“I didn’t believe it either at first, but Tamia told me herself. Do you think I wanted to be drawn to him? I tried to resist—”
“It didn’t look like you were trying very hard.”
“You shouldn’t have been spying.”
“Why? Because you didn’t want me to know you were a traitor?”
“I’m not a traitor—”
“What else would you call throwing yourself at an Elf?”
“I didn’t throw myself at him. He’s been following me ever since I escaped Lavana.”
Damion shook his head, his scars forming vicious hard lines across his face. She seized his jaw between her hands and forced her memories into his head—everything. From being tortured, to escaping, to everything that Tamia had told her and every moment with Endreas, including the last one. Only because he was sworn to her could she gain such access to his mind, and normally, she wouldn’t have taken such drastic and invasive action. But she needed him. She needed him to be on her side. He and Hero were the only ones she could trust.
“Me and the rat, huh?” he said, pulling his head out of her hands. Though his lip was still curled in disgust, the anger had melted into a brooding annoyance.
“Now you know,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said, slipping his swords into his shadow’s vault. “Now I know how good it feels to be molested by an Elf. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“So do you still think I’m a traitor?”
A scowl dug into his face. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know.” He glanced over to the campfire. “No one will believe it, about the Elves and our kind being the same people. And I don’t care what that Elf says. There will never be peace.”
“But he wasn’t lying, about the skirmishes?”
Damion folded his arms over his broad chest. “No. If anything, he downplayed the severity. Things are very bad. And they only look to grow worse. Matters are not helped by the Crown’s ill-health. The Radiants are allowed to fight amongst themselves. The northern provinces are ignoring the border islands’ calls for assistance, and the Crown’s ministers are too busy currying favor from the Radiants to send warriors. Our own coasts are threatened by ogres and trolls and all manner of malevolent creatures island-hopping up to our peninsula. I don’t care what your Elf or Tamia says. These beasts are evil and bloodthirsty. You cannot trust him, Magda.”
“I don’t,” she said. “You know I don’t.”
“No, but you do love—”
Her finger flew up between them. “Stop. Search my memories again. I feel many things for Endreas, but not that.” She stepped back from him, allowing the tension to dissolve. “But what if he is right?”
“About?”
“About the war, about peace? If things are as bad as you say—”
“Submitting to the Elf King is not the answer,” he said. “Besides, you know there is something he is not telling you. If his intentions were as noble as he claims, he would be more forthright.”
“Maybe,” she said, watching Kaelan’s profile, the way the light and shadows melted over his face. “I wish I had more time to think.”
“We should go straight to the Spire. Why are we wasting time going to see some tree demon?”
“Because Kaelan needs to know the truth,” she said. “And so do I. If he is the child of this prophecy...”
“I hope he is,” Damion said, coming closer. “You should claim him.”
“I can’t claim him against his will.”
“You won’t have to when you are in your Shine. He will want to be claimed then.”
“Well, I’m not, am I? And even if I were, I wouldn’t do that to him. I swore that I wouldn’t claim him.”
“That is a promise you cannot honor. Think of it, Magda. This Elf wants you. And we both know that he is not telling you the whole of his plans. You do not trust him, nor should you. You were right. Your feelings for him are only your instincts. It is not your fault. I must accept... Elves and Pixies are descended from the same people. Fine. But what you feel for him is only remnants of that. As you said, he is a Prince and you a Rae. That is the way of it. But he”—Damion pointed towards Kaelan—“is a Prince too.” Damion leaned closer. “And I know you are drawn to him as well.”
“Only because he is a Prince.”
