She narrowed her eyes. “Around the time I realized it might be the only way to keep up with you lot. And anyway, it's notme you should be worried about.” She nodded toward a barrel-chested man whose horse was nearly buckling under his weight. Elara felt a pang of pity for the poor animal. But Bryn was right; something about the man was off. His stareswerelike knife thrusts, all directed at Gideon.
Dominic exhaled deeply, a sound heavy with the weight of command. “We're stopping here! Water the horses, stretch your legs.” The group's immediate flurry of activity followed, each member springing into motion.
Elara seized the moment, her eyes darting from face to face as she tallied the group—twelve in total. They were a diverse lot, a motley crew of men and women, and even a boy who couldn't have been over seventeen. Her gaze lingered on him, noting the way his eyes darted nervously, like a cornered animal.
“Yoni,” Dominic shouted, aimed at a man with dark braids woven back from his face. “Scout ahead. Throw out a fewceirínten leagues out, then double back.”
“On it,” Yoni replied, giving a lazy salute before he and Bryn coaxed their horses into a trot.
“What’s aceirín?”Elara asked after the pair was out of sight.
Dominic's gaze scanned the tree line as he spoke. “It’s a kind of tracking device I came up with. It detects signals or spells recently cast in the area. Helps us know if anyone’s creeping too close to camp.” His voice held a hint of pride.
“Did you use alchemy to create this device?”
Dominic's eyes met hers, his grin broadening. “No, Hallowed, I usedTírrísh.”
A shiver of surprise ran through Elara. “ButTírríshis a dead language. It’s said that only the Fae could harness its power.”
“Only if you believe what Osin’s scribes claim.” Elara was about to argue, but Dominic cut her off. “Hold on—before you say anything, answer one of my questions first.”
He slid off his horse.
Elara narrowed her eyes, still wary as he reached up to help her down. “Go on then.” Her feet landed on the soft ground and a wave of unsteadiness hit her; the remnants of the sedative lingered in her system. She held onto the horse for support, pausing a moment to let the world stop spinning and her vision clear. When it finally did, Dominic's gaze was on her.
“Why did you leave the Sanct? What drove you to seek Godfrey?”
Elara felt a surge of incredulity at his question. “Fen died.” The words were a struggle, her throat constricting around them. “Whatever he wanted with my blood—it wasn't for his own benefit.I know Fen. I just...I need to understand why.”
Dominic's face stayed unreadable, yet his eyes moved sharply over hers, searching, digging for something. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it convincing because a small, knowing smile eventually crept into his expression.
“There's a clear line drawn in this world,” Dominic said, leaning in close as he gently untied the ropes around Elara's wrists. “The truth-seekers and the blind believers—the latter might as well be dead for all the good their ignorance does them. If you're sure you want to chase the truth, I’m here to throw you the rope. But remember, once you step through this door with me, there's no going back to pretending.”
Elara studied him, really took him in. This man had hurt Dario, had drawn her out of the Sanct and kidnapped her. And yet, since then, he'd been open and ... nice. The thought made her stomach twist.Nice?She nearly rolled her eyes at herself. But then, there were answers she needed, truths dangling just out of reach that this man could provide. If playing along got her those, then maybe it was worth the compromise. Her resolve hardened; she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin with a defiant tilt.
“I never cared much for pretending, anyway.”
A wicked grin spread across his face. “That's what I like to hear.”
Chapter 15
As the sun sank, spilling fiery orange across the horizon, the group finally ceased their endless bickering and decided to set up camp for the night.
A biting wind cut through the air, but Elara barely felt it, her attention captured entirely by the sight of her captors. She watched in wonder as they moved with practiced efficiency—tents rose from the ground like mushrooms after rain, and fires sparked to life, casting long shadows across the clearing, all while their voices wove the ancientTírríshlanguage into the crisp air.
The melody was haunting, touching something deep within Elara, a stir of emotions she couldn't quite name. She could have drowned in the sound, let it wash over her all night, but eventually, they stopped, the camp secured within wards that shimmered like spider silk yet promised the strength of steel.
So, Osin and his scribes had lied.
The truth shouldn't have surprised her, yet a shiver rippled through Elara all the same.Tírríshwas not a dead language—it pulsed with a power that could still be harnessed, despite the Fae being banished to another realm. She had always been taughtthat the language’s strength was inherently tied to the essence of the Fae themselves. But perhaps that wasn’t the case...
The wards crackled, their energy buzzing over her skin and causing the fine hairs on her arms to stand on end. This sensation was novel, unfamiliar—not like the ether she knew.Tírríshvibrated with life, each thrum of energy making the ether she was accustomed to feel static, almost dormant by comparison.
Whydid ether feel so wrong? She had never questioned it before—it simply was...
“You look like you could use a drink.”
Elara's heart leapt like a startled hare when Dominic suddenly appeared beside her, that maddening smirk playing across his face. He offered her a cup—dark, dubious—and something deep inside her recoiled. She was prepared to listen, sure, but trust him?Not a chance.
