“The curse is entwined with your soul. No one can remove it without killing you as well.”
That isn’t what I’ve come all this way to hear. I get to my feet and approach her. “You used the Whisting on me,” I say. It knocked me back through the air, the magic coming as easily as a flick of her wrist. “I’ve heard the stories about who you are and what you did—how you saved Beddlegert last winter during the floods. If you know how to control it—if you truly are the last of the Vindar—you must know how to help me.”
“Knowledge of the Whisting is not akin to breaking a curse,” she says. “Plus, I removed myself from the concerns of men a long time ago. Too many have used me and my kin for their own purposes. I saved a village once because it was my own, but I will bend to no king any longer.”
“But the two are linked, and I humbly ask for your help to save our people.”
The old woman turns her milky eyes toward me and scoffs. “How do you claim to have the power of the Whist—”
In answer, I call the power, manifesting a windstorm in the palm of my hand.
Veteria’s mouth falls open in surprise as the wind whips against her face. She reels back. “This can’t be,” she says.
I raise my hands, giving more of myself to the power, but it quickly runs away from me, and I can’t control it. The wind fills the tiny cabin, overturning jars, toppling a stool, and sending a table crashing to the ground.
I see Aren’s concerned face appear in the window, looking in at the chaos unfolding.
The old woman’s face hardens, and she shakes her head as the winds swirl around her, raising whorls of dust. The walls tremble. The cat scurries under the cot.
“That’s enough,” says Veteria, her voice nearly drowned out by the gale.
I clench my teeth, willing the storm to obey me, but it only grows stronger. I only meant to prove to her what I’m capable of, but the magic has a mind of its own.
“Control it,” says Veteria.
“I can’t,” I grit out, trying not to panic.
She bares her teeth in frustration, then spreads her arms wide and stomps her foot. The air calms, collected into her outstretched hands. She redirects the wind, thrusting it back into me. I stumble, falling back onto the cot. The Rings in my back settle into a calm hum.
I heave a ragged breath. The cat pokes its head out from under the cot, checking to see if it’s safe to come back. The door to the cabin swings open, and Aren appears in the threshold.
“What in the Goddess’ name was that?” she asks, her eyes as wide as the cat’s milk saucers.
Veteria stares at me with a ferocity that borders on anger, her gaze so intense, I shrink back.
“So, this is the shape of the curse you carry. You did not learn this magic, but somehow, it is a part of you.”
An unknowable emotion flits across her face. I wonder if she’ll toss me out, or even kill me. I’m too dangerous to allow to live.
But it’s not Veteria I’m ultimately concerned about. Aren knows. She hasn’t bolted for the door, but she hasn’t moved an inch, either.
“I didn’t ask for this. I never meant for any of this to happen. I don’t know how to wield it or stop it. You’re the only one left who can help me. Please.” I’m so utterly fraught, my voice catches on the last word. I must make her understand.
That single word—please—seems to have an effect. I know how desperate I must sound, and maybe she feels sorry for me. She groans and rubs her temples.
“Tell me, boy,” she says. “How did you get this power?”
Though I’m a prince and a leader of men, in front of Veteria, I feel like I’m ten years old again. I feel even more under a looking glass with Aren waiting eagerly for an answer. “When I was young and stupid, I touched the Rings of Fate in my father’s war room. When I woke up, the Rings were gone, but I had this.” I turn and yank the back of my shirt between my shoulder blades, exposing the interlocking circles scarred into my flesh.
She reaches over and touches them with her papery fingers. Her eyebrows furrow. “The Rings chose you then.”
I hear Aren inhale sharply. “Rings?” she murmurs.
“Is that what happened?” I ask Veteria directly, ignoring Aren.
“The wind will go where it finds purpose. Clearly, it found purpose within your soul.”
Well, shit, that doesn’t sound ominous at all. “The Rings are sentient?” I ask incredulously. What in Albion have I gotten myself into?
