I bolted upright, gasping and heaving. My head spun. Panicked, I felt around my chest and legs, but the vines were gone.
I sat on a bedroll in a quiet tent.
The flap parted, and Reese rushed inside. He dropped to my side. “What’s wrong?”
I stared blankly at him, the red-haired Paragon with molten gold eyes. Heat radiated from his body, caressing mine.
The fae’s spell had worked. Vaf had returned us to our camp at the edge of Tirnanog, and Reese was none the wiser.
But I remembered.
“Mare,” Reese repeated, gingerly touching my cheek. “Are you alright?”
Closing my eyes, I mustered my strength to begin a new deception. One deeper than the lie I’d carried on before.
How long would I travel at his side, knowing I used him? That one day, an order to betray him might come.
Thus far, Reese had been nothing but kind—the picture of a perfect Paragon. Yet Quinn insisted he would turn on me the moment he learned the truth.
And my mother . . . she had dismissed me with a flick of her hand. A stranger. An underling.
A ball of emotions curled in my stomach, like the fae’s biting vines—despair, guilt, disbelief.
My mother had not pined for me, the way I had for her. She had not searched for me, hadn’t wanted to. Another dream, another purpose—shattered.
“No,” I gasped, voice cracking. “I’m not.”
Reese’s face broke. He shifted closer and wrapped an arm around me, laying my head against his chest.
I shut my eyes and breathed in his warmth. His fingers ran through my hair, gentle and soothing.
A sob broke from my throat. Reese tightened our embrace, his bright, burning hand rubbing circles on my back.
Pain shot through my chest. The vines tightened around my heart one last time, reminding me of the magic that had brought me here.
Vaf’s words whispered in my mind. ‘In exchange for restoring the strength of your relationship, I grant you the surety of its demise.’
Chapter 52
Mare
The time had come to attend Brighid’s wedding—to stand before a cluster of the world’s most powerful nobles, and petition them to let me keep Cierthine.
The final say would fall upon Reese and King Ailithir, in theory. I had no idea how the Solheart lords and queen would react.
Beneath my own troubles, a shivering worm of disgust underlined my thoughts. Lord Sorley was the groom. The bastard who’d tormented Brighid since she was barely twelve.
A warm breeze tousled my hair, and I looked up. Buds of new leaves dotted the tree branches hanging above the rooftops. Silver grass peeked through the muddy streets. Spring had arrived.
Silence had accompanied us on our return journey from Tirnanog. We cast each other knowing glances, but did not speak a word.
The fae had tampered with Reese’s mind—he believed I had taken over his watch, and we’d all woken on the morrow.
My heart pulsed with every glance he shot me. Vaf had promised we would turn on each other, that the clashing of blades—and one of our deaths—was inevitable.
When would it come to pass?
Liam stood a few paces away, arguing with the stable master. His hood was pulled over his face, concealing his foul-blooded features. The stable master had a weathered face and a passion for haggling—his wrinkles deepened with a broad smile.
