Chapter Seven
Lark
We leave Sam and Paxton behind and follow Cassian through to the crossing point. I can feel it, even here, a drumbeat of magic that tugs at me, trying to drag me back home.
Home. I wrinkle my nose and fall into step behind Grant. I am beginning to think I have no home at all.
But that is hardly important now. I must find Ophelia and return her, Dante, and Grant in good condition. Am I condemning myself by undertaking this task? Perhaps. Iagan would even say it is likely.
I did not try to contact him while Grant spoke with Vlad and Dante called—whoever he called. His mothers, I think, because I have heard him and Ophelia speak of them before. But the second person, I do not know, and yet he sounded as though he and Dante were… close.
Still. Iagan. He will likely sense when I cross the veil. He will certainly hear as soon as I return to court, and I know I must return to court to find Ophelia. I doubt he will come. I do not want him to.
“Over here,” Cassian says. Isidore and Soren are in this room, and another man—a vampire—has joined them. He looks half-asleep, but his magic, while not as powerful as Grant’s, is formidable.
“You didn’t say anything about sending a vampire through,” he says around a wide yawn. Grant stares at him, and Cassian scowls.
“I did. Twice. Not my fault you weren’t listening.”
The vampire smirks, eyes suddenly alert. “If we all think back, you’ll find that it absolutely is your fault, since you decided to keep me up all day with your tongue in—”
“Enough,” Cassian snaps. A hint of colour steals into his pale face. “Keep the fucking crossing open.”
His tone is harsh, but the vampire seems unperturbed. He exchanges a conspiratorial smile with Isidore. “Aye-aye.”
Dante seems not to hear any of them. He stares at the crossing point—a diagonal crackling slash in the air that cuts straight through the veil and will allow us to step through, if only for a moment. Grant tips his head to one side.
“It feels different from the other one.”
The other one. The one some high fae cut open with stolen magic a few months ago. Cassian nods.
“It is. It’s purposeful. And it’ll close behind you when you leave.”
“And when we want to come back?” Dante asks. There is no tremor in his voice, and I cannot read his expression.
“You return to the same point, with this.” Cassian reaches over and hands him something. “Scry me; let me know. We’ll open the crossing and let you through.”
Dante turns whatever Cassian has handed him over in his hand, then nods and puts it into his pocket. I don’t bother looking at what it is. No doubt Isidore and Soren already know that I am unlikely to accompany them back.
“What about if we’re in a hurry? Are you all going to be waiting here?” Grant looks around at the four of them.
“Are you likely to be in a hurry?” the other vampire drawls.
Grant doesn’t even flinch; he simply shrugs and his lips tip up in a little smile. “Historically, yeah.”
The vampire snorts. “We’ll stick someone nearby.”
“Half a day, you said?” Cassian asks me.
I nod. “To get to the witch. To the court, finding her…”
“Two days,” Dante says.
That is optimistic. I do not say so, but my reservations are reflected on Cassian’s face.
Still, he nods. “All right. We’ll be nearby anyway. If we don’t hear from you in two days, we’ll put feelers out—but you need to understand that we have to be careful. Especially right now.”
“Got it,” Dante replies and squares his shoulders. He means to walk through first, and I cannot—
I take a step before he can and he jerks as though he meant to move but I stopped him. Grant raises an eyebrow. “After you, I guess.”
“Hurry it up,” Isidore says. “We’re not supposed to hold this thing open all day.”
I take a breath and step through the gap.
The swell of magic hits me first. Pure, unfiltered, it rushes through me in a wave and I rock back on my heels at the feel of it.
I still have enough sense of mind to step aside so that Dante and Grant can follow me through, but beyond that I hear nothing, see nothing. Feel nothing but all that power.
The world comes spinning back to me when a hand lands firmly on my forearm. I blink and peer at Dante’s concerned face.
“…you okay?” he says. The words sound as though they are coming from a distance.
I do my best to shake the feeling off. The magic remains, but now it ebbs and flows through me, unable to anchor because there is nothing for it to anchor on.
“Well enough,” I say because I am not injured, even if it hurts to have all that magic so close and be unable to use it. I expect Dante to let go, but he does not. He tightens his grip, if only for a moment.
“Okay,” he says eventually. Then he lets go, and although he was not touching my skin, the nerves light up all the same, and I bite back some involuntary sound that, if it were to escape, would undoubtedly be deeply embarrassing.
Grant stands a few feet away, eyes fixed on where the crossing is closing. Dante gravitates towards him, then looks back at me.
“Where are we going?”
I finally take in our surroundings. We are in a small clearing, pine trees stretching up towards the azure sky. A breeze snakes between tightly packed tree trunks, carrying the scent of pine and—
Magic. Not the general, heavy pulse of it. The witch. She already knows I have returned.
“This way,” I say and stride off without waiting for either of them.
Grant quietly swears, but Dante says nothing as he sets in to follow me. After a few minutes, I slow my pace. The forest floor is littered with pine needles, and the sky might be clear, but the scent of damp and rot infiltrates my nose all the same.
“Half a day, you said?” Grant suddenly pops up beside me, and I swallow a yelp. I hear Dante behind us.
“Yes.”
“At this pace?”
“Yes.”
He hums, narrows his eyes, and drops back again.
I sigh. Perhaps it is too gruelling a pace, but we at least need to leave the immediate area as soon as we can.
That the witch has sensed me so quickly is a good sign, as she may offer some protection in terms of keeping unwanted fae from her lands.
