41. Wren
My joy at seeing Cassiel again is eclipsed only by the utter horror of being discovered. Instinctively, my eyes flit to the window. I think about transforming again and abandoning this whole endeavour, trusting that Cassiel will concoct a brilliant lie that will save him from any condemnation.
But I don’t. It’s not easy, flying away from this man. It gets harder every time.
The alchemist—Edwin, if I remember correctly—stares at Cassiel, waiting for a reply. I stare at him too.
Come on, I think to myself. Say something clever!
“Good morning,” says Cassiel eventually.
I groan.
“Tell me, Edwin,” says Cassiel. “Have you ever performed a test for fey blood, before? Because that’s information I rather feel that the crown could have used.”
I wish I had the energy to smack my face or maybe the back of his head, because yes, we’ve known how to do this for years, and we’ve kept the secret for this exact reason, misleading the humans to think that iron weakness and lying were the only ways to tell.
Edwin chews his bottom lip, as if debating whether or not to speak. “If you’ll promise not to dismiss me?”
“Edwin, none of us are here, and this conversation never took place.”
“Very well.” Edwin clears his throat. “Yes, Sire, I am aware that there is a way of testing fey blood, and I’ve never told you, because up until recently, I believed that such knowledge could likely cause more harm than good.”
Cassiel stares at him. “What? How? Why?”
“I am a very good alchemist,” he says matter-of-factly. “And, I like to think, a human with some decency. Besides, Prince Cassiel… you aren’t the only person who has experienced the allure of the fair folk.”
Cassiel blinks at him. “You’re telling me,” he says slowly, “that you’ve known how to do this the entire time?”
Edwin lifts one shoulder.
“In theory,” he says. “I’ve never had cause to attempt it. Fey blood is… not something one can easily acquire for experimentation.”
His gaze drifts, very deliberately, to me.
I straighten a little beside the worktable.
Cassiel follows the look, then runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Well,” he says. “That simplifies matters.”
“It does,” Edwin agrees mildly. His eyes flick to the simmering pot. “Though I will admit I’m curious why the prince and—”
He pauses.
“—his companion,” he finishes carefully, “are brewing a fey-reactive solution in my laboratory at dawn.”
There is a small silence. Cassiel and I exchange a glance. He is clearly debating whether to invent something ridiculous.
I shake my head almost imperceptibly.
“We’re testing someone’s blood,” Cassiel says at last.
Edwin’s eyebrows rise.
“Someone,” he repeats.
“My sister,” Cassiel adds. “She’s lately been displaying… unusual abilities. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone—”
“I will not,” says Edwin, before Cassiel can finish his threat. “You have my word. On my honour as an alchemist—on my workshop itself. I will never speak a word of what we do here today.”
“You’re…. being remarkably understanding about this.”
Edwin snorts. “My prince, if I reported every unusual magical incident that occurred within these walls, the court would never sleep.”
He reaches for a clean vial from a nearby rack and sets it beside the potion.
“I’ll help you.”
Cassiel looks almost suspicious.
“You will?”
“Yes. Though I warn you—if your sister is indeed part fey, the implications are rather… spectacular.”
I fold my arms loosely, watching him.
“And if she isn’t?” I ask.
“Then,” Edwin says calmly, “you imagine you’ll have a different mystery entirely.”
Cassiel nods slowly. “Right.” He glances toward the door. “I’ll go and get Ru.”
He hesitates for half a second, looking between the two of us as though suddenly aware he’s leaving me alone with a stranger in a room full of volatile chemicals. I wonder which of us he’s more worried about.
“I’ll be quick.”
He slips out the door.
The workshop grows quiet again. Edwin watches the door close before turning to me, his expression thoughtful rather than alarmed.
“So,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “So?”
“The rumours are true.”
“You are going to have to be more specific.” I ask.
“That Prince Cassiel is in love with one of the fair folk.”
I’m not sure I like that rumour, but it’s hardly a surprising one. “He didn’t know,” I offer in Cassiel’s defence. “He had no idea what I was when he fell for me.”
“It doesn’t seem to have changed things for him, though.”
“No,” I admit, “not in the end.”
“I didn’t change things for me, either.”
I raise an eyebrow. “My, my, Edwin. You seem to have quite the colourful history.”
“Chemically so,” he says. “And perhaps I shall thrill the two of you with the details at some point.”
“I’d like that.”
He studies me for a moment longer. “You don’t seem particularly alarmed that I know what you are,” he observes.
“I’m exhausted,” I say simply. “It dulls the instinct for self-preservation.”
“Fair.”
He peers into the pot, clearly impressed despite himself. “You brewed this?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” He nods approvingly. “Elegant construction.”
“Thank you.”
