Chapter 24 #2
I attempt to growl at him, and even though the side effects of the curse have left my throat sore, I think it does the trick. His eyes lower and his jaw tightens. Marchus shifts next to him, reaching for the sword resting against his hip.
Ronan throws his hands up. “I don’t know what you want me to say. He’s human. That’s what happens, and we’re going to have to live with it.”
“ We’re going to have to live with it? What about the prince? He’s the one who will be like that for the rest of his life!” Ronan shrugs, and I groan. My voice grows rough as my focus trails to Marchus. “Why is he here?”
Ronan rolls his eyes. “He’s part of my legion. A stand-up soldier and a friend. He’s one of my understudies.” He lowers his head, and a strange smile pricks his cheeks. “And yes, also a fairy. But he will do you no harm. Humans raised him. He doesn’t understand why he should hate you.”
My face warms, but Marchus appears apathetic. Had he known of my identity all along?
As though reading my thoughts, the soldier shrugs and says, “Don’t worry, I didn’t know you were an elf.
Not that it would matter. I thought you were just some spy or assassin the prince hired to protect him.
The more I was around you, the more I realized you were something…
more , but I wouldn’t have guessed you were anything but human.
” At my expression, he adds, “Don’t worry.
Like Sir Ronan says, I mean you no harm. ”
I press my lips together and shove down the feeling of betrayal tugging at me.
The real problem is that the prince is in danger. Which means I am also in danger. What if he’s already dead, and that’s why I cannot sense him? Or maybe the mages’ energy is so strong that it’s overpowering the weak eluviam of my mate.
Either way, discomfort sparks gooseflesh over my limbs, preventing me from appearing as relaxed as the two fairies sitting across from me.
“That’s great,” I grumble. My attention flickers to Ronan. “But we need to focus on Ramiel. Why are neither of you concerned at all?”
He meets my gaze expectantly, scrunching his nose. “Because he isn’t in any real danger—oh. I see . You’re upset because you can’t flirt with an attractive face anymore, huh?” He says it with a forced grin, but there’s no humor in his eyes.
No. That’s not it.
Instead of feeling livid from his shallow assumption about me, my insides curdle.
Something is definitely wrong.
Our bond isn’t something that can easily be explained. The sensation of loss, knowing Ramiel’s body is at the mercy of those magic-hungry cadavers, and I’m not there to protect him is…just…
I grit my teeth against the sorrow flaming in my forearm.
The truth is, if he dies, I will be blamed. The elves will be blamed. Not the mages. And I have no idea what kind of side effects I’ll need to deal with if that happens.
Would Ronan understand that?
“I don’t even know why I’m bothering to explain this to you,” I start, earning synchronized eyebrow arching from both men. “Ramiel has, whether he likes it or not, given my life purpose. I’m here to train him. I’ve made a promise. I don’t plan to break it. Nor do I plan on letting him die.”
“You’re exaggerating.” Ronan sighs. “The only person who can give your meaningless life purpose is yourself.” He leans forward, sharing a knowing glance with Marchus. “Unless…you’re in love with him. Then everything would make a little more sense.”
Is this all a joke to him?
“No,” is all I can manage. It’s the truth to the sane part of me, the part Aldorin’s blessing has not yet corrupted. Heat rises in my throat, but even it seems to be confused by my confession, both truth and lie.
“That’s what I thought.” The fairy laughs. “How gullible would an elf have to be to fall for a human prince? But that’s good, I can tell you’re not at all interested in him in that way. Things would be a lot more difficult if you did harbor feelings for him.”
He has no idea.
“What about you?” I snap. “If it’s your job to remain at his side, aren’t you obligated to care about his well-being? Why haven’t you bothered to tell him what you are yet? Are you scared he’ll reject you?”
He snickers. “I’m Ronan Perri, the son of Duke Victor Perri and Captain of the Crown Prince’s legion.
Or was .” An itchy grin twists his lips into a nasty, sardonic shape.
