7. Willow
Chapter 7
Willow
J ust when I think I’m gaining his trust, the sheet rips away, harsh light assaulting my eyes as Bodin’s scowling face comes into focus. My stomach drops when I see what he’s clutching in his fist.
“I know how that looks,” I say, my gaze locked on the jar of wisps. Uncertainty gnaws at me—did Fox tell them about it? About everything that happened with Lord Sylvanar and Puck? “But it’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think?” Bodin’s expression hardens further. “That you manipulated Fox into taking your place in the Cabinet and stole wisps from the queen?”
My heart sinks. “Is that what Styx told you?”
His eye twitches. “Styx?”
Dread unfurls in my gut. “You know, Styx—your Sixth? The one I was supposed to exchange places with?”
“So you admit it.”
Shit on a wisp . This is spiraling fast. I notice Varen scowling as my pulse drags with my grief.
“Fox lured me into Titania’s temple,” I try to explain, “saying we needed to investigate the seals. But the moment we entered, he?—”
“Save your excuses for the Knight Commander.” Bodin cuts me off with a wave toward the chamber doors.
Doubt prickles my skin, but I need to face this head-on. And I have the enchanted spectacles—it’s time I chose who wears them. I retrieve the brass object from where I left it last night.
Bodin rifles through Varen’s closet and tosses a coat at me. “Cover yourself.”
My stomach growls audibly. “Can I at least grab something to eat first?”
“No.” His tone brooks no argument.
Varen shoots Bodin a disgruntled look on my behalf but doesn’t relapse into his bee-obsessed mania. He watches curiously as I button his coat over Fox’s shirt. The fashion is similarly decadent but with touches of blue. I smile inwardly, imagining Fox curating Varen’s wardrobe. I can’t picture Bodin doing it. Maybe Legion, but his personal style is far more tame. As Styx put it, everyone else in the hive has far less ostentatious tastes.
Bodin takes advantage of Varen’s distraction, wiping blood from his ears with a cloth and inspecting him for injury. When I finish buttoning, Varen turns to Bodin’s dangling braids and tugs on them playfully. I might have giggled if worry wasn’t gnawing at my insides.
“Is he okay?” I ask, unable to keep the concern from my voice.
Bodin answers with a noncommittal grunt, then rinses the bloody cloth in a bowl on the washstand beside the fireplace. A collection of grooming tools catches my eye. I touch the sharp razor blade, frowning at the metal. It’s a stark reminder that something is off in Avorlorna. Magic feels different here. Wilder. Perhaps I’ll get answers once someone dons the enchanted spectacles.
“Let’s go,” Bodin says gruffly.
I offer a mock salute. “Lead the way.”
“Stay here, Ren,” he orders Varen, then jerks his chin toward the door. “You’re fortunate the Nexus has closed for a day of silence after the loss of Earl Sylvanar. Otherwise, your tardiness would have consequences.”
As I step into the hallway, I pivot and wave goodbye to Varen. “And where is the study today?”
Bodin slams the door, cutting off my view of Varen, and strides away without answering.
Right. I guess we’re heading in that direction—toward their private chambers. Bodin’s tall, broad-shouldered form moves with taut purpose, a steady reminder of my precarious situation. I hurry after him barefoot, clutching the wire spectacles like a lifeline and silently praying to the Cauldron’s deities that the enchantment will work.
The cool air would be unbearable without the coat. Fox’s scent is fading from his shirt, but Varen’s coat smells strongly of him. I grab the collar and inhale deeply as we walk. The scent settles something within me, and I can’t help but smile. Despite everything, I still feel I belong here. This sense of rightness proves it. The warmth, the fuzzy buzz deep in my soul—it’s how I feel with my kin, my family. My thoughts flit to my parents, brother, and little sisters.
I bet those rascals are tearing the house apart without someone to watch them. I’m always finding them in places they shouldn’t be. The twins have some kind of secret, silent language that helps them collude and get into mischief. A few weeks ago, I caught Hazel standing guard at my bedroom door while Holly rifled through my nest of valuables. At first, I was outraged, but part of me felt a surge of pride. They’d been watching their big sister and Tinger, taking notes on our thieving ways and putting them into practice.
