“What is it?” I snap.
Bowing his head, he says, “As you requested, the Luden River Valley refugees have gathered. They are waiting for you in Hailstrom Tower’s second-floor chamber.” He averts his eyes when he addresses me. It plucks an errant chord in my gut. He might as well have addressed me asYour Highness.
I sigh. Life was a hell of a lot easier when I was justWolf.
“Right.” I groan as I push to my feet, sliding a growlesome look toward Woudix, who is currently cuddled up next to Sabine on their blanket, showing her illustrations from a dusty, leather-bound manuscript. He’s rattling on now about some fae tribunal eight hundred years ago.
It grates at me, walking away from Sabine. Leaving her alone with the Ender. I don’t think he can kill her, but he can do worse: Seduce her with his dark charm.
I’ll admit that I’ve eyed him like a hawk, but in the weeks they’ve worked together, Woudix hasn’t once tried anything.No lingering looks, no flirtations, no fae bullshit. Just those droning, endless lectures. Which—fuck me sideways—seem to actually be working. Day by day, Sabine is…different. She’s steadier now. Her heartbeat more regular. Her eyes clearer.
I just wish it wasn’thimhelping her.
“Hey. Deathbringer.” I stride up to interrupt their conversation—moved on now to the fascinating topic of seasonal court decorations—and lower my voice to its deepest growl. “I have somewhere to be. While I’m gone, if you lay one glowy finger on this woman, I swear by gods greater than you that I’ll hollow out your skull and use it as a piss bucket.”
Immortal Woudix calmly tilts his head toward the sound of my voice, blinking at the threat as if I’m nothing more than a warm breeze. He’s in his human glamour now, but even like this, he gives off such otherworldly energy that it gives me fucking chills.
“Where are you going?” Sabine asks, looking up at me so sweetly it aches.
“Nowhere.” I soften my voice for her. “You just study. Take your time. I’m proud of how hard you’re working.”
The question remains in her eyes.
“Truly,” I insist. “I’m a paltry human doing paltry human things.”
She snorts but turns back to the illustration of themed seasonal garlands.
As I follow the messenger across the Twilight Garden, I roll my shoulders back. Trying to work out kinks from the old injury that still pains me, though recently, the ache has settled in my shoulder blades more by the day.
Shadows swallow us as we enter the Hailstrom Tower and make our way to a spartan meeting room on the second floor, with a single leather chair and a yew desk as the only furniture to speak of. A gathering of a dozen road-weary peasants, theirbacks slumped with exhaustion, clusters in the room’s center. Almost all of them bear the spiral tattoo on their chins.
When I appear in the doorway, the menfolk remove their woolen caps and duck their heads. “Lord Basten.”
Dammit—that ache in my shoulders is back, worse than ever.
Every throb reminding me I’m not a commoner like them anymore.
“Can’t we get these people some damn benches?” I bark at the messenger. His head cocks like a bird, puzzled by the request. I stare him down until he scurries off, and soon, a few wooden benches are carted in.
Once the villagers are seated, I circle the heavy yew desk and—after a deep breath—settle into the leather chair that reeks of privilege.
“Right. Thanks for coming.” I pick up the desk’s dagger-like letter opener without thinking, then realize I’m basically brandishing a knife. I set it down and awkwardly adjust my position in the chair. “I—I summoned you because I wanted you to know that your pleas to Lady Sab—to LadySolene—haven’t fallen on deaf ears.”
“We tried to make our case to Immortal Vale, as well,” a red-nosed woman in a tattered shawl says. “To all the woken fae. None of them listened.”
And you’re surprised?I think wryly.
I clear my throat. “Times are tense. Vale is intently focused on locating and waking the remaining fae. It’s all part of preparing for an inevitable war with King Rian’s forces in Astagnon. For her part, Lady Solene is anxious to provide you with aid. And she will—as soon as she’s able. She has a long journey ahead before she can harness her powers without, you know, blasting half a mountain apart.”
Nervous looks answer me.
I quickly add, “As a figure of speech, of course. In any case, I’m here. So, say what you need. Tell me what issues you’re facing, and I’ll do what I can. No promises, but I’m listening.”
Stunned, uncertain silence bounces off the chamber walls. I get the overwhelming sense that no one with an ounce of power has ever spared ten minutes to listen to their problems.
The rail-thin man limps forward. He seems to be their spokesperson.
“Thank you, Lord Basten,” he says, working his jaw. “We’re from the lower Lunden River valley, just north of the border wall. What’s left of the valley, that is. Lord Rian’s poison decimated the area. Everything is gone. There was no choice for us but to leave and follow the rumors that Immortal Solene had awoken. We hoped that she could repair our lands.” He pauses, head bowed in thought. “If that isn’t possible…well, there’s land upriver that is still workable. If Immortal Vale could spare seed, tools, and maybe a few tents, we could rebuild. We’re not asking for charity—we’ll earn it. Pay his generosity back with offerings.”