“Though my family is fairy by blood, my affinity for the forest is long gone. There’s no reason for him to question me, so why would I expose myself for your benefit? ”
“You can’t change what you are,” I spit, belling my hands into fists. “If he knew the horrors your people have committed?—”
“Why does it bother you so much?” he yells, standing from his chair. “I thought I’d been clear before about my service to Ramiel. If he dies, so do I. Is my identity the real issue here?” He turns away, muttering an obscenity under his breath.
Fire flares in my chest. “Before, I couldn’t tell you were a fairy,” I admit, crossing my arms over my chest. “But it’s painfully obvious now.
If Ramiel can sense eluviams as he did with that weak klopse’s and mine, I have no doubt he’ll soon realize something is off about you.
” I lean forward, craning my neck to see if I can find any semblance of emotional change in his eyes.
Stirring within is a glow of hate and regret.
I relish it. “Why don’t you give in already?
You’re tired. Drained of magic. Hiding your identity, I imagine, uses a great deal of energy, does it not? ”
Ronan laughs at this.
“Shut your mouth, elf. I know you couldn’t care less about my well-being,” he barks, but his voice shakes a little at the end. “So quit this sorry act. You’re making everyone uncomfortable.”
“He’s going to find out sooner or later,” I hiss. “And it may not be in the way you’re…planning.”
Ronan grips his knee with rigid fingers and swings his head away. His jaw moves subtly, like he’s grinding his teeth together or moving his tongue to distract himself.
“He’ll find out when I want him to,” he says. “And when he learns about my past, you ought to know what he’ll ask about first.”
Of course. The War of Undying. The war between humans and magical beings. The war won by the humans because of the infighting between the fairy and elf alliance.
If the fairy king hadn’t abandoned his post, our queen wouldn’t have been kidnapped by the human king, Arioch Faundor.
As soon as she became his captive, the war was lost, and our people were put under oppressive law by the humans.
Our disdain for humans is an effect of the hatred we have for the fairies.
The war is celebrated at the Feast of Undying. Its history can’t be easily forgotten, not even after a millennium. Too many open wounds left to fester, even after this long.
“That war was lost thanks to your people,” I mutter, a sour taste covering my tongue.
“No, it was because of your people,” he scoffs.
Marchus clears his throat.
I widen my eyes in disbelief. “Our queen was kidnapped and killed thanks to your king breaching the alliance between our people?—”
“Is that what they told you?” He snickers, focusing on the wall next to him. “That your queen was abandoned? Let me lay the truth on thick for you, elf .”
“Don’t you dare shove your brainwashing schemes down my throat. We know who the stronger one is here,” I warn him. Flames flicker in my chest, ready to unleash. He wouldn’t be smart to provoke me while my emotions are this turbulent.
Ronan’s expression darkens. He nods to Marchus as he says, “Our king was left alone on the battlefield, abandoned by your queen, and died a pitiful death at the hands of the Sanvira.” He squints at me.
Only one of us can be telling the truth here, otherwise, we’d have two conflicting histories. My bet is on the creature who’s been cursed to tell the truth.
I find it difficult to focus on his explanation as a new energy presses alongside my eluviam .
One that hadn’t been there before, and one that hasn’t been activated by the tallup or the pittance of energy I’d gained from the klopse.
I listen to it as it grows louder, heavier.
It takes on a new shape, foreign. I can almost taste its nuanced spice, its whispering of my name.
“Don’t use it.” Ronan’s voice is grave. I lower my hand, which wells with energy, and glare at the fairy. Whatever energy this is, it’s overwhelming. And Ronan knows what it is. He can sense it too.
I lift my hand again and ignore the warning in Ronan’s eyes.
“Do you finally realize who has the upper hand?” I ask as I focus on the dilating swath of energy orbiting around my eluviam. Nearly as intoxicating as the klopse burrow I’d reached into a little over a week ago, this energy sparks with an allure I can almost touch.
“It’s dark magic. I’m not sure how you managed to ingest it, but?—”
“So what?” I gasp.
I breathe in, almost sure I smell chestnut and woodsmoke lilting in the air. It takes great strength not to stick my tongue out to taste the warmth.
