Page 174 of The Fallen Fae King

“I am pleased to hear that because despite near starving with no ration apart from what the others can spare,” Wren continues, “I have been assessing the magical properties of Bael with my scrying. The King’s uncle has a terrifying level of power. I needed to work slowly to remain magically out of his sight. There is one room in the palace in the North Tower, however, where the magic is concentrated and dark. Cursed. But it will amplify mine. You need to find a way to get me there.”

My brow furrows. “That will be hard.”

“What in our lives hasn’t been?”

“Fair. I’ll use the ravens as our signal.”

“Scar to scar.” Wren raises his hand, which is mapped with pale burns and presses it to the map of scars that I proudly bear above the line of my robe.

It is both a ritual greeting and oath that Wren developed for my army, after we became marked with the cursed iron of enemy fighters as children. We refused to be shamed by it, as Wren made the decision to refuse to be shamed by the loss of his wing.

It binds every member of the featherglass closer than blood.

My chest warms.

How could I have doubted my place amongst them? We could have been parted by the Void, and they would have still kept a place here for me.

Elatha folds back her wings. Then she waggles her foot, which is scarred, where some silver dragon once nearly took her ability to walk from her.

She elegantly lifts her foot to press it onto my collarbone. “Scar to scar.”

I wrinkle my nose. “When did you last wash your feet?”

She laughs. “Not after the drill exercise that I ran all day yesterday. Are you trying to say that I stink?”

“I’ve smelled fresher battlefields.”

“Funny, it reminds me of your cooking.”

Wren snorts with laughter before he can remember that he’s not meant to have a sense of humor.

“Oi,” I narrow my eyes, “my Omega loves my cooking. I made her that lentil soup that you like, Bai.”

Bai bounds over to the bed. “Was she sick? Is that why you were trying to cheer her up?”

“Maybe lovesick.”

“You truly believe yourself a charmer with women, don’t you?” Wren says, frostily.

“I do my best.”

Bai reveals his forearm, which despite how much I have tried to protect him, is also littered with scars. He presses it to my collarbone.

“Scar to scar,” Bai proclaims with a solemness that suddenly makes him appear older.

I look around at my circle of Frost Clan.

This is who I have been missing. They are also the people I will need to risk.

Slowly, they remove their touch from my skin, and instantly, I miss it.

Wren’s intense blue gaze catches mine. “I understand your plan. But I don’t like it, Thorn. Why must you marry into the House of Draca? Bind yourself to these genocidal killers who slaughtered our people, burned our elders, and perpetrated sacrilege on our lands? Our sacred grove?”

He grabs my hand, sneering at the dragon ring that Aurelius gave to me.

I hurriedly snatch back my hand. I cradle the ring against my chest protectively.

How do I explain everything that has happened? I hardly understand it myself.