25. SMALL VICTORIES
That evening, Folquin arrived to meet with Niall, and he brought with him the latest news from the human realm and the Woodland Court.
Upon hearing that my letter was successfully delivered to my brother, who was very much still alive and well, my anxiousness was put to ease.
Folquin was not able to converse with him—for fear of being followed—but he informed me that, from the looks of it, Liam had turned his worries into productivity.
His woodworking area was full of products that lined the entire length of our property, and in the time that Folquin was there, a few villagers arrived to inquire about purchasing some of Liam’s wares.
That was my brother—quick to turn his stress into something useful, if only to keep his mind from spiraling to every worst-case scenario there could possibly be.
I hated the thought of my brother worrying. Hated even more that I couldn’t be there in person to settle his nerves and answer all his questions.
At least he was safe, he was getting by, and he now knew why I had not sent word after I’d made the King’s Guard.
I hadn’t planned on hanging around to hear the rest of the latest developments, but when Folquin mentioned Breck, I changed my mind.
Ever since Morah had publicly refused Killian’s hand, Killian was keeping his cousin—the only one he believed to be truly loyal to him—within arm’s reach at all times.
So, in order to get information to us without drawing suspicion, Breck had been relaying what he could to Folquin.
And since Morah had also been branded a public enemy of Benmoor, Folquin was delivering missives to Zofia on her behalf.
Having been disguising himself as a merchant to get in and out of Benmoor, he had successfully conveyed all of Morah and Fallon’s commands to their comrade, and the pieces of their long-awaited revolution were moving into place.
It seemed Folquin had become a glorified liaison between us and just about every other court.
With Ramil stripped of his Alatyr, Morah’s opportunity to strike was at hand.
Zofia had sent word that their alliance of revolutionaries were fully prepared to make their stand and take back the throne in Fallon’s name.
All they needed was the perfect moment to take Ramil by surprise.
Niall claimed to have a plan for that already, though he hadn’t divulged it to any of us yet.
Regardless, I hoped Niall was paying Folquin well enough for all that he was risking. And I hoped Breck was being careful.
After the meeting, I made my way to our newest guest’s chambers. The wind was howling, driving in more storms from the east. I was thankful that The Keep was tucked deeply into the mountainside, so none of us had to hear the torrent as it raged through the valley.
Silas answered his sister’s door, beaming with a handsome smile and welcoming me in without hesitation.
Across the bedchamber, the witch sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the black hearth, watching the flames flicker like she was deciphering images within them. Her plate of roasted meat and vegetables sat forgotten on the table beside her.
“How is your friend recovering?” Silas inquired of Fallon.
“He’s doing well. I got to watch Maeson work on healing his nerves, which was interesting. He should make a full recovery soon.”
“That’s good to hear.”
We were all relieved to know that Benmoor’s heir was recovering from the effects of the poison at a much better pace than expected.
He would be a powerful ally, and the Desert Court would need him to be strong and able when Morah’s revolutionaries made their stand.
We would need Benmoor united under one ruler—the rightful heir—before this war began.
I rubbed my arms. Despite the fire, there was a chill in the room, one that wasn’t related to the weather at all. My guess was that it was all Nivelle’s doing.
Silas noted my movement. “I can get you a blanket if—”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” I said, cutting him off.
He dipped his head, then carefully slipped out the door so as to not bump his wings.
Before I took a step, his voice echoed in my mind. If you convince her to leave this room, I’ll be forever in your debt.
I spun back around, but the door was indeed shut. He had mind-walked. I blinked several times, coming to terms with his voice in my head, when I was so used to hearing Niall’s.
When were you going to tell me you can mind-walk!?
I thought you—uh—I thought you might have pieced that part together by now. He sounded embarrassed. All Dionachs can communicate with their Dionam this way. It comes with the bond that manifests upon our summons.
The sudden realization hit me. You were the one who told me to fight and to run when I was in Belthria. It was your voice that I heard during the tournament.
Ever since I’d found out about Niall’s mind-walking ability, I had assumed it had been his voice I’d heard, given that he was the only one I knew who could do it. But the fact that it was Silas made so much more sense.
Yes, he said. It was my only way of helping you without giving myself away.
