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“I’m not your burden to bear, Iron Thorn,” I hissed, ripping the arm he had captured away from him.

A slow smile that held the ghost of sharp teeth was given. “You are no one’s burden, Banfhlaith. You are precious cargo. I will not see you to your home alone.”

“Then shut your eyes. I’m going alone. That magic storm followed me. This one is looking at me; I feel it watching me. It’s easily four times the size of the last one. I’m not going to risk anyone else. Besides, if I’m really supposed to be the heir to this place, it can’t hurt me, right?”

“That’s a gamble, my Pearl—a significant one. Tell me—I don’t believe I asked—did the smaller magic storm, the one that chased you into the mines, touch you? What about the one in the woods?” He was leaving a small gap, a tiny little crack in the conversation and the solid wall of his willpower to allow me to slither in. It was an opportunity I was not going to let slip by.

I had to convince him, even if that meant that I had to convince myself. I didn’t truly know whether the magic storm would let me be. I didn’t know if it was watching me. All I had were my instincts. The tiny little voice located somewhere behind my belly button was telling me that nothing in this territory could or would hurt me. My instincts had only ever led me wrong when I ignored them. And I couldn’t afford to do that anymore. All I could do was allow myself to give in to that little voice, to follow the voice that had whispered in my ear and hope that I was right.

Even if it meant I might die.

“The one in the woods never touched me. Not that I remember. The other one, though. Yeah, it touched my foot.”

He tilted slightly as if taking notice of my foot for the first time since our reunion. He followed the line of my leg all the way down to my foot. Not that he could see much beyond the thick woolen dress, the pants beneath, and the boots.

“I assume your foot is still attached. I don’t remember seeing a stump?”

I frowned. “Of course it’s still attached. What sort of question is that?”

He rolled his shoulders again, the plates of his armor clinking just slightly. “I hadn’t noted a stump, but there are also plenty of the country Fae who have lost limbs, either in the wars, raiding, or in accidents to a beast or field. Plenty of them turn to the tinkers of your mother’s people to craft them replacements. Some of them are so masterful that they could barely be noticed. Others are great works of art. Depending on personal style. You know, I saw one once, well, not really saw . . . I met a Fae named The Misty Stranger, who had one crafted of spring breezes. You’d never know he was missing a whole leg until he pulled up his pant leg and there was nothing there.”

“The magical history of prosthetics as taught by the venerable Ard Tiarna Iron Thorn. Thanks, I guess.”

“I merely meant that it would be impolite for me to assume. And foolish too. Especially on this topic. So, the magic storm touched your foot but didn’t take it with it. That, dearest Pearl of mine, is something of note.”

“Why?”

“Because a magic storm, at its very barest of creation, is a black hole of magic. It encounters things made of magic and unweaves them. It takes them apart, particle by particle, and leaves nothing but a fine mist in its wake. No matter how much it does or does not touch you. Wherever a magic storm kisses a creation of magic, it is destroyed and never to be returned. It is not transferred to a new form, like if a beast eats you and shits you out. It is unmade. Erased from existence. Its very essence returned to magic.”

I stared at him, slow blinks of both confusion and disbelief flashing his unnaturally young face in my view. “What?”

“Put simply, Banfhlaith, had you been any other Fae, you should be, at minimum, missing a foot. At the worst, your entire leg.” He rocked on his heels again and watched me appraisingly before he decided my value at a spice stall in a bazaar. “This means that perhaps that storm was a one-off. Perhaps it was weak. Additional testing would need to be executed before I’d be comfortable declaring you magic-storm-proof.”

“Experiment on your mom,” I snapped.

“My mother is dead.”

I sputtered. “I didn’t mean it literally. But also, I’m sorry for your loss.” He rolled his shoulders as if it was nothing to be considered worthy of even my paltry sympathies. “What I meant was I’m not standing around waiting for experiments. I’m going in the morning. And you guys are staying here.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled himself into patience. “A compromise. The scar is on the other side of the lake, you said, yes?”

“Yes.”

“If I remember correctly, there was a carved black oak bridge spanning the lake. Is it still there?”

“I swear you think I have periscope eyes—”

“An improvement to consider.”

I glared at him and strained to see. “I think there’s a black smudge over there? I’d have to get closer to tell, but I think there might be a bridge.”

He nodded. “Then the compromise is made. We will accompany you to the lake. We will not cross its waters and remain on this side of it. But the moment I sense or think there is trouble, I will cross. Whether you bid it or not. Agree to these terms or suffer our presence in its entirety.”

I scowled and nodded; it was as good as it was going to get. And I could at least rest a little knowing they would only need to defend themselves from a few directions, not the thousands out in the open.

Chapter 34

Cricket