“We needed some fresh air,” Fiora said, and I felt deep gratitude for her kind presence.
“Myron told us the theory. Is such a thing possible?” Thaddeus asked, getting straight to the matter.
“It is,” Caius said. “But it’s rare, and I doubt it’s happened more than a handful of times in Amos’s seven hundred years.” I jolted at the knowledge. Somehow, knowing he was that much older than Thaddeus, than anyone I now stood beside, made me feel vulnerable—like he had access to knowledge beyond our understanding.
Not truly wanting to hear the answer, I asked, “What happened to them? The ones who had a piece of him locked away in their minds?”
The fae stilled, the poignant hesitation of bad news. Nevander and Thaddeus moved closer to me, noticing it too.
I braced myself.
“None of this is a firsthand account,” Myron hedged, “but the stories tell of some going mad from the visions, unable to discern what was true and what was an illusion. Others became the high lord’s puppets, his power tethering his victims to him, while another account says they died from wounds manifested in the visions.”
“What about those who got rid of it?” I asked.
“There’s only one legend of the sort,” Caius began, his tone grave. “The tale speaks of Amos reclaiming the wisp, causing the host’s death. Whether it was intentional or not remains unknown.”
“So, no one has survived this,” I said, letting out a small, humorless chuckle.
“According to legend, no,” Caius replied, his voice laced with a kind of gentleness meant to sooth my panic.
“Well, that’s not an option,” I said. “What do we have to do to get this thing out of me?”
“Nyleeria—” Myron started.
“No. I don’t want to hear it,” I interrupted sharply. The tone he’d used, the pity… I’d heard it too much recently.
“I think what Myron was going to say,” Caius said, “is that, with you being human?—”
“Stop, please. You’ve made it perfectly clear what could happen, but I’m asking for us to find a way.” Silence met me, and I had to stop myself from crumbling to the ground. No, this couldn’t be happening. I dug in, forcing myself to speak. “I can’t endure this every night. If Nevander hadn’t woken me when he did”—my voice wavered, the memory threatening to suffocate me—“then the burn marks would’ve been the least of my worries.” I remembered the predatory glint in Amos’s eyes. The silent promise in them as he devoured every loosely veiled detail on display. The scraping of his tongue on my cheek.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“I could try with my gifts, Nyleeria,” Myron offered, shaking the memory of Amos’ cold eyes from my thoughts.
I focused on him. “You mean by going deeper?” I asked.
“No. I mean by going to the deepest level I can,” he said, sterner than I’d heard him before.
“No,” I said simply. It was rude to refuse, but the risk… I couldn’t. I hadn’t even defended myself because of it. We would have to exhaust every other idea, no matter how outlandish, before I would consider it.
“May I ask, Nyleeria, why are you so resistant to Myron’s help?” Caius said. There was no judgment in his words, just concerned curiosity.
“You can ask,” I said, letting the rest of the words drop. The meaning was clear—I had no intention of responding.
Silence fell, and our conversation gave way to the ambient sounds of summer. Extending an arm, the sun’s warmth caressed myskin, and I stepped out of the shade, allowing the welcome heat to envelope me. Oh, how I’d missed summer, her soothing melodies, intoxicating fragrances, and fervent caresses. My lids slid closed as I gave in to the radiant embrace and let my soul soak in the life-giving light that was being offered to me.
“The Mother,” Caius said, his tone that of someone who’d just sprung an idea.
Shielding my eyes, I turned to face him. “What about her?”
“Well, I think we’re going on our date a little sooner than we thought.” A broad smile lit up his face, and he gave me a wink.
Chapter 29
Null and Void
Caius valenned us to a forest that seemed crafted for titans. Its dense, multilayered canopy looked like the striations of a canyon, each layer adding a rich, delicious texture. Unlike the woods I was used to roaming, this forest exuded an otherworldly grandeur I couldn’t drink in fast enough. The songbirds sang in unfamiliar tunes—their melodies enchanting but foreign to my ears. Somehow, the unending variety and the heavy, thick air lingered in a way that let me know winter could not survive here, nor would it try.
