I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think past the horror of watching someone just stop existing.
“Fenric,” he continued like he hadn’t just given me a fucking heart attack. “You may have noticed, can sense presences. Thoughts. Emotions bleeding off people like heat.” His fingers drummed against the chair arm. “They’re called Lunari. Exceptionally rare, actually. Most fae go their entire lives without meeting one.”
“What does this have to do with me?” But I already knew. Already felt the pieces clicking into place with the inevitability of a blade finding flesh.
“There are a myriad of gifts.” Cindrissian leaned forward, eyes intent. “Varying in rarity, in power. Some fae have them. Most don’t. It’s not about strength or skill, it’s something you’re born with. Something that manifests under the right circumstances.”
“And you think I have one of these gifts.”
“I think Varyth suspects you might.” His voice went careful. “They’re never afforded to humans who cross the Veil. Never. The transformation strips away everything except base magic, rebuilds you anew. But given the power that was felt when you crossed, the way the entire realm lit up like you’d set off a fucking beacon?” He paused. “Varyth may have had suspicions from the start.”
My blood turned to ice. “The bloodlines. He was looking to see if?—”
“If your ancestry suggested the possibility, yes.” Cindrissian’s gaze never wavered. “And those suspicions probably increased exponentially once that shadow fire appeared. Because gifts don’t manifest gradually. They explode into being under moments of great emotional stress.”
“Great emotional distress?”
“Yes. Which is probably,” Cindrissian continued, voice going soft and dangerous. “Why Varyth’s been so vigilant about avoiding situations where you’d be under extreme emotional duress.”
Every time Varyth had stepped in. Every time he’d intercepted a threat before it reached me. Every time he’d tried to keep me from the fighting, from the danger, from the situations that would make me manifest whatever fucking gift I might possess.
He’d been managing me. Controlling the variables. Keeping me calm and contained and safe not just for my protection, but to prevent me from becoming whatever the fuck I actually was.
“That manipulative—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Rage was climbing up my throat, hot and acidic and so visceral I could taste it. “He’s been treating me like some kind of experiment.”
“He’s been treating you like someone with a loaded weapon they don’t know how to use.” Cindrissian’s tone held no judgment, just that infuriating matter-of-fact cadence. “If you do have a gift, and it manifests uncontrolled—” He spread his hands. “That’s how people die. Usually a lot of people.”
“So what?” The words came out savage. “He was just going to keep me locked up, kept calm, managed like a child until he figured out what I was?”
“He was trying to keep you alive long enough to understand what you’re capable of.” Cindrissian stood, moving toward the sideboard again. This time he actually poured himself a drink, downing it in one smooth motion. “But yes. He’s been controlling the situation. Which, knowing Varyth, means he’s been lying by omission about his reasons.”
My hands clenched into fists, black fire licking across my knuckles. “And you? You’ve known this whole time?”
“I’ve suspected.” He met my gaze steadily. “But unlike Varyth, I don’t have the resources or authority to investigate properly. I just watch. Observe. Draw conclusions.” His mouth curved. “And occasionally follow suspicious humans who sneak out of castles in the middle of the night.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’ve been told that before.” He set the glass down. “Usually right before people realise I’m right about whatever they didn’t want to hear.”
I wanted to burn something. Wanted to tear this room apart, this castle, this entire realm that kept twisting truth into shapes Icouldn’t recognise. Wanted to storm into Varyth’s chambers and demand he explain every single lie, every manipulation, every orchestration designed to keep me docile.
But first. “The book.” My voice came out flat. “You said you need it. To prove your theory.”
“I did say that, yes.”
“And if I knew where it was? If I could get it for you?”
“Then I could tell you exactly what bloodline you’re carrying.” He moved closer, deliberate and predatory. “I could tell you what gift you might have, if any. And I could tell you exactly why Ashterion wants you badly enough to send his best asset into Varyth’s territory.”
He stopped just in front of me, close enough that I could see the flecks of darker red in those crimson eyes. “Do you know where that book is, Isara?”
“I might be able to bring it to you.”
Cindrissian snorted. “Might. How delightfully noncommittal.”
“I’ll bring you the fucking book.” I refused to flinch under that piercing stare. “But I want answers. Real ones. Not cryptic musings or half-truths wrapped in charming deflection.”
“Oh, I’m charming now?” His smirk widened.
