Cyara glanced over her shoulder, toward Diana. A subtle warning, but to who?
“It matches the official record as well, in the histories kept by the priestesses. But in addition to the official record, the priestess here at Eilean Gayl maintains a collection of journals.”
Veyka cocked her head to the side. “Journals?”
“A passion project of her predecessor that she has continued.” Cyara paused, drawing in a long and careful breath. I did not reach for the chair again, but I knew in a few moments, I’d wish I had something to crush beneath my fingers. “There is one recollection—not of the story itself. But an entry written by a terrestrial soldier who was stationed at the entrance to Wolf Bay.”
“There is a rift at the entrance to Wolf Bay.” Veyka was sitting straight up now.
Cyara’s turquoise eyes drifted to mine. “It is also the location of Accolon’s ancestral home.”
I held her gaze. “And what does this entry say?”
“It mentions another story, an alternative to the widely known version of Accolon and Nimue. In which, they were mated on the eve of the Great War, rather than at its conclusion.”
“What else?”
“We do not know.”
Veyka sighed heavily, throwing herself back hard enough the chair creaked beneath her. “So it is a dead end.”
But Cyara stepped forward, eyes back on Veyka and bright. “No. The writer mentions carvings, which told the story in full. Carvings which may still exist.”
“So, we visit our Ancestor’s old homeland,” Veyka said slowly.
Cyara’s wings twitched, catching Veyka’s attention. Her eyes clouded with confusion. She did not understand—but I did.
“What is the problem?” Veyka asked.
“It is lost. Hidden, destroyed. No one has been there in thousands of years,” I said. Osheen made a low noise of agreement. That was one of our legends.
Veyka swiped the half-full glass of wine off the table and drained it. “Great.”
Behind me, Isolde murmured something to Osheen. Lyrena paced to the window, one hand on the pommel of her broadsword. Veyka was halfway across the room, aiming for the next bottle of wine, when Diana spoke.
“There is a spell.”
“Diana,” Percival warned. He was at his sister’s side, grabbing her hand tightly, imploring her not to speak. But her dark eyes darted between me and Veyka.
“There is an old witch spell. He…” Her voice broke. She pressed her eyes closed, fighting internal demons none of us could see. At the table, Veyka had gone deadly still. Diana mastered herself enough to open her eyes, then her mouth. “G... Gorlois forced me to use it, to help him travel between realms.”
Veyka was silent.
So I asked—“What does the spell do?”
Cyara answered, one eye on Diana and the other on Veyka. Dangerous. This conversation walked a tenuous line that I did not understand. Gorlois—the one who had attacked in the Battle of Avalon. But Veyka’s stillness… Gorlois had hurt her, before. Gorlois and the Dowager.
“The spell untethers her mind, like a true witch. It allows her mind to travel through space, through realms. Even through time,” Cyara explained. “To the past.”
“To find out where Accolon’s home is,” I finished.
It was not a guarantee, but it was a real plan, at least. A tangible action we could take toward finding out about the Great War, and how they had defeated the succubus seven thousand years ago.
“It is dangerous,” Percival growled, his voice an impressive match for my own beast. “She could become permanently untethered, her mind lost while her body remains.”
“Like being lost in the void without the tether of a mate,” Veyka said softly.
What in the Ancestors’ living hell did that mean?