Ronan chuckles, but there is no mirth in it. “I guess you’ll see what happens if you use it.”
I breathe out. “What do you suppose I do with it, then, when it’s already in my body? It’s not like I can dispose of it, can I?”
Ronan stands, his eyebrows heavy. “You’ve never possessed dark magic before.
And you shouldn’t now. To teach Ramiel how to use magic properly, you can’t let the dark taint you.
Not like it did me.” His brown eyes swim with concern, and the uncharacteristic vulnerability in them is alarming.
I retreat a step when he starts to close the distance between us.
“I don’t smell the dark on you,” I huff. “You just want me to pass the energy along to you so you can use it for yourself.”
“Pass it along?” He laughs. He returns my scowl as he growls, “Marchus, give us some privacy.”
The soldier wordlessly leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
Ronan advances toward me, and there’s no compassion in his eyes. Pure hostility and bemusement flicker there. When his attention flashes to my arm, we both freeze.
His nostrils flare, and a second later, he’s whipped around me with an elbow latched under my throat and a cool blade resting stiffly under my jaw.
I release a breath of shock but keep myself as still as possible, even when the fairy uses his free hand to lift my right arm and inspect the insignia etched into it.
After a moment, he drops my arm and tightens the blade against my neck.
A pinch and a trickle of blood later, my heart has hysterically increased its pace.
“You’d better lie to me now,” he says in a low, threatening voice.
I gulp. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”
“Then get rid of it.”
“I can’t just get rid of?—”
“There is a cure for any ailment. This is no different,” he hisses, lessening the press of the knife a little. I remain still. Silence hangs between us as he considers something. The blade cuts deeper, and his lips brush against my ear as he whispers, “Is it true? Can you… feel his pain?”
“Yes,” I say with a wince. Then, flatly, I add, “It goes both ways.”
Ronan releases the knife. Metal clatters against the stone ground.
“Then, when the mages healed him, that must have been how some of their magic transferred to you,” he says, eyebrows creasing.
He grabs my shoulders, but the action is utterly against his every instinct.
If it weren’t for the trembling in his fingers, I might not have sensed the pure animosity aching to rake its claws against me.
“We need to get it out of you. I know what it does to humans. I don’t want to find out what kind of effect it’ll have on an elf. ”
I blink at him. “Do you have an elixir for that or something?” He whirls away, face red. I sigh. “Why press the issue when it doesn’t even have a solution? The dark magic will eventually leave my body, like all magic does.”
He shakes his head and laughs roughly. “Want me to let you in on a little secret?” He doesn’t wait for my response, which would be a firm no.
“Fairies make elixirs, sure. We have the expertise. But we are also magical beings. Our elixirs can negate dark magic in humans, but that’s because we can too.
And in your case, I’m afraid an elixir simply won’t do the trick. ”
As he speaks, my right arm pulses. Ramiel.
Ronan closes the distance between us. “We’re both going to hate this, but it’s the one way that makes the most sense and also won’t harm you or the prince. You understand, don’t you?”
I raise my hands rigidly. “You can’t be ser—You’re joking, aren’t you?” I try not to think of what he’s implying—that we have to touch one another to pass the energy, or worse, that he’ll have to… extract the magic out of me.
He sighs, shakes his head, and gives me a pained expression. “I really wish I was. Gods, I wish I was.”
My arms drop.
The dark magic continues to spiral in my eluviam, raw and all-consuming. But if it’s as dangerous as he claims, I can’t keep it for myself.
“Fine. Do what you must. But make it quick.” I skulk around the chair and stand a few feet from the fairy, who is about two heads taller than me. As he meanders around the chair, I hold my breath.
His head angles down, but his eyes remain open and grave as he lifts his hand to my jaw, gripping it fiercely.
My heart races during the second he sees through me, and then he’s tipping me toward him and brushing his lips against mine.
The softness is startling, and the wrongness is enough to curdle my stomach.
Thankfully, he pulls away as the energy flees my body and enters his. He hesitates, eyes a molten caramel color. His silver lashes blink slowly down at me.
I hold my breath.
Then he turns and retches into the wooden chair.