Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
CAIRN
I stare out over the turquoise water. To my left, Therin is doing the same. I have no doubt if I look for Brael, I will find the same tension in his posture.
Vel, on the other hand, leans forward with one hand resting against Veylith’s neck. Anticipation flows through her Nightwild thread toward me. But her hunger for violence isn’t what concerns me right now.
I twist in my saddle, my gaze sweeping over the unbroken line of my Guard until I locate Alleria. She’s leaning forward, staring down at the water, her lips parted and her eyes wide. She is completely entranced by the glowing expanse, utterly relaxed in a space that demands absolute vigilance.
This female survived a mage trying to tear her mind apart. She survived being hanged. And she survived the Sluagh.
She survived me.
But she was raised in a mortal palace, and where court politics meant whispered threats in hallways, arranged betrothals, and human rules. She is utterly unprepared for the lethal games of the fae.
And the Sea Court is the most ruthless of all. They will take one look at her unguarded awe and see a vulnerability to exploit. If she rides in looking the way she does, they will trap her before she even realizes the first snare has closed.
“Dismount. We will stop here until dawn.”
I swing down from Selveryn, who disappears immediately, and cross the rocky ground to where Alleria is still mounted, staring out over the sea.
“Alleria.” I touch her thigh, and she jumps. Blinking, she tears her gaze from the water and looks at me. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I hold out my hand. She takes it as she dismounts. Nytheros disappears in a flash of fire and smoke. Her cheeks turn pink.
“I didn’t make him do that.”
“No. I believe your steed has a flair for the dramatic. They all have their quirks.” I crook my elbow and she threads her arm through mine. “Walk with me.”
We step away from the cliff edge, and follow its line until it rounds a rocky formation and separates us from the rest of the Guard. When we reach the shadows of the stone, I stop and turn to face her, letting her hand slip from my arm.
“We are not far from Sorynmar, and there are things you need to know before we arrive.”
I hold her gaze.
“You already know that fae cannot lie. Because of that, we have become masters of loopholes and literal interpretations. Fae look for weaknesses and exploit them. Of all the courts, the Sea Court is the most vicious and unforgiving.”
Her eyes flick toward the glowing water.
“They will smile at you and fill your cup with poison. Promise to meet them at dawn, and they will hold you to a dawn three centuries gone, then claim you failed to keep your word. Thank them for wine, and they will name it a debt and take a payment you can’t afford.”
Her lips part, but I speak over her.
“Give them as little as you can. Avoid speaking if possible. When you must answer, say only what the question demands, then stop.”
I step closer.
“Do not thank them. Do not make promises. Do not agree to anything. Do not fill a silence because it makes you nervous. Most importantly, do not give anyone your full name. Do you understand?”
“I do. I will.” She tips her head to look up at me. “Can any fae lie?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“The Sluagh.” She hesitates, then the words come out in a rush. “It told me you can lie. If all fae can’t lie, how can it say that? Because surely that’s a lie … unless it’s the truth, and you can lie.”
“Did it say I can lie, or did it say something that sounded like it said that?”
“I …”
“The Sluagh is a master of casting doubt. If I tell you that I can’t lie, you will question whether I’m telling the truth. If I say I can lie, you will question everything I’ve ever told you. That is what it wants.”
I let her think about the words.
“Apply that lesson to the Sea Court. They do not wage war with blades, Alleria. They will be watching for you to make a mistake.”
Her chin tilts. “Then I won’t make any.”
“Sea Court fae are predators. If they smell your fear, they will not stop until they have picked your bones clean.”
“You’re Sea Court.”
“And I came close to killing you more than once.”
Her eyes track over my face, looking for any signs of softness. She won’t find any. Not right now. I need her to understand exactly what we’re walking into.
“But you didn’t.” Her voice doesn’t sound confident. “You didn’t kill me.”
“If not for the Nightwild magic, or the blood bond, I might have. You were useful to me.” She frowns at my tone.
“You won’t have time to grow relationships here.
The fae in Sorynmar will look at you and see a halfling.
To them, humans and halflings are prey or they’re pets. There is nothing between.”
She flinches at the word pet. There were weeks when I kept her collared on the floor of my tent, a thing that belonged to me, and I have never pretended otherwise. I will not pretend now.
Pet is the gentlest word anyone in Sorynmar will have for her.
Better she hears it in my mouth before she hears it in theirs.
“If you walk into the palace acting like a defiant mortal princess, they will strip you of your pride in an hour and your life by nightfall. I will kill them for it afterward, but that will not save you.” I take a slow step closer, backing her up until her shoulders hit the rough stone of the rock formation.
“You say you won’t make a mistake. But you’re making them right now. ”
She frowns. “How? I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re shivering because the mist is cold.
You’re shifting your weight because your muscles ache from the ride.
” I lift a hand and stroke one finger down the length of her throat.
“Your pulse is hammering.” My fingers press against her chin and tilt her head back.
“In Sorynmar, every twitch of your fingers is a sentence they will read. They do not need you to speak to know how to unbalance you.”
She presses her lips together, forcing her arms to relax at her sides.
“So what do I do?” she whispers.
“You lock it down. Build a wall inside yourself and wrap it around your mind and body. If you are terrified, you look bored. If you are confused, you look arrogant. You give them nothing but ice.”
