“Is this about what we did in the puzzle tomb?” Revelin leans forward, his brows knitting together. He understands the weight of unanswered questions, but he also doesn’t awaken easily. His comprehension is still slow and I can feel the cobwebs clearing from his mind through our bond.
“Everything.” My hands clench into fists. “It’s all connected, isn’t it? The corrupt councils, Revelin’s father turning a blind eye, the stupid High Mage, all this skullduggery... It’s bigger than us.”
“Much bigger,” Khol adds grimly. His glance shifts between us, sharing an unspoken worry. “And likely more far-reaching than just those villains. My uncle is ass-deep with the Briarvale Council; so are many of the major shifter group leaders and other bigwigs.”
I love that he’s thinking, but that makes this feel completely insurmountable.
“Hey.” Dezi nudges my knee with his own, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re getting powerful now, witchling. The clues react to you almost as much as they do to Revelin.”
“Because she’s not just a witch,” Tiernan interjects suddenly, his eyes going wide as he points a shaky finger at the Prince. “I think you already suspect it, you dick. Why didn’t you say something?”
“Why would I when I don’t have any proof?” Revelin’s hand hovers over mine, hesitating before making contact. “Could your parents have lied about what you are?”
“Wouldn’t be the first secret they’ve kept,” I mutter, the realization tightening around my chest. Feray’s adventures through the wolf packs should have been secret, unlike our trip to Faerie. We’re both being tracked by unseen eyes, though, and the pixie told us they were attacked, too.
What did our parents do that warranted such silence, such mystery?
A chill skitters down my spine, the kind that tells you the world as you know it is about to fracture. The faces of my mates blur before me like I’m looking through water, and I can feel the color draining from my face.
“Lass, breathe,” Revelin urges, his voice grounding me in the present. His fingers lace with mine, warm and steady. “No matter what we find out, you’re still our mate. You’re not someone else if your DNA or magic come from places other than witch kind.”
His words should comfort me, but they echo hollowly in the cavern of my doubts.
Can I be so sure who I am if the foundation I’ve been built on is a lie?
Dezi leans in, his eyes sharp with intellect beneath his usually carefree exterior. “Think about it, witchling. If that mage suspected something was off about your lineage but had no proof, it makes sense why you were put through hell. It would make sense for someone to order that they make you and your sister outcasts, then find a reason to cast you out at Ascension.”
“Likely, they were trying to squeeze the truth out of her with each failed curse or spell in school,” Revelin finishes, a protective growl lacing his tone. “They probably even had them handle materials harmful to various species to see if they’d react.”
My mind strays to the time Feray was sick for three weeks after a herbalism unit.
Could they actually have had her handle wolfsbane? Mother. Fucker. I’ll kill them.
“Exactly.” Dezi’s fists clench. “Maybe that’s why you’ve always struggled with your magic. You were taught all wrong, because they never understood what you really are.”
“Taught wrong...” The words strike a chord, resonating with every failed attempt at a spell, every flicker of power I couldn’t control.
Could it be that simple? That tragic?
“Fi.” Revelin’s thumbs caress the backs of my hands, his touch insistent. “You are not their mistakes or their lies. We’ll uncover the truth, and it won’t change how fiercely we care about you.”
“Or how fiercely you fight,” Khol adds, his voice a low rumble of support. “Not being a witch would definitely explain why you learned to fight so easily and so well, with no training. Most of the magic district folks areuselessin physical conflicts. They’re all way too close to humans.”
“Your spirit,” Tiernan chimes in with a fond smile, “is not something that can be taught or taken away. It’s just... you.”
A shaky breath escapes me, and I focus on the strength in Revelin’s grasp, the conviction in Dezi’s gaze, Khol’s unwavering presence, and Tiernan’s attempt at levity. The hum of the magical bus blends with my racing thoughts, a cacophony that threatens to shatter my mind. Realities I’ve known are dissolving like mist, and I can feel the panic clawing its way up my throat.
Revelin’s voice slices through the chaos, his tone light but eyes filled with concern. He slides closer, a teasing glint in his gaze. “If you keep frowning like that, you’ll give the rest of us worry lines.”
I try to muster a glare, but it fizzles out before it can fully form. It’s difficult to stay lost in dread when Revelin’s trying to charm the distress out of me.
Fucking Fae.
Khol leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “You know, if we pooled our worries, yours would still be the prettiest,” he whispers, a smirk playing on his lips.
I can’t help the blush that spreads across my cheeks, nor the small chuckle that escapes me. The absurdity of his comment briefly untangles the knots of fear in my stomach. I’ve never thought of myself as beautiful or pretty, but I knew I was smart and tough, which was enough. But my new mates constantly remind me of how attractive they think I am without skimping on their praise for my brains and skills.
“Pretty won’t save you from punishment if you don’t take a deep breath, witchling,” Dezi warns, but the twinkle in his eye betrays his mock sternness. “The Prince has plenty of paddles that simply must get used or it would be wasteful.”
