Page 18 of The Reaping Rose

“Don’t even suggest it.” Greer grunts, snagging the cards from the center of the table and shuffling them. “Callum Wilhelm is not my type.”

“How is he not your type?” I jut my thumb over my shoulder at the gorgeous male standing across the room.

“I’m not saying he’s not physically nice to look at.” Greer’s gaze slips his way, and we all do the same.

“Very nice to look at,” Letia agrees.

“You do realize I can hear you, don’t you?” Callum says, not turning to look at us.

“Then stop listening.” Letia giggles, but Greer and I just roll our eyes as we return to our conversation.

“So what is your type then?” Letia asks Greer.

“The kind of male who doesn’t expect me to stick around.” Greer shrugs, her defenses as intact as ever as she starts passing out cards. “Who’s playing?”

I shake my head when she slides a card toward me, passing it to Letia, who starts organizing her hand. The two of them sort their hands while waiting for the stew to finish cooking, but I cross the room to Callum.

Only then does he glance at me.

“Are you still mad?” I perch on the arm of a chair, taking a sip of wine.

The sour burst of berries almost makes me gag. I never cared for the wine in the tavern, but it was what we had, so I choked down my distaste. But after downing wine at the palace—wine so sweet my taste buds sang with a hint of cherries and caramel—the wine at home is nearly undrinkable.

“I’m not angry.” Callum wipes his palm down his face. “I just wish trouble didn’t always seem to follow you. Gods, I should have been there.”

“We took care of it.”

“Barely.” His jaw sets. “That was quick thinking with the sword.”

“I’m surprised it worked. I hoped the magic in the sword was what it was after, but that noise the realm made when I drove it into the vein was unlike anything.” I shiver. “It was like the Well was screaming. Like I hurt it. It didn’t drain the magic from the sword as I expected. If anything, the sword glowed brighter after the Well retreated.”

“You said your father cast that sword for your mother?”

“That’s what I was told. Now… I don’t know how it came to be. Just that it was hers.” My throat tightens. “I wish Father had told you something about her. About… who I might face in there. He really said nothing to you about her? Not even a hint at what she did to end up in that terrible place?”

Callum frowns, sitting on the stone ledge near the fire. “He wouldn’t speak of her at all. It was too dangerous.”

I twist a blue end of my hair, gazing into the fire. “I had a thought.”

“About your mother?”

“About her sword.” My gaze slides to him. “We haven’t been able to form a Gate to leave the island because there’s no magic on Alyssium to root it here. But what if we channel magic from the sword? It was strong enough to drive back the Well, so it might be strong enough to open a Gate, right?”

Callum’s brows furrow. “It’s more difficult to channel a Gate through an object than through nature, but it’s possible. I could try.”

“I know it won’t help the humans⁠—”

“Actually, Letia and I were just discussing that. You know how I’ve been reading through the old Guard journals?”

I nod. I know because I’ve been reading them too, searching for hints about my mother being brought to the island.

“I found something.” Callum stands, and I follow him to the table in the corner.

He tells me about Emual and the rings. About aeraliss and how it works against magic in a way that’s similar to obsidian, but different. Emotions wave and crest as he tells me about the Fae erasing the truth from our history. How they trapped the humans on this island by hiding the rings from us. How there was a way home, and they refused us, so we had no choice but to stay and help them. He tells me about the mortal queen—a queen I didn’t know existed and who is probably long dead—who forced us to cooperate.

When he’s done with his story, my stomach is in knots.

“I didn’t know,” he finishes. “But it explains many things.”