There was a term, Sean had learned—and not a nice one—that pixies applied to non-pixies who seduced someone out of the network.
Keila.
Isobel was akeila.
No one would ever say such a derogatory thing to her face though.
It had taken a fair amount of cajoling to convince Cathaire to explain it, as these non-tribal relationships weren’t just discouraged but shunned. Pixies stayed with pixies, and falling in love outside the network denoted a deep disrespect toward the revered Pixie Effect.
Given what everyone believed of Isobel Faywood and her destiny to die for their Savior, Sean’s relationship with her wasn’t merely accepted. It wasexpected.
She might have been akeila, but she was still loved.
Sean glanced her way once more, but she was still hunched over her notebook, pen to paper. He’d never understood journaling himself, but Isobel was faithful to her diary.
“Ah,” Cathaire said, drawing Sean’s attention. “It appears someone wishes to speak with you. I was wondering when he would find you.”
Sean turned to find the warrior chieftain, Bowenn, striding his way. His leather armor was polished to a rich reddish brown, and thick bracers covered both his arms and legs. Tribal knots inked patterns over his shoulders and ringed his biceps.
“How goes it,Ashanta?” the chieftain asked, holding a hand out.
Sean grasped his wrist, the pixie spark communicating goodwill and amity. “Well enough.”
Bowenn kissed each of them on the temple—all except David, who he ignored entirely. As the chieftain passed by him, Anna opened her mouth in clear protest. David caught her wrist, and her words died before they were born.
They held eye contact.
“I don’t need a champion,” he murmured.
Anna yanked her arm from his grasp. “No, you need a personality transplant.”
“To what do I owe the honor?” Sean asked Bowenn, though he was somewhat loath to, as he grew ever more intrigued at the others’ tiff.
Bowenn gave a hearty laugh. “Curiosity, Savior. The rumors of your skill abound. I have been watching.”
Sean lifted a shoulder and Signed,Like what you see?
“You hide in this field for babes when you should be facing action in the rings like a true pixie.”
He laughed to cover up the flare of self-consciousness. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that. Pixies weren’t considered true fighters until they’d fought in the rings and lost, but Sean wanted at least the chance to hold his own before he humiliated himself. “You’reprobably right,” he said, shooting Bowenn his charming grin. His mask.
“You’re ready,Ashanta.” The man bowed his head. “I shall tell the Council.”
Sean’s stomach disappeared. “Tell them what?”
“We need you. The Exorcism suffers. I’ve said it for decades, but they don’t listen.”
Sean moved a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Said what?”
“’Tis a lost cause without you. We do little more than waste our lives by crossing the mist. There are simply too many of them. It’s like fighting spiders—every time you squash one, an egg sac bursts open and there are a hundred more. Pointless!”
“But the spiders are killing us,” he said, confused.
Bowenn hummed like he didn’t quite agree but wasn’t willing to explain any further. “It is rumored you will shift the tides. I should like to see an end to this fighting, and you need no more pampering. ’Tis time we utilized your skills. We need a strategist.”
Sean glanced at Cathaire, who remained silent, his gaze troubled. “Am I— Are you sure?”
“The heir of Lhynion Sidera should not be coddled. Imagine the good you could do once you are allowed to shine. You are a pixie”—he pounded his chest—“not a child to be pampered. Blademaster Cathaire should know better.”