She stares up at me. “Ice?”
“Humans call the Sea Court the Winter Court. The Palace of the Ninth Tide does not forgive warmth.”
“Ice,” she repeats.
“Yes. You give them nothing they can use.”
“I can do that. I was raised in a royal court. I know how to pretend.” Her spine straightens. The vulnerability bleeds out of her expression, replaced by an almost haughty mask. It is the face of a royal who is completely untouched by her surroundings. It isn’t perfect, but it will do for now.
I give a nod of approval.
“Good. Now we need to work on the rest.”
“The rest?”
“It’s time to bury your human half, Moirthalen. You must become Nightwild.”
“I don’t … I thought I was? What do you mean?”
“You belong to Nightwild, yes. But you are missing a few things.” I tap my chest, bringing her attention to the armor encasing me. Flexing the fingers of one hand, I let one of my blades form. Selveryn appears at my back. “These are all part of being Nightwild.”
“You want me to make armor? I can’t do that. How am I supposed to do that?”
“You said you couldn’t form a steed, either. And yet …” I shrug. “Do I need to find something dangerous to scare you into trying again?”
She gives me a flat look.
“No?” I arch an eyebrow. She scowls at me. “Then find the same thread of magic you used to call Nytheros. Find the heat, the smoke, the cinders. But instead of pushing it outward to form the steed, pull it inward and over your skin.”
She closes her eyes. A heartbeat passes, then another. Her brow draws tight and her jaw sets, and still nothing comes.
I begin to wonder if I’ll need to find something to hunt her after all. Or, I could reach in and pull the magic up for her.
I do neither.
She needs to figure out how to do this herself, before someone in Sorynmar tries to tear it out of her.
The damp air around us shimmers with a sudden heat, and the magic snaps into place.
Plates of ash-gray and charcoal steel lock over her chest and shoulders, chased with lines that glow like hot embers. A dark mantle spills from her back, shifting and trailing behind her like living smoke. Molten threads weave through her braid and form a delicate web over her head.
When she opens her eyes, the same fiery glow burns there.
She looks beautiful. She looks lethal. She looks fae. The pride that goes through me is fierce and possessive, and it takes every measure of control I have to keep from closing the distance and hauling her against me.
“Now your weapon.”
Her head snaps up. “My what?”
“Don’t think of anything specific. The magic will give you whatever it feels is right for you to wield. Reach into it one more time.”
She lifts her hand, and the magic answers, coalescing into solid form within her grasp.
It stretches and curves into a bow crafted from smooth ash-gray material.
A heartbeat later, the air shimmers over her shoulder, and a quiver manifests, filled with arrows fletched in dark, smoke-like feathers, their tips glowing.
“Better?” A small smile touches her lips.
“Adequate.”
“You’re supposed to be incapable of lying.”
“I didn’t lie. It will adequately reduce your chances of being gutted the moment you step foot in the Sea Court.”
My hand lifts before I can stop it, brushing a stray curl away from the fiery web tracing her hairline. She leans into the touch, and the blood bond pulses between us.
I drop my hand.
If I leave it there a second longer, I will do something highly inappropriate twenty feet away from where the rest of the Guard waits.
“You can dismiss the bow for now, but keep the armor.”
When we return to where the rest of the Guard waits, they’ve organized themselves on the ground, passing around food and waterskins.
Therin looks up as we approach. His eyes stop on Alleria, traveling over the charcoal steel and the mantle of living smoke spilling from her shoulders. Next to him, Vel turns her head.
“Well.” A slow, wicked grin spreads across Therin’s face. “Would you look at that? Our little halfling has grown claws.”
Her head lifts. “I am not your little halfling.” Her voice is steady, layered with the icy detachment I demanded.
Therin’s grin turns feral, and he laughs, shoulder-bumping Vel. “Oh, this just gets better and better.”
“Leave her be.” Vel’s voice is soft, but her gaze is calculating as it moves over Alleria. She holds out a wrapped portion of travel bread and dried meat. “Come and eat.”
Alleria takes the food, sinking to the ground opposite them. I walk across to the cliff’s edge and look out over the restless sea.
“She looks like one of us.” Therin’s voice is pitched low, meant only for me beneath the roar of the tide as he comes to stand at my shoulder.
I turn to glance at Alleria. The molten threads in her hair catch the light of the sea, casting a faint, warm glow across her cheekbones.
She looks like she was forged at Nightward.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say she was born to the Wild Court,” Therin continues.
“Maybe she was.”
He crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on her. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“Who says I’m playing a game?”
He snorts. “You’re bringing a halfling into the Palace of the Ninth Tide wrapped in Nightwild armor. The moment they realize what she is, they’re going to try to strip it from her. They will see it as their right to test her.”
“Let them.” I turn to face the sea. “She survived me. She can survive them.”
If a single one of them lays a hand on her tomorrow, I will not be measuring whether she survives it. I will be deciding how slowly they die.
“This is different.”
“Is it? They will look at her, and they will see the Nightwild Guard. If they try to look closer, they will lose their eyes.”
Therin laughs softly. “I almost pity the fool who tries to cross you tomorrow.”
“Get some rest. At dawn, we go under.”