“What kind of magical disguises?” Reyla said. “We can’t risk them being dislodged.”
Dorion nodded. “That’s the tricky part. They need to be good enough to slip past their wards. I’ve seen to that already.” Rising from his chair, he removed small wooden boxes from his pocket and handed one to each of us before resettling in his seat. “Courtesy of my mother.”
Reyla frowned. “She’s alive?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
She shrugged. “No particular reason. When you referred to her, I assumed she’d passed.”
“My father didn’t allow her to do much, but he did allow her to live. Now that he’s gone, she’s free.” He looked directly at her. “She sent her thanks for removing him from her life.”
“We did it together.” Rounding the table to stand beside me in front of the fire, she pressed into my side. I tightened my arm around her shoulders. I’d almost lost her, and I’d need her close for a very long time.
She opened her box, revealing a ring.
“Your mother can do veilcraft?” I asked.
“She’s a master with the skill,” Dorion said.
I spoke for my wife’s benefit. “Veilcraft can weave identity into objects. You anchor a spell into something small, say a ring, a brooch, a cloak, and as long as someone wears it, it projects a different body, voice, and even their scent if the one crafting the spell is skilled enough. It’s not only about the illusion. A good piece of veilcraft can fool scent-hounds, even spells that reveal lies. Done right, it’s impossible to break. But it's a tricky spell. You’re not only making someone look different, but you’re also convincing the world they’re real.”
“Why didn’t she use something like this to escape Tallin?” Reyla looked up at me.
“She tried,” Dorion said grimly. “He quickly blocked her ability. My father could perform oathseal spells that compelled obedience. He used one on me to make me enter the labyrinth. As for my mother, once he’d bound her with an oathseal, any spell she attempted to cast to veil herself or twist her appearance would unravel and cause her intense agony.”
“He was your father, but he was a nasty piece of shit,” she said in a low voice. “I’m not upset one bit that we bound him to the labyrinth.”
“Neither am I.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his legs. “When I came up with the plan, I asked her to help. I want to return the favor you both did for me inside the labyrinth. Without you, I’d still be hiding in my cave or trying not to fall for the entity’s latest trap.”
“You helped us as well.”
Dorion slowly nodded. “Wear it at all times and don’t remove it until you’ve got the talisman in hand and have returned here. The spell will only mask you if you’re wearing the ring.”
I kept hearing the clock ticking in my head. Five days left and the only thing between me and death was a ring and a chance.
I studied my iron-dark ring braided through with threads of silver so fine they caught the light like spider webs. Ancient runes along the inside winked at me. When I lifted it from the box, power hummed across my fingertips, eager, almost alive.
Reyla’s ring was finer, the silver brighter. It suited her. Lifting it, she turned it over between her fingers, a furrow forming between her brows. She must feel it too. The pull. The whisper of what we would become once we wore them.
Dorion watched us both. “The spell will hold as long as you wear them, and no one there will see you for who you are. Not even Irridain’s seers.”
She shot me a wide-eyed look. “I’m curious to see what my new husband looks like.”
“And I’m equally curious to meet my new wife.” Leaning close, I kissed her temple. “She’ll never be as gorgeous as you.”
Dorion rolled his eyes. “Try them on, but you won’t see anyone different. They’re spelled so that everyone else sees Lord Bastian Rutherford and his beloved wife, Lady Bliss, but not us.”
“Then how will we know they’re working?” Reyla asked.
“You’ll see who the spell projects when you look in themirror.” He waved to where it hung on the wall. “Let’s see how well Mother crafted her spell.”
We turned to face the mirror above the fireplace. I slid the ring onto my finger, feeling it settle with a soft hum. She did the same.
A stranger stared back at me. Gone was my familiar scar, the crook of my nose, the battle-worn edges I couldn't scrub away. Instead, an older fae lord with silver-touched dark hair wore my black leathers when I suspected he’d, instead, would dress in…maybe a blue velvet coat threaded with gold. Even my posture had changed, my shoulders curving forward and my body less muscular, as if I'd never held a sword.
“Oh, my.” Reyla’s voice carried wonder.
Her transformation was breathtaking. High cheekbones, haughty elegance, dark hair piled in intricate loops on her head.
