I thought Fae get even, not pitiful, says Aidon. I turn to glare daggers at him, but seeing his amusement, I muster a poker face.
There’s no winning with him. He raises an eyebrow but lets the topic rest.
“The Forest Witch is ancient and cunning; she certainly has plotted something,” Riven warns.
I get in his face, barely reaching his shoulder, yet I raise my chin and glare daggers into his unyielding moon-kissed orbs.
It takes all the will I can spare, aside from keeping the power in check, not to let his expression soften me up.
I am determined to stay upset.
“If I needed your advice, General, I would ask,” I reply flatly, and observe the pain appearing behind those gorgeous eyes.
I ignore the pinch of guilt. What’s one more crime against an ocean of it?
No one else says anything, which I take as a clue to go on with my visit.
I turn away from them, from the tent I created for us, and head on the road to the Witch’s hut. It’s a short, fairly safe walk from our temporary campsite.
For the first time since I decided to resume my duties, I am alone. Was it only an illusion of sharing the burden with them? Or am I brooding?
I pause my inner monologue and take a deep breath, bracing for a sarcastic retort, but it doesn’t come.
I suppose I am alone.
I am not your entertainment.Aidon sneers in my head.
Shame burns my cheeks, but it washes away as soon as I see my destination.
The hut looks weird in the dense Forest. It must be the only Fae-built building here, yet it gives the vibe of belonging exactly in that spot.
I check in with my power. The energy’s swirling, alert. Ready to be used, but only if I keep my temper. But how the fuck does one keep their temper while living through so much?
At least I am alive. Not like Nulok. Or the others.
I step on the veranda, my steps unapologetically loud on the wooden floor. Is knocking the correct procedure, or should I establish who’s the powerhouse and barge in?
Before I make up my mind, the door swings open with a creak. Is this supposed to be an invitation? I’ll pass.
A short female with dark walnut hair appears on the other side of the frame and greets me with a waist bow.
I acknowledge her.
“Are you coming inside, or what?” Hora’s voice sounds from the inside of the hut, which looks even less welcoming up close.
“I guess I am,” I mumble under my breath and walk in.
As soon as I step through the threshold, I detect a slick magic barrier.
Trap? Protection? Is it soundproof? Definitely no ‘kill any visitor on the first step’ kind of barrier, so I store it for later and focus on the female. She looks young, but the air around her trembles with her concealed power, giving off both a strangely familiar and foreign scent.
I inspect her face for any signs of deception and find nothing indicating evil intentions. She is standing still, letting me pass judgment. Finally, I nod. In reply, she offers me a dimpled smile, reaching to take my coat and hangs it in the cluttered wardrobe.
“I’m Karo, happy to be of service, My Lady.” Her tone is gentle and unbothered. She gestures to follow her, and I do that.
From the outside, the hut seemed much, much smaller.
We walk through a narrow corridor with dozens of strange paintings and shelves of mostly forbidden ingredients.
