“What is it?” Tristano asks at the same time.
“The caster is of the day. Old magic lives in their veins. And alchemy has wedded to it to create this masterwork.” She steps closer and runs a finger down my cheek then licks it. “She. A female cast it. And—” She smacks her lips. “I taste it now. It’s a dampening spell.”
“Dampening?” Tristano reaches out and plucks at something, pulling it away from me.
“Why can’t I see it?” The light in the goblet fades as I focus on whatever Tristano has pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
“You’re cursed.” She shrugs. “Of course you can’t see it. This spell is quite strong, quite clever. It covers you head to foot and also encases your feral in the same sticky web. You are both diminished, but you can’t tell it.”
“Diminished?”
She tosses the goo—goblet and all—into her cauldron. “The caster wanted you and the feral blind to the truth.”
“Speak plainly, witch,” I snap. “Blind to what truth?”
She waves a hand, and the cauldron disappears, then she turns back to me with sparkling eyes. “Blind to the fact your fated mate is here in this very palace, right under your nose.”
29
Emma
Solano hasn’t come to his chambers in days, and I’ve been spending my time in the library or sneaking into the infirmary to check on my friends. They still haven’t woken, but they’re healing. The red skin and cuts are slowly fading, and they sleep peacefully.
“You’re going to get caught,” Caltinius chides as I wipe some cooling salve along Lysetta’s wounds.
“No one said I can’t come visit.” I finish smoothing it along her cheeks, then sit back, my fingers tingling.
“I’m certain the king would want to speak with you first.” Cal crosses his arms, his face as stern as he can make it. I’ve grown fond of him in our short time together. His love of rules is one I don’t share, but he has a kind heart, much like his mate Tritus.
“Well, he doesn’t have to know.” I stand. “And you could tell me what’s going on, but you won’t. So I’ll keep taking my chances until someone decides to fill me in.”
“I don’t know anything. I keep telling you.” He turns and starts mixing a tincture of some sort. “They showed up, I was told to care for them, and that’s what I’m doing. Between you and Tritus, I feel like I’m constantly being interrogated.”
“Sorry.” I stand next to him and lean over to see what he’s doing. “I just want to know. And until you wake them and I can ask, I’ve got nothing.”
“You don’t want them awake,” he snaps. Then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I drop my gaze. “It’s okay.”
“I just mean that one of them was a little … let’s say ‘distressed’ when she was conscious, so I don’t think it’s a good idea just yet for me to wake them. Besides, Grimelda would need to do it. I can only give them infusions of herbs and healing medicines. It’s the witch that keeps them sleeping, and she hasn’t been back since the king summoned her to the throne room.”
A shudder goes through me as I think about the seeker, his cold eyes on me for only a moment, but still far too long. He belongs at the Spires, not here in the day realm.
“Go, friend.” Cal gives me a genuine, if tired, smile. “I’ve some potions to make, and Tritus enjoys your company in the library. I do, too, since he tells you all about his book finds instead of putting me to sleep with old texts and new discoveries.” He yawns.
“Fine. But I’ll be back later to visit.”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course you will.” Leaning closer, he presents his cheek, and I drop a kiss on it before giving one last look at Lysetta and Rala.
Hurrying through the hall and the open patios covered with bright pink and purple blooms, the air scented with nectar and a light breeze stirring the green leaves, I turn down the white hallway that leads to the library. Entering, I find Tritus at his books, his brows drawn together as he mumbles words in the Old Language at himself.
I plop into my usual chair and draw a book from the stack I chose for myself. This one is interesting, mainly because it’s full of prophecies that read more like riddles. I open it and read to Tritus, “‘A child of many worlds, clothed in light, will come home. On wings of death, the child will glide to sit on her throne of bone. The realms will bend to her command, she has but to choose. She alone can start the war and be victorious, win or lose.’”
He gives me a quizzical look.
“That’s what I’m saying. These prophecies make no sense.”
“Pick another book. I mean, it’s not as if you have an entire library to choose from.” He waves a hand at the stacks that stretch back farther than I can see.
