“Someone you’ve met but don’t remember. Because of your curse.”
“Then why take me and not Reid? If he remembers her, he could actually be helpful.”
Taran’s jaw tightens, his frustration bleeding into his words. “I don’t need someone who remembers her.”
“Then what is it about me you need?”
Instead of responding, he pushes himself to his feet and storms off. My fingers press into the cold, damp grass as I scramble after him, my aching muscles screaming in protest. I’m in no shape to catch up with him.
So I have to stop him. Preferably in the most intimidating way possible.
With a silent incantation, I trace my hand horizontally through the air, and a wall of fire ignites the ground in front of him, flames rising above his head. He stumbles backward, tripping on the roots I rip up from the earth.
My legs burn as I catch up, then form an icicle, sharp as a blade, down the length of my arm. Taran scrambles back, trying to escape the roots clawing at his limbs. He freezes as I stop the icy tip inches from his neck.
“I’m tired of these games,” I say. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know.”
“Stop incanting. Let me go.” His voice echoes through the air. Through my bones.
My mind goes slack as I release my incantations. Ice melts. Flames die out. Roots retreat.
What just happened?
I stare at my wet hand, blinking. Taran pushes to his feet, further away, but I barely register him. I try to form more ice, but can’t even visualize the focal. Like a door shut in my mind.
My fingers clench. “What did you do?”
Taran pulls himself upright, running his hand through his hair. “It will wear off, eventually.” He meets my eyes. “I don’t enjoy doing that. I don’twantto do that.”
My mouth goes dry. Despite that sentiment, this changes everything. I’ve never heard of this kind of fae magic. How can I possibly escape something like this? I’d have to knock him out or kill him before he has a chance to speak.
Could I even bring myself to do that?
I need to stay calm. If he notices my panic, I’ll have lost. I splay my fingers, trying to relax, then curl them tight.
“Explain to me why I’m here.”
Taran sighs. “You won’t remember if I do.”
I shoot him my best glare. “Then you’ll have to keep doing whatever it is that you don’t enjoy doing to keep me from leaving.”
He narrows his eyes. “Fine. I’ll try.” With a glance at our pitiful campsite, he asks, “Do you have anything to write with?”
What?Wary of his intentions, I rifle through my bag, digging out my sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. I quickly flip past a bunch of sketches of Academy students to a blank page near the middle. I offer it to him as he sits on the grass, facing me.
“No, it’s for you. I want you to draw lines as you listen.”
Weird.
I make two small lines next to each other.
“Like this?” I ask.
“Yes.” He waits for me to continue.
I roll my eyes and begin marking the page. “This better be good.” I haven’t a clue where he’s going with this, but it doesn’t appear to be a trap.
“The exiled queen is my mother, Queen Esyllt Evermoor. I am the firstborn prince of Aedys, heir to the throne.”
