A throat clears, and I find Fehr has already returned from escorting the royals.
“We really need that bell we spoke of.” Aspen’s voice is a husky growl in my ear.
I giggle and reluctantly push him away. “You might be right. But I should speak with Fehr. I’ll come find you later.”
After claiming my lips in a final kiss, my mate leaves me alone with Fehr.
I straighten the skirts of my saffron gown—another Amelie creation—and approach the djinn.
“We should craft the bargain sooner rather than later,” he says. “That way I can get to work on the wall at once. I’ll begin tearing down the border wall tonight.”
“Very well. So, how do I release you from your Bond to Irridae Palace?”
He frowns. “Shouldn’t we craft the bargain first? That way you can ensure I return to your service like I said I would?”
“Fehr, we’re not making a bargain.”
His eyes widen, then narrow with suspicion. “You aren’t releasing me.” He shakes his head, lips pursed tight. “I understand your concern, Your Majesty, but this might be the only way to finish the wall in time.”
“I’m releasing you, but not into a bargain.”
He blinks at me a few times. “I don’t understand.”
“You’ve been trapped beneath the Bond since before humans knew fae existed. I can hardly comprehend how long that has been. You may have rebelled against the fae, but I think you’ve paid the price for that already.”
He assesses me through slitted lids. “No one would dare free a djinn, much less release one without a bargain. Most fae consider us monsters. Traitors. Murderers.”
“You aren’t the only one in this room who could claim those same titles.” Mr. Duveau’s chilling scream before he was taken by the kelpie rings through my mind. “I’ve killed my share. I’ve fought those whom I once considered my people. Used my magic for harm.”
“No one would deem your crimes equal with mine.”
“You know what, Fehr? I don’t care. I don’t care what the other royals would choose if they were in my shoes. Nor do I care what you’ve done to deserve your punishment. I told you from the start. I’m not Ustrin. I won’t force you to serve me.”
His breathing grows rapid, dark eyes glittering with hope. “You’re truly going to set me free?”
“Yes. However,” I lift my chin and I burn him with a steely gaze, “if you betray me at any point, I will hunt you down and kill you with every bit of strength I have. Understood?”
Swallowing hard, he nods.
“Good. Now, how in the bloody name of iron do I free you?”
* * *
Once my businessis done with Fehr, I make my way through the palace halls, searching for a head of copper hair. Finally, I spot Amelie where I should have thought to look first—in the seamstress’ quarters. There I find her hunched over a swath of gauzy crimson fabric spread out before her. My newly appointed seamstress—a fae with tan, fuzzy skin and eight long, dexterous limbs—bends into a graceful bow, then returns to her work at a loom nearby, weaving yards of pale blue spider silk. I yearn for a closer look at the fae, for I’m almost positive she’s making the silken strands from her own body, but I’ll have to save that for another day. One where I’ll have time to ask a lot of questions.
Instead, I approach Amelie, watching as her hands fly over the fabric, creating a row of neat stitches. It didn’t take long for Amelie to find her way here after we returned from Varney Cove, and she’s been here nearly every day since, working alongside her new mentor.
She looks up, grinning when she sees me. Her face is bright, making her look so much like she did when we were younger. But not quite the same. Dark circles hang under her eyes, and there’s a density to her energy that not even the biggest smile can hide. At least she’s found a way to channel that energy and whatever else lurks within her heart in the wake of Cobalt’s death.
She rises to her feet, showing off the length of the gown-in-progress. “I’m making this for you.”
I eye the ruby silk and the row of golden jacquard that lines the bottom hem. “It’s beautiful, Ami.”
She returns to her seat and immediately gets back to sewing. “How did the meeting go?”
I cast a glance at the seamstress, who’d paused her work to watch us. Averting her gaze, she seems to get the hint and scurries out of the room on all eight legs.
Once I’m sure the spider fae is out of earshot, I perch at the edge of the table Amelie works at. “It went well,” I say, struggling to maintain a casual air. I’m still trying to sort out how to speak to Amelie without a figurative wall between us. It doesn’t feel quite natural yet, but I know we’ll get there. “We have a plan. There’s a chance we can intercept the Parvanovae.”