Another quiet moment passes. Edwin and I tend to the potion together. He questions the inclusion of a couple of ingredients.
“I would have thought aquamarine would have worked better than amethyst—”
“Amethyst reacts better to our blood,” I inform him, wondering if this is safe and then deciding I don’t much care. He can have all the fey secrets. Guarding them hasn’t kept anyone particularly safe.
“You’re very forthcoming with your information.”
“Sharing is caring,” I tell him. “Ancient fey proverb.”
“I am quite sure that isn’t true,” he remarks, staring out of the window now.
“Who were they?” I ask after a pause. “The fey you once knew?”
Before Edwin can reply, the door bursts open.
“Wren!”
A small figure launches across the room like a missile. Ru collides with me at full force. The impact nearly knocks me backwards, sending my elbow dangerously close to the simmering potion.
“Careful—!” Edwin yelps, at the same time as Cassiel, who appears at my elbow to steady me.
“Be gentle, Ru!”
“I am!” she insists, clinging to me like a barnacle. “Oh Wren, it’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you so, so much!”
“I’ve missed you too,” I tell her, wishing I had the strength to lift her into my arms.
She grabs my face in her small hands. “You look different.”
I wince. I suppose I should be glad she hasn’t commented directly on how emaciated I look, but the remark still stings. Ru doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort though; she’s still smiling.
“Your skin is glowing.”
I know that’s not true, but I don’t want to question it and draw attention to other parts of appearance I’d rather she didn’t notice. I take her hands and squeeze them.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I have magic now.”
“So I hear.”
“I don’t mind that you’re part fey,” she tells me. “But… I’m not sure I want to be.” Her throat wobbles.
I stroke her head. “I can understand that.”
She eyes the potion simmering behind me. “Cass says… that if that potion reacts to my blood, it means I’m part fey. Is that right?”
“Yes,” I tell her.
Ru takes a deep breath. “Is it ready?”
Edwin inspects the potion carefully. “Yes,” he says, dousing the fire beneath it. “Are you ready?”
Ru nods, though she doesn’t seem certain. I divide the potion into four.
Cassiel frowns. “Four?”
“Just trust me on this.”
We prepare to test my blood first. I set up one of the beakers and set the others aside, my fingers trembling more than I’d like. Ru is watching me too closely, searching my face for answers I’m not sure I want to give.
“Ready?” Edwin asks.
I nod, and prick my finger. A bright bead of red appears almost immediately. Cassiel winces like I’m gushing blood, but I barely feel it.
I let it fall into the mixture.
The moment it touches the surface, the liquid convulses.
“Step back,” Edwin says sharply.
I frown, because even though I’ve never tested my own blood before, I only added a droplet. Surely, it won’t—
Edwin yanks me back in the nick of time. The beaker shatters with a crack like lightning, glass spraying across the workbench as the potion flashes silver-white and dies.
Silence follows. I chance a look back at the others. Edwin readjusts his goggles. Cassiel is acting as a shield for Ru. It takes him a moment to relax, his eyes saucer-wider.
“That’s interesting,” Edwin says, far too calmly. “I thought you were only half fae?”
“I am,” I insist, though my voice comes out thinner than I intend. My heart is racing. That wasn’t normal, I’m sure of it. That wasn’t half anything.
I’m equally sure that my mother was mortal, that I am what I am. It doesn’t make any sense.
The others are staring at me. Even Cassiel.
“Oh well,” I add quickly, forcing a shrug. “That will provide a good baseline, I suppose.”
No one looks entirely convinced.
It takes a few minutes to clear the glass. Edwin mutters under his breath while reconstructing the station, and Cassiel quietly moves anything remotely flammable further away.
Ru sticks close to me the whole time.
The remaining beakers sit untouched. I inspect them carefully, making sure nothing got mixed into them, or though we’d certainly know if any of my blood had contaminated it.
“Right,” Edwin says at last. “Let’s proceed more… cautiously.”
He hands all of us a pair of goggles and sets up a screen, though it’s hardly needed for this test—he’s using his own blood.
“Just to be sure the potion isn’t the problem,” he says. “For the record, Your Highness, if this experiment does reveal that I’m secretly fey, I expect full diplomatic immunity.”
“Granted,” says Cassiel, barely looking.
There’s no hesitation when Edwin pricks his finger. A drop falls in the beaker. He steps back, but nothing happens. The liquid remains perfectly still.
“Well,” he says, sounding mildly disappointed. “That’s reassuringly dull.”
“Human,” Cassiel says dryly.
Edwin sighs. “Tragic, I know.”
Despite everything, Ru giggles, but the giggles quickly fall away when she realises it’s her turn next.
Ru’s hand slips into mine, small and cold. “What if it’s like yours?” she whispers. “What I’m not—”