Nezra tilted her head, raven feathers brushing her cheek. “I think he’s put shields in his ears.”
His face flushed crimson, teeth clenching as he managed another five.
Killian tossed a handful of stone-berries into his mouth, crunching down with relish. “Let him burn himself out. It’s all the entertainment we’ve got.”
Extending his palm to me, Killian offered the deep plum ones nestled there. I took one, crushing it between the backs of my teeth, letting the rich sweetness bloom over my tongue.
Elva and Elysian continued a few feet away, her stance still clumsy, his corrections patient. They were almost getting cute to watch.
Callum’s glare spoke otherwise. His eyes dragged over the battered map splayed in his lap, though his attention never truly left Elva as she sparred with a white-haired thorn whose smile had noticeably broadened these days.
I wondered if he wanted to talk about it. I was the only one who knew the whole truth of how he felt.
I tried to catch his eye, even managing a small, supportive smile. The bond flared in my chest by instinct and I reached for it. Only to feel nothing but a void. Still shut out.
I opened my mouth to call his name, if only to just remind him, but I closed it before any words could come out.
He would come to me when he was ready. He always did. He always will.
Another day’s travel led us to the unexpected.
The camp before us glowed in a tide of fiery hues as a half-moon pierced the canopy where we all watched in silence.
The pixies moved among it, unaware of the dangers lurking beyond their grove. They danced with the fire, bodies twining with the rhythm, their voices lilting to music that seemed to come from the trees themselves.
Pixies had always intrigued me. Though they were normal Fae no different than Elva or Callum, they were barred from the three kingdoms.
Hunted, exiled, told where they could and couldn’t exist. Simply because they refused to bend their knee to the six gods.
Even after Queen Leora overturned the law, the pixies didn’t return. By then they had learned to thrive in the wild spaces they were forced into, many realizing they didn’t want to go back.
They found they loved the freedom more than the kingdom that cast them out.
Still, I couldn’t understand it. Evidence of the godslivedin our very veins. Our magic was proof of their existence. And yet, who was to say theirs were the only voices in the Aureveil?
Perhaps there were other truths waiting to be revealed.
There was no sense of evil here, no wrongness, no worry. Even the universe seemed calmer in their presence, the hush of the wind softer, the song of the branches gentler.
It was almost as if the gods had it wrong. It would not be kingdoms or thrones that healed us. It would be this—freedom, laughter,joy.
And I wanted it.
My body ached to run toward them, to taste the happiness blazing in their dance. Branches brushed my cheeks as I leaned forward, falling closer to their lure.
A hand clamped around my wrist. Another gripped my arm.
Ronan and Killian—both reaching for me in the same breath, their movements urgent, as though the forest might never surrender me if they let go.
I glanced between them, torn.
Killian’s grip was steady, Ronan’s hold, searing. It was him my eyes landed on.
And Ronan shook his head once.No.
No forno fun.
The pull of the pixies stayed despite it. I didn’t want to obey, but the weight of their holds dragged me back, tethering me to the ground.