I let out a sigh. Niall wasn’t going to like this. I’ll . . . see what I can do . . . about your sister.
I felt Silas’s relief rush over me, the same way I felt Niall’s emotions from our mating bond.
Niall really wasn’t going to like that.
Does, uh . . . Does the connection work both ways, then? Can I speak into your mind whenever I wish, or do you have to be the one to initiate the connection?
It works both ways, he replied. You only have to think with the intent of me hearing it, and I will.
I nodded to myself, processing.
Thankfully, Silas didn’t reply. I only heard his footsteps as he walked away from the door.
Assuming my mind was my own again, I surveyed the space, making no move to approach Nivelle. My stare settled on the plate of food she’d left neglected, and I frowned.
Finally, the witch turned her head to the side and said, “I don’t eat meat.”
My brows pinched in confusion, then I glanced at her plate again, looking closer. The vegetables were picked over and pushed around, indicating she had at least rummaged through them. But the meat was intact, drying out the longer it sat.
Nivelle had been avoiding us, keeping to her chambers and passing her time with reading and not much else.
I understood that being here against her will was frustrating, but she would eventually have to make good on her agreement with Torin—to be her liaison.
And whether she liked it or not, that meant participating in daily life.
“If I had known, I could have sent for something else to suit your needs.”
When she didn’t reply, I crossed the space and took a seat in the small upholstered chair, which gave me a clear view of her face. But instead of looking at her, I kept my eyes on the fire.
“Are you ever going to leave this room?”
“When Torin has need of me, I will do as I’m told and seek one of you out. Until then, I don’t plan on it.”
The wood popped and fizzled in the hearth, snipping at the line of tension between us.
“So, you’d rather starve in your rooms than get to know us or the territory you’re in?”
Nivelle said nothing.
I let out a long sigh. “All right. Tell me why you hate the fae.”
She remained staring at the fire, but the corner of her lip twitched in irritation. I’d figured her out, and that annoyed her.
It wasn’t hard to guess. Her kind had been betrayed by the fae before, and left to live within an illusion of their goddess’s making. And now, here she was, forced to be in the very realm of the lands the witches once sought, but no more free than she was back on the isles.
Her jawline hardened as she simply said, “You know why.”
“Because the Woodland Court betrayed Torin all those years ago? Do you realize this is not the Woodland Court? That Niall is not—”
“He’s fae,” she snapped. “And the fae are the same as they’ve always been—quick to show off their power and boast about what’s theirs.
Your High Lord dangled his lands in Torin’s face and she took the fucking bait.
Don’t expect me to thank you for what he offered my kind.
” Her eyes simmered in silent rage beneath her lashes.
“I’ll pay the cost for her visit one way or another. ”
“What do you mean?”
Her voice bordered on a growl as she said, “I told you before, we do not summon Torin unless absolutely necessary. The gods never offer help without a price.”
“The price is livable land in this court,” I reminded her. “And it will be paid.”
Slowly, she shook her head. “No. There will be more. There is always more.”
The flames of the fire flickered, dancing in the silence.
“You’re afraid of bargains with the gods?” I asked.
“Everyone knows to never make a bargain with a god. They are far too crafty with their words and their agendas only benefit themselves.”
A sinking feeling crept in my gut and spread like a flame catching on fresh kindling.
I didn’t dare mention my bargain with the god of death, but the thought was now burning in my mind.
It sounded like she knew firsthand what the consequences of bargains with gods consisted of. But perhaps not every god was like that. Perhaps it was just misinformation she had been given—like what I’d been told about the fae.
“Perhaps everything you know is flawed,” I said.
She scoffed, not deigning to look at me.
“All of our stories and lore tell us that the fae are ruthless, evil creatures. Some of them are. I have seen firsthand how corrupt and evil they can be. Since being here, I’ve been compelled against my will, attacked, and poisoned.
My mate was taken from me, and he was tortured and poisoned as well.
I’ve seen creatures that embody an evil that I was oblivious to before, and magic and power that have the ability to take life quicker than a blink. ”
The witch’s eyes flicked down at the floor in my direction. I could tell she was still wary, but I’d gained her attention by offering credence to her theories about the fae.