Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Bridget gripped Nylah’s hand as she followed the Shaman, careful not to get too close.
She kept her eyes glued to the back of his blond head and wished she could borrow Cade’s powers for a few seconds to figure out his plan.
What did he know about her past? And why help them at all?
More than anything, Bridget wanted answers.
She knew better than anyone, though, that Fae magic always came with a cost. Out of the corner of her eye, she checked Nylah’s demeanor for any sign of negative effects from the Shaman’s potion.
In Elyria, magic had almost always had an immediate physical effect on her.
When Bridget deemed her perusal of her sister was satisfactory, she straightened her spine.
Even if he had helped Nylah, she wouldn’t let the Shaman anywhere near her sister, or let him try to use her as a bargaining chip.
After a few minutes, the Shaman began to lead them down a trail that was all too familiar to Bridget. The root-filled, slippery path had taken them in circles for hours. Before she had a chance to protest their direction, Archer’s loud groan echoed throughout the empty forest.
“We walked this trail about ten times,” he called out. “The only things this way are dead trees and a porta-potty that should have been decommissioned about ten years ago. Ask the ray of sunshine behind me.”
“I still can’t believe you forced me to use that thing,” Alexia growled.
The Shaman waved his hand. Seconds later, another path appeared to their left.
This one was more shrouded and rockier than any others in the park.
With a wry grin, he said, “Remember when you two couldn’t find the gate back to Astraeus last month?
I pulled the same little trick here. Camouflage is one of my specialties.
Or curses. Depending on how you want to look at it.
Many kings have taken advantage of it over the years. ”
“Along with prophecy,” Bridget added. Like Marin.
Like many of the other Shamans she’d come across in Elyria.
Ominous warnings about the future seemed to flow from their mouths every second.
Bridget couldn’t stop herself from giving him a sideways glare.
How much knowledge about her and her future was locked up inside his head?
“And this.” With another flick of his wrist, the Shaman froze falling snowflakes midair.
Seconds later, their assault continued. He continued, “Most Tuathans have some sort of gift of sight. Mine happens to be stronger than others... But like I said, I only see certain things. Important things. I can’t control when or how they happen. And it’s always…”
“Changing,” Bridget finished for him. Isn’t that what she’d always heard about the future? Isn’t that why Cade constantly fought against his father?
He must have heard the optimism in her voice because he suddenly stilled. Blue eyes stormy, he warned, “Some things are too big to change. Some things are fate.”
Bridget’s throat tightened under the intensity of his gaze. Whatever desire she had about knowing her future disappeared from her body. His tone promised nothing but darkness.
“Why hide this trail?” Archer asked, breaking her out of her swirling thoughts. “This part of the park doesn’t look like it gets many visitors.”
“Maybe, but this path leads to my house. I didn’t want any lost hikers coming across a cabin full of Elyrian relics.”
“Relics? Like what?” Nylah asked.
“Most of it wouldn’t be interesting to you, but I do happen to have a spoon that will change colors if it’s dipped in poison.”
Nylah grinned. “Cool.”
“How long have you lived here?” Bridget asked.
The Shaman shrugged. “A few years.”
A minute later, the tree line broke and a cabin appeared.
Nestled in a meadow, its wooden structure radiated an otherworldly aura.
Magic. Even as a human, Bridget could practically taste it in the air the closer they stepped.
She snuck a glance at the Shaman. Theories of who he could be swirled in her head.
Without using a key, he opened the painted front door of the cabin with a flick of his wrist.
Before she could follow him inside, a hand on Bridget’s wrist froze her in place. The movement jostled Nylah’s hand out of her grasp and brought her chest to chest with her least favorite person.
Alexia whispered, “This feels like a trap.”
“Rude,” Nylah muttered.
Rolling her eyes, Bridget said, “Don’t pretend to be concerned about our wellbeing.”
“That’s the last thing on my mind,” Alexia scoffed. “But if I’m going to save my family, I need you back in Andarre in one piece.”
Archer grabbed Bridget’s shoulders and pulled her away from Alexia’s stiff demeanor. Clicking his tongue, he chastised, “Ladies, this is not the time for a cat fight.”
Alexia blinked at him. “I don’t have a cat.”
Suppressing the urge to laugh, Bridget ripped her arm out of Alexia’s bruising grasp. “He doesn’t mean literally. Look, I’m not sure whether I trust him either, but he’s the only one on this side of the gate that might be able to help us cross it and get us the answers we need.”
