“What were you going to say?”
“Nothing. It was a foolish notion.”
In the awkward silence that stretches, my insides twist up so hard I regret eating so much greasy chicken for lunch.
His jaw parts. “You want to know if we’ve ever been lovers.”
“No,” I say in a rush, instantly mortified down to my toes. I glance through the branches, praying Basten—with his superior hearing—isn’t within miles. “No, that isn’t it at all.”
Woudix only smirks like he can see into my heart. “The answer is no. It was always you and Artain. It’salwaysbeen you and Artain. Some patterns in our fates repeat themselves. Thracia always pairs with Samaur. Popelin and Meric are always at odds—sometimes to the point of blades. And of course, you and Artain.”
His words linger as if there’s more there, but I can’t even pretend to guess what it is. A cloud shifts overhead, plunging the hemlock grove into shadows.
I clear my throat and look down at my hands. Gods, the tension is thick as fog.
“I can’t see how I waseverwith that ass,” I joke.
Woudix—always so stoic—almost smiles in return. “Let’s just say it was always a love-and-hate relationship between you two. And…” He reaches out to catch one of the loose curls cascading down my shoulder, working it softly between his fingers like corn silk. “You’re different this time.”
The pit of my stomach tightens, though I’m not sure why. He isn’t just talking about the color and texture of my hair.
I’m so damn hopeful that Iamdifferent this time.
“You and I,” he continues, “have always treated one another more as true siblings. As…equals.”
My chest sinks with relief. Yes. Yes, that’s it. The connection I feel. How I can tolerate him more than the other fae. He isn’t my brother, not by blood.
But it feels right.
Family.
The word hums in my chest, alive, like something I’d forgotten but never really lost. My pulse snaps—not with fear, but wonder.
My palm suddenly tingles with pins and needles.
As a faint tremor shakes the ground, a tendril of greenery thrusts out from beneath my hand. More tendrils weave between my fingers, growing up toward the light with astonishing speed, twisting and dancing with life.
A shriek slips out of my mouth. I clap a trembling hand—fey lines blazing silver—over my mouth, gazing in awe at the rice seedling that’s rising from the ground. Tiny threads of roots bury themselves deeper in the soil. Inch by inch, the seedling unfurls until it’s waist high.
Without meaning to, my human glamour melts away to reveal my fae self. All dazzling bright lines, pointed ears, and pin-sharp teeth.
“It grew,” I gasp. “Imade it sprout.”
Woudix gives a nod that could almost be considered proud, as he lets my lock of hair slip from his fingers. “Of course you did.”
Before I know what I’m doing, I throw my arms around him with such vigor that he has to lean back, catching himself with one hand planted behind him.
I laugh and cry and sniffle against the hard leather of his doublet, shaped to look like a corpse’s ribs. For once, he doesn’t feel like a cold, distant god.
I feel his breath, feel his chest rise and fall.
Somethingis returning. Maybe not memories—not yet—but old impulses. Instincts. Habits. Something has shifted here, beneath the boughs, under Woudix’s deft hand. Just look at the rice seedling twisting toward the sun.
Deep in my bones, a quiet thrill thrums.
If this is what is awakening in me…maybe I don’t have to fear the stirring.
Chapter 6
