Page 65 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

Lor’s head dropped into his hands. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve⁠—”

I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping his words. I couldn’t help myself seeing how overcome with guilt he was, how he was once again taking all the responsibility for a series of events that weren’t his fault. How Arthon’s poisoned words were probably in his head right now, making him doubt himself. If Arthon were still alive, I’d kill him for what he did to Lor, for his unbelievable cruelty.

“You did everything you could,” Leena said. She glanced behind her at her company moving out. “Get back to Fairwitch Isle, and don’t leave again. It’s too risky. The brotherhood knows you’re harboring the Fair Folk by now. They’re scouring every inch of the continent for your castle, and if Ronan reaches them, they’ll find it. Leave getting Ronan to us.”

Lor stood and gave a curt nod, and Leena wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight. He rested his head atop hers, and my stomach clenched at the sight, at how familiar they were with each other.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” The rebel leader stepped away and reached inside her cloak, pulling out a bunch of rolled up scrolls, tied neatly with red twine.

Lor froze for a moment, then took them, staring at them in awe.

“I thought you might want these,” she said, then bowed. “Your Majesties. Safe travels. I hope next time we meet it’s under better circumstances.”

“Thank you,” I said as she walked away and disappeared into the forest after the other rebels.

The morning sun shone high now, and I swept the cloak off my back and handed it to Lor, who was still focused on those scrolls.

He untied the twine, and stretched one out, slow and deliberate. I couldn’t help but look at what Leena had given him. Love letters, perhaps? A memory from their past? Important documents about this supposed brotherhood weapon?

I leaned over, and what I saw wasn’t any of that: it was painted landscapes. Places I recognized from around the continent of Aubergn. The current one he stared at was the rocky hills of the south, a pinkish-orange sky above the stark green and stone.

“That’s beautiful,” I murmured.

His head snapped up like he’d just remembered I was there. “It’s of my home. Fairwitch Isle, I mean. Where the castle used to be before it started moving. It’s where I grew up.” He rolled up the scrolls and tucked them into the inside pocket of his cloak, all business again, and I found myself disappointed. For a moment, I thought he’d been about to tell me more, to share this piece of his life with me that he’d apparently shared with Leena.

“Speaking of Fairwitch Isle,” he continued, “we should get back.”

I wanted to ask him more about the scrolls, why Leena had given them to him. Were they something he’d left behind? Had she been the one to paint them? Maybe a memento from her? But we didn’t have time. Now that we’d found what we were looking for, I could portal us back to Fairwitch Isle, and we could relay the information we’d discovered to the council.

I stretched out a hand, summoning my portal magic and taking me and Lor back to our home.

CHAPTER 34

Aoife

Fair Folk and mortals filled the patch of land that we’d coated in soil, everyone digging, planting, watering, chatter filling the air around us. On the other side of the patch, Lor knelt by a water faerie, who held out her hand, water pouring from it to nourish newly planted seeds.

He met my gaze briefly, lips quirking before he turned his gaze back to the garden.

“So this is a Fair Folk thing?” Marsten asked from beside me. He wrinkled his nose at the dirt coating his red-painted nails.

“Oh, I’m covered in dirt,” Morton bemoaned as he inched past us.

“You do know you’re a worm, right?” I asked the pink bookwyrm as he shook the dirt from his wings.

“A w-y-r-m,” he corrected. “Not a worm. I do books. Not dirt.” His glassy black eyes met mine. “Which reminds me, we have a reading lesson later.”

“I’m aware, Morton. And if you don’t want to help us with the garden, you don’t have to.”

Niamh approached, and Morton spread his wings and lifted to her shoulder. “He’s a little prickly today,” she said.

“He’s a little prickly every day,” Marsten muttered under his breath, continuing to dig another small hole that we could drop a lettuce seed into.

Niamh and Morton continued past us, Niamh’s belly rounder and more pronounced than just a week ago as she waddled away from the garden and toward the castle in the distance.

“And to answer your question,” I said to Marsten, “yes this is a Fair Folk thing.”

Fairwitch Isle had the castle gardens, which were maintained by gardeners and farmers. Anyone was welcome to use it, but that didn’t create a sense of community. I’d remembered how the Fair Folk had created our own secret gardens in defiance of the godwitches, who wouldn’t let us use theirs. We had to tend to theirs, grow their food for them, but weren’t allowed to eat it.