Brows raised, Archer turned to her. “Answers?”
“Looks like someone is starting to believe my lies after all,” Alexia said.
Bridget wanted to smack the smirk off her face. Instead, she took a deep breath and whispered to Archer, “Stay close to Nylah.”
“I can take care of myself,” her sister interjected.
“Humor me.”
The interior of the Shaman’s home was just like Bridget expected, full of random knick-knacks and mismatched items. However, she assumed each one wasn’t really as random as it appeared.
There were no pictures, or personal items. The only indication that someone actively lived there was the steaming pot of water on the stove.
In the kitchen, the Shaman wordlessly poured five glasses of tea. Sticking close to the door, Bridget scanned the walls and corners for any sign of a trap. Unless she counted the very large spider nestled near the ceiling, she found none.
“No television?” Nylah asked, flopping down on the couch.
“It gives me a headache.”
So this guy was old. When the Shaman handed Bridget a small teacup, she was pleasantly surprised to find it already full of cream and sugar. Still, she refused to drink it and placed it on the fireplace mantle. Archer gulped his down and ran a finger over a row of books on the Shaman’s shelf.
That’s when she noticed it. An Elyrian history book on the shelf next to his wandering hand. One she’d seen only months ago.
“You’re Echnav, aren’t you?” Bridget guessed.
The Shaman’s shoulder stiffened. “How did you guess?”
“Cade told me about you,” she said, picking up the book. “He said you were his tutor. I saw a book just like this in his room. Plus, you’re the only missing Shaman I know.”
“Echnav… That’s the name I started going by about a century ago when I briefly left Astraeus to live in Tafari. Once Marin was born, though, I came back to help raise her. My real name is Stellan. It’s the name I prefer.”
Archer snorted into his tea.
Bridget’s jaw dropped. “You’re Marin’s father?”
He was so… young. And with the earring, did not look like anyone’s father.
“Not exactly. Her father was one of my best friends. He died a few days after she was born.”
“How? Aren’t Shamans basically immortal?” Archer asked.
“Some would like to think so, but we do have our weaknesses. I couldn’t stop you from cutting off my head or stabbing me in the heart. A certain iron also poisons us,” Stellan said. “People like to think we’re invincible because only a few things cause us to age at the same speed as humans.”
“But you’re not?” Nylah asked.
Stellan’s lips twisted. “Definitely not.”
“What makes you age?”
“Nylah,” Bridget warned.
Nonplussed, Stellan continued, “If I were to bind my life to a human’s, I would age with them. Die with them, even.”
Bridget remembered Cade talking about Tuathans mating with humans a long time ago, but nothing about being bound. “Is that common?” she asked. “My experience with Shamans has been the opposite of… friendly. And none of them were old. Including yourself.”
“Tuathans and humans used to be very friendly with each other. Why do you think there’s so many Fae running around?
” Stella said, almost cracking a smile. “Before the whole mess with the Sanguis, humans ruled Elyria… right next door to the Tuathans in Cavamyne. Even though the two populations had some issues every now and then, intermingling wasn’t treated like it is now.
But to be bound… it takes a price. No Tuathan would attempt it lightly.
So to answer your question… No. It’s not common. ”
“Marin did tell me she was only half-Tuathan. I just didn’t realize what that meant,” Bridget said. “How does it work?”
“This isn’t the time for a history lesson,” Alexia hissed in her ear.
Bridget ignored her. She didn’t know why she was so curious, only that information pulled at something deep in her gut. Like she’d heard it before… possibly in a dream.
“When you bind yourself to a human, your life is tied to theirs… for better or worse. When Marin’s mother died giving birth to her, Ambrose only managed to last a few hours.
He was one of the few Tuathans, or Shamans…
whatever name you want to call us, left that understood our purpose in Astraeus…
. remembered the reason for the vow we took to protect the royal family.
Now all that’s left are ones that blindly serve him for their own gain. It’s part of the reason why I left.”
Stellan’s quiet voice sobered the entire room. Even Nylah put down her tea and folded her hands together somberly.
Archer cleared his throat. “If being bound weakens your kind, why do it at all?”
“Love.”
The word was out of Bridget’s mouth before her brain had processed the response. Like it was a question she’d answered many times before.