Shocked, I return my focus to him for the few private moments we have left. “And why should I trust you? Why would I come here?”
Is this how he tricked Nova? Offers of safety from…what exactly?Was he the wolf in sheep's clothing all along?
“Honestly I don’t give a shit if you trust me,” he says. “But the offer is there if you ever need it.”
We approach the front door, and he turns to me, bowing low. “I’ve notified our Guardians of your tour of our kingdom. Some of our best will join you, for extra protection. Though you shouldn’t need it here.” He gives a pointed look towards Niko, and without another word he walks back towards the council room.
I’m left with more questions than answers, but he definitely didn’t sell me on his innocence.
Chapter
Eighteen
NISSA
Isolde and I exit the castle surrounded by a mix of Guardians and guards from Varethiel. Unlike Solevara, no walls separate the royal residence from the city. We walk down the stairs and straight onto the streets.
“What in the worlds was that about?” Isolde hisses at me, close enough for our dresses to brush with each step.
“He just wanted to express his condolences about Nova’s loss.” The lie spills out as I slip my hand into my cape pocket and finger a rolled slip of parchment .
“And he couldn’t do that with us there…” she mumbles, as if thinking.
I don’t respond. Although I have no reason to protect Prince Aiden, the information on the parchment may benefit me when I run.
“The prince has deep feelings for you,” she says, abruptly changing the subject.
I give her a quick side glance before continuing to take in the other kingdom laid out ahead of me. “I haven't had much time together with Caspien since my sister?—”
She cuts me off. “I am referring to Cillian. He has always been infatuated with you, and he seems to be having a hard time concealing it now.”
“We were close as younglings,” I say after a slight falter in my step. I recover quickly and keep moving. “It’s easy to fall back into that old friendship.” My whole body is heating inside my thick cape, but it would be too telling to remove it on the snow-covered streets.
“You and I both know it is more than that. I saw the way he looked at you when Aiden insisted on talking to you privately.” She clicks her tongue. “It isn’t a good idea, Nissa.”
My name from her lips makes my head jerk towards her. I don’t recall her ever using my given name before.
Her face is taut. “This is a hard life to be born into. None of us asked for it. Don’t repeat the mistakes I made and believe you can have what you want. You are called to marry Caspien. Gaia won’t let anyone come out unscathed if you try to go down another path. Don’t drag Cillian into your selfishness.”
The wind stings my eyes as her vague confession settles deep in my stomach like a rock. I want to push and ask what mistakes she made, but with the lump in my throat, all I can do is nod and keep my pace beside her.
After a moment of silence, she begins telling me about Varethiel. How cold-weather crops and herbs are transported from here to Solevara.
I try to focus on the unfolding city, but it does little to distract me from the growing nausea. She’s right about my selfishness. What she doesn’t realize is that my relationship with her son isn’t the only thing she should be worried about.
As we make our way down the cobblestone alleys, guards surrounding us, we gain the attention of only a few passersby. Most ignore us. A stark difference from Solevara, where the Fae fall all over any royal they come across.
Among the usual restaurants and shops, a few places unexpectedly stand out. Glassblowing galleries and stores filled with fabrics that I have never seen. An armory that has every shape and size of blade you could imagine. The Guardians all carry weapons but this is the first time I’ve ever seen a place to buy them.
“Varethiel creates the strongest weapons available to the Fae,” Niko explains as we get closer, noting my interest. “The Fire Fae here have a specialized process that combines the cold of the snow and the extreme heat of their blue flame.” When we reach a market, he explains this is where the witches are able to find spell and potion supplies—crystals, herbs, and other rare ingredients.
“A waste of space.” Isolde’s voice drips with condescension, making her opinion clear. She doesn’t approve of the kingdom catering to foreign species.
Next to the market, there’s an alcove with a door painted with symbols. Grimoires are stacked in front of the window. I strain to see inside but the dusty window obscured my view.
Outside the threshold, an elderly woman is sitting in a peeling chair that was once red, carving something. A sign is propped beside her, advertising card readings and communications with those who have returned to Gaia. The words faded from years out in the sun.
She doesn’t look up, but I still send a small smile in her direction as we approach. Her wrinkled skin and hunched back give away her age. Like Fae, witches live for centuries, but they age differently. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I’ve never seen anyone like her until today.