I wish I’d brought more items with my family’s scent, but I inhale Varen’s again in their absence.
Bodin glances over his shoulder and stops abruptly. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I quickly release the collar. He can’t understand, not until his memories return. Averting my gaze, I realize we’ve stopped before a section of wall that looks different from the others. An iron padlock dangles from a knob on a reinforced door.
“What’s in there?” I ask, pointing.
“Nothing,” Bodin replies curtly.
I touch the door, and telltale magic tingles across my skin. “Is this the clock tower?”
“Let’s go.” He starts moving again.
My curiosity is piqued. “Cricket warned me never to go inside the clock tower. Why?”
Bodin responds by descending a nearby staircase.
“I’m just curious,” I persist as I jog to catch up. “Are the locks meant to keep you out as well?”
Each question I fire darkens his mood further. I don’t think it’s because I’m annoying him, but maybe because he genuinely doesn’t know the answers. His brow furrows in frustration, and a flicker of fear passes through his eyes. If he’s aware of his unstable memory, it must be terrifying.
We reach the landing a level below and continue along the corridor, passing the cellar kitchen. Hearing our steps, or perhaps Bodin’s huffs and grumbles, Geraldine, Max, and Peggy turn their attention to the open doorway. We don’t stop. They’re clustered around the central counter, facing Marina, who’s in full gossip mode. Maybe she’s heard about Fox.
When I catch Geraldine’s concerned gaze, I have my answer. They know.
A flash of my nightmare hits me behind my eyes. It was warped, wicked, and oh so wrong. All I know is that I’m left with a lingering sense of guilt and shame.
To avoid awkward questions, I quickly wave and force a smile. Geraldine jumps off her seat, but I shake my head. “See you all for lunch.”
I feel her wary eyes following us long after we’ve turned down another hallway. That human is smart. My false bravado wouldn’t have fooled her. The House of Stone Tower burned to the ground last night. Now Fox is suddenly missing. We’re back at the Nexus tomorrow to resume training for the exhibition trials. Goodfellow will likely turn up and be bonded to the Baleful Hunt.
We continue onward to a room near the public entry of the keep. I’d assumed Legion’s study would be near his bed chambers or by the library on our level. Maybe the castle shifted it during the night.
Bodin raises his fist and raps sharply on one of the carved double doors. I turn and survey the landscape outside the windows overlooking the courtyard. It snowed again last night, leaving a thin, fluffy blanket of white on every surface. Mist obscures the gate of twisted, enchanted, thorny vines. Not long ago, I watched Fox wave his hand, causing those vines to crack and snap open for our entry. I realize now that security beyond that gate seems lacking. Either people are too afraid of the fae living here, or more hidden protective measures are in place.
A cocktail of familiar smells wafts through as the door opens, revealing who’s inside: smoke, cedarwood, leather, absinthe, bergamot, and spice. I turn to enter and sigh as warm air hits my face, comforted by the knowledge that three of my mates are within. The more I say that word to myself, the more it feels right . . . and wrong. It’s like I’m living in a future no one else has reached yet. An impatient frown creases my brow, and I slip my hand into my pocket. I touch the spectacles to reassure myself that this won’t end with them abandoning me again.
No evil queen is stealing my magic and summoning them away. She’s slumbering in her ivory palace until Imbolc, just under two turns of the moon from now.
The worst we have to contend with until then is Puck and his inflated ego.
Bodin steps forward, then halts abruptly. I collide with the solid wall of his back. Male voices filter out of the room.
“Fuck,” Bodin grunts. “You took too long. Now we have to wait for the military reports to be delivered.” He sighs heavily. “Leaders from around Avorlorna send updates on the state of security during the Gentle Interlude.”
His arm sweeps back, his hand resting protectively on my hip. A spark of warmth blooms where he touches. The gesture surprises me. Legion’s abrupt order to enter makes him tense, but then he releases a breath and gives a disparaging head shake that rattles his braids. They tickle my face. I have the urge to yank on them as Varen did, just to see how Bodin will react, but he steps forward and ushers me inside.