“I’ll tell you about him someday. But I warn you, he was a fucking fool.”
“Ahh, so—the difference being?”
His weak smile cracked into a full one. “Was that ajoke? From the stone-faced Enchantress of the High Tower of Central Bumfuck. A joke.” He pretended to be in deep thought. “Huh. Who knew she was capable of such a thing?”
His smile was contagious. I bit the insides of my cheeks. But behind his playful intent lurked something dark, something haunted. I wouldn’t let my defenses go completely lax around him.
“And you’ll tell me”—he thought about his words for a moment—“who you mightliketo be—if you weren’t holed up in that tower?”
All traces of a smile left my face. He seemed to notice my shift, for his smile fell too.
“That won’t be necessary.” My words were measured. “There will be nothing of me beyond the Sisterhood. Beyond upholding the Order. That I’m sure of.”
If the prophecy spoke true, my life was likely just a pawn in whatever resolution lay ahead.Why wonder what could have been?
“That’s a shame.” That darkness lurking in his eyes flared as he leveled a glare at me that could melt iron. Then he stalked off to his bedchamber and slammed the door so hard behind him it rattled the rafters.
He didn’t come back out that evening.
Infuriating, volatile man.
* * *
The riverbed calledto me the following morning. I perched myself on a rock with my feet dangling in the cold rushing currents below. Under the canopy of trees, with the morning sun peeking through their branches, I breathed deeply for a few moments of peaceful reflection.
The golden glow of morning didn’t feel oppressive in the woods as it had when the sun cut through my tower windows. Instead, there on the riverbank, it brought me joy.
I couldn’t remember the last time this light of a feeling brushed my heart. Specters and howls in the night were forgotten. The wicked woods were not wicked at all—they were beautiful.
Fenris found me in that space of tranquility. He sat beside me, drawing in his knees and resting his forearms on his legs.
“Good morning.” His voice was low, as though he did not want to disturb the peace of my moment alone. Yet he was there—interrupting it.
“Mhm,” I answered. I wasn’t in the mood for his hot and cold conversation—jovial one minute, brooding the next.
Judging by the lack of ink on his arm, the beast was roaming somewhere in the woods around us. He seemed cautious of allowing me to see the wolf-like creature again. Whether that was for my comfort or his own, I couldn’t be sure.
“I owe you an apology.” His blunt words caught me off guard; I’d expected a reprimand. “I’m sorry. I forgot my manners last night.”
Unsure how to answer that, I shifted to allow one leg to cross beneath the other and faced him.An apology. Had anyone ever apologized to me? Felt the need to? Maybe Amara on occasion.
“I don’t see why you should be sorry.” At my words, his face contorted into a wince, and his brow wrinkled. I wanted to reach out and smooth those worry lines. Instead, I sat on my traitorous hands.
“When someone’s a prick to someone else, they tend to owe them an apology.” He broke my gaze and stared out at the running water below us.
I only shrugged.
“The man I was before…he hated authority figures,” he started before relaxing back onto his hands. “I don’t think that man ever took the weight of the world very seriously. Idealistic—and not in a good way…”
The way his lips turned down and his eyes grew glassy and contemplative intrigued me.Guilt? Regret?I couldn’t pinpoint what he might be feeling, but either way, it affected me.
I didn’t want to sympathize, didn’t want to build an attachment to the warlock.What would be the point?I kept my face emotionless despite my warring thoughts.
“I grew up in an estate here in the North Corridor. My parents were Brennac. Magic-wielders.”
I nodded. Given his power, it didn’t surprise me that his parents were gifted with Source magic too. Outside of the High Enchantresses and the North King, he was likely the last remaining wielder of Source magic in the realm.
“Phynx began to regulate that magic. They exiled those who wielded dark magic to the Wastelands. Execution for more extreme cases—like my parents who aided dark magic-wielders.” He finally looked at me again.
