“When you bind yourself to a human, your life is tied to theirs… for better or worse. When Marin’s mother died giving birth to her, Ambrose only managed to last a few hours. He was one of the few Tuathans, or Shamans… whatever name you want to call us, left that understood our purpose in Astraeus…. remembered the reason for the vow we took to protect the royal family. Now all that’s left are ones that blindly serve him for their own gain. It’s part of the reason why I left.”
Stellan’s quiet voice sobered the entire room. Even Nylah put down her tea and folded her hands together somberly.
Archer cleared his throat. “If being bound weakens your kind, why do it at all?”
“Love.”
The word was out of Bridget’s mouth before her brain had processed the response. Like it was a question she’d answered many times before.
Arms crossed, she studied Stellan with both suspicion and curiosity. “How old are you?”
“A little over 600.”
To her left, Archer ran his finger across a dusty old clock. Bridget slapped his hand down. “Stop touching things.”
Alexia groaned. “We get it. You’re super old. I think we’ve learned enough of your backstory for one day. Can you send us across the gate or not? If I don’t deliver Bridget back to Andarre, my family will suffer.”
“More than just a few people are going to suffer if she goes back to Elyria,” Stellan replied, so nonchalant Bridget wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right.
“I don’t want to go back to Elyria,” Bridget said, hoping the half-truth wasn’t too obvious on her face. She tried to push Cade from her mind. “We’ll go to Andarre and then come right back.”
“There’s no future where I see that happening. The moment you cross the gate again, there’s no coming back.”
Bridget’s heart stopped at the finality in his voice. All eyes turned to her, their stares begging her for different things. For a moment, she floundered as she wrestled with the truth inside her. “I think you already saw why I don’t want to go back to Elyria.” Earlier, she’d seen Stellan visibly react when she’d thought about Cade’s marriage deal with his father. “It will be too late. Especially when we have to go to Andarre first. I amnotgoing to go to Elyria.”
A frustrated glint marred Stellan’s expression. “It doesn’t matter what you want. There are too many forces at play right now… too much at stake besides your sister. The second you step back in that realm—”
“Because of who she is?” Archer asked. “Some relative to someone who died for a curse a few centuries ago? Why does that matter?”
“What do you know about who she is?” Stellan retorted angrily.
“You’re not answering the question. The curse is broken, isn’t it?” Archer argued. “So why does it matter if she goes back or stays here? It shouldn’t. It’s done.”
“Iknewit,” Alexia said, “she’s related to the—”
“Everyonestop.” Bridget’s command silenced the room. She locked eyes with Stellan. “Answer Archer’s question.”
Stellan hesitated. “Listen…”
“In the woods, you said some things are better seen not heard. Well, it’s time to explain. Youknowme.” Bridget glanced at her teacup. “You knew—”
“How you take your tea? Maybe it was a lucky guess.”
Bridget shook her head. “It’s more than that. At the Astraeus gate, you knew my name.Knew—”
“I could’ve entered your mind without you knowing.”
“I’ve had enough Fae in my mind to know it doesn’t work like that.” Bridget straightened her spine. “Show me.”
“I’ve already been inside your head today. I think you might need a few more hours to…”
“Show. Me.”
The world around her disappeared.
A slice of pain splintered her skull. When she fell to her knees, grass broke her fall instead of dusty hardwood. Bridget dug her fingers into the wet, soft earth to steady herself. Breathing hard, she forced herself to look up. A long slab of a stone and two thrones appeared before her. Cavamyne. For a split second, panic rushed through her veins. Pain and loss and regret overwhelmed her senses. This was not a night she wanted to see again. Not a night she wanted to relive. Only when her vision focused did she notice the large group of people surrounding the gate. Notice that the stones weren’t old and cracked. That the palace behind her stood looming and dark… and intact. Perfect. Exactly like her reoccurring dream. It couldn’t be that night. Shakily, Bridget pushed herself to her feet.
From where she stood, she couldn’t tell if the onlookers were Fae, Witches, or Nymphs. Their backs were turned as they all focused on two figures standing on the gate. A woman, with long dark hair, a blood-red mask, and silver metal claws adorning her fingers held a prisoner by her throat.
