about her safety.
When she’s long gone and the night air around me has melted back into spring, I surge to my feet and indulge in a heady rush of magic, finally unleashing some of the rage that’s been building for too long. The opposing sides of my heritage battle each other, fire searing through the young leaves and ice freezing the ash into a blizzard of black snow.
There’s more fae blood in my family tree than gobbelin, but the one thing I do thank Julianna for is her training. As I smile grimly at the destruction around me, I know it’s more than I’ve ever been capable of.
Thanks to the blood mines, I’ve been feeding well. My power grows stronger every time I drink from the sleeping humans, and I start to think differently about what Julianna said. If this is our last season here, what do I really have to lose?
I wonder... if I let myself feed without worrying about being caught by the humans... without the caution that’s needed if I want to stay in Clearwater...
Could I grow stronger than my mother?
Another, equally intoxicating idea grows from that one. Perhaps I could even keep Ruby as my own, sipping at her power in secret each night, never needing to share her with another gobbelin. Never needing to hold back my hunger, except to keep her alive. I would have never dared something like this before - keeping Haret’s secrets away from humans has always been necessary to stay here.
The threat of leaving Clearwater this summer changes everything.
THE WOODS
This one is no longer trusted.
His scent smears to anger, and he seeks to unleash it without consideration for our branches. So different from the other man.
The one who walked with reverence through our trunks, never minding when our leaves brushed down to taste his magic. He spoke a language we have nearly forgotten.
Nearly.
We would welcome his kind again, and so we will hide his scent from this other one, so filled with rage. Sticky sap from cones and the petals of unripe flowers will distract and destroy the trail. Our winter has passed, and there is no place for ice in our spring.
The woman who brings the cold must be found and stopped.
Roots squirm deeper into the thawing ground, searching for those pockets of crystal blue and white, growing webs of destruction across each tunnel she’s forced through the earth. We may have forgotten our words, but we have not forgotten our own magic.
It is a pleasure to awaken and stretch again.
And there... a hundred feet or more beneath our quiet branches, we feel them. An army of ice and anger, pebbling together in the cold and dark. Gathering. Waiting. Hoarding their fury like diamonds.
Something is changing, and even the oldest among us are uncertain.
It is time to read the rings of history, even though they are locked away from us behind lead-glass windows. We will find a way. Ancient power begins to answer our need, seeping from the earth, into our roots and up, up into the tips of branches, which grow longer and sharper.
We will find our way inside. We must read the rings.