But she will not come storming out of the trees to rescue us, should those fae find us anyway.
Dante and Grant speak in degrees as we walk, both keeping their voices low. I feel the occasional pulse of Grant’s magic—he is more skilled with it than I thought—but it is an hour or so before Dante’s voice slowly rises.
“We are not safe yet,” I say and hear a surprised giggle.
I whip around. That is not Dante. Sure enough, when I look back, Grant is leaning back against a tree, head tipped back as he laughs until tears escape from the corners of his eyes.
Dante stares at him. “I—What’s wrong with him?”
I come close enough that I can touch Grant’s shoulder. He slowly stops laughing and stares up at me. His pupils are wide, and his lips still curve up in a grin.
Ah. Perhaps Cassian could have warned us of this, though I wonder if he was so angry when he came here that he burnt right through it.
“There is too much ambient magic,” I say. “The power is…”
“Going to his head,” Dante says with a groan. He looks less panicked than a moment ago. “Fuck. Sam’s mentioned it before.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Adam fed on him once. Well, more than once now. But that first time…” He pulls a face. “And I’m pretty sure Grant said he was all out of it the first time he went out in the sun.”
I look up at the sky again. We cannot see any suns here—and there are two of them, twins—but there is enough daylight all the same.
“I imagine that is not helping.”
“No, I imagine not,” Dante replies.
Grant giggles again and slowly slides down so he is sitting on the forest floor, his back to the tree trunk. Dante worries his lower lip with his teeth, then looks at me.
“We could carry him?”
“The worst of it should wear off in a few hours,” I say. “I know we are in a hurry, but—”
Dante is already nodding, his face somewhat paler than it was a moment ago. “No, you’re right. We need—We should wait.”
He does not sit like Grant does, but he leans back against the nearest tree and crosses his arms over his chest. I hesitate for only a moment before I do the same. Against another tree. I do not believe he wants me too close.
Will he ever? Does it matter? I will be lucky to escape this world again. I will be lucky to escape the court, and that thought almost has me groaning aloud.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dante says, eyes widening as though the words were not supposed to escape.
Tell him… I don’t have to ask what he is referring to. My face gets hot, and I stare down at the carpet of pine needles. Is it better or worse to admit that I did not mean to tell him at the Wild Hunt’s base? That I could not stand the assumption or the look on his face?
“It was not the right time.”
“Oh?”
He does not snap the way some of the others in his pack would. Curiosity shimmers in his dark eyes.
“It—I—I wanted to wait.”
“You wanted to wait.”
“Yes.”
He presses his lips together and looks at Grant again. Grant’s head lolls back against the tree, eyes closed, breaths deep. At least if he sleeps, he should get over the worst of it quickly.
“When was the right time going to be?”
I do my best to gather myself because the hurt in his voice—He is trying to disguise it, but I hear it despite that.
“I do not know.”
His lips tremble. His eyes dart away too quickly, and I find myself speaking again, desperate to make him understand.
“You were only twenty when I crossed the veil,” I say. “I did not—I wanted to get to know you first. I did not want to tell you about it before we were on an equal footing. That would not be fair to you.”
It would not have been. He was so young.
And beautiful, and I remember the way my breath caught at the sight of him, my entire body frozen in understanding that this human, this was the man I belonged to.
My magic reached for him then, greedy as it was, and it took everything in me to drag it back as I watched him laugh with Ophelia, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
I wanted to hear that laugh. I wanted to taste it.
I still want those things.
“You wanted to get to know me?”
“Yes.”
Dante nods. “Okay. Fine. You own a café. What’s my favourite type of coffee?”
The question hangs between us, and my brain goes blank. No. It is simply… I do not know. Every time Dante comes in, he orders something different. He has ordered more lattes than cappuccinos, I am certain, but different flavours, different milks, different—
“I…” I trail off, swallowing the words. I cannot lie. I refuse to tell him that I do not know.
“Yeah, okay.” Dante lets out a world-weary sigh. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You should rest for a bit, too. I’ll keep an eye out for any fae.”
I do not speak, but I do not sit either. Dante does not argue with me. He watches the shadows, alert almost to a fault, and my insides claw at me because there is nothing I can do to help him.
Belatedly, I realise that I am still wearing my glamour. It flickers for a moment, as though by drawing my own attention to it is a weakness, but I do not allow it to fall. I do not need to demand his eyes on me, no matter how much I want that.
The suns are going down when Grant finally stirs. He lets out a quiet groan, pressing his hands to his face. “What the… fuck? Why does my head hurt?”
Dante allows himself one final look around before he crouches by Grant’s side. “Too much magic,” he says quietly. “How are you feeling?”
Grant drops his hands and blinks up at him. His skin is ashen, eyes red. “Like I’m hungover. This isn’t fair.”
The last word is said with a bit of a whine, and to my surprise, Dante chuckles. He holds out a hand to help Grant up. “It’s not,” he says, “but it shouldn’t happen again. Right?”
Oh, he is speaking to me. “Correct,” I say. “Your own magic should account for the difference now.”
Grant grimaces, brushing off the back of his trousers. “What about you?” he asks Dante. “You’re okay?”
My stomach dips. I did not think to ask that. Why would I? Dante does not have the same amount or type of magic that Grant does.
“Yeah, fine,” Dante replies. He stays by Grant’s side, watching, until Grant looks at me.
“Well then,” he says. “Let’s get going.”