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“Course I’m okay,” she finally answered. With a quick glance at me, she nodded. “Looks like you are, too. An uneventful night then?”

I wasn’t sure if I could call it uneventful, what with the Mist King’s irritating visit to my dreams again. What he was trying to accomplish with that, I didn’t know. Was he hoping to make me more pliable by showing me glimpses of my home? By reminding me of what King Oberon had done to me and the threat that loomed over my people?

“There weren’t any more pooka attacks,” I answered.

She cocked her head at me. “Hmm.”

The Mist King strode back over, with Toryn and Alastair in tow. He poured a bucket of ashes onto the fire and grabbed his pack. Niamh groaned.

“We need to go,” he ordered. “We don’t have time to waste.”

He seemed agitated, although that wasn’t far off from how he normally was. I started to ask Niamh what that was all about, but he tossed my pack to me. It thumped against my leg. Frowning, I grabbed it and stood.

“Why are you in such a hurry all of a sudden? What happened down there?”

“It’s none of your concern. Now, if you want to find your mother, be quiet and come along.”

“Bequiet?” My hands fisted as I stalked after him. Alastair and Toryn smartly backed away. “Stop ordering me around. I’m not your servant.”

“Just do what I say, Tessa.”

Everything within me went cold. “I know you’re a powerful king, but I won’t let you treat me like King Oberon did.”

His feet slowed to a stop. Tensing, he cast a glance over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. This isn’t an order. It’s a request. We need to get going now. Please.”

I blinked. He’d said please. That, I hadn’t expected.

With a sigh, I nodded, reaching around to remove the cloak. He shook his head. “Keep it. You’ll need it for a while.”

My hands dropped to my sides. Niamh patted me on the shoulder as we watched the others push the boulder out of the way. As the mists rolled in, she leaned down to whisper, “I’ve never seen anyone get under his skin the way you do.”

Frowning, I shifted on my feet. “Not even Oberon?”

“If Oberon spoke to him the way you do, he’d just stab him. In fact, Oberon wouldn’t need to say a damn word. Get them in the same room, and you’d witness a fight of epic proportions.”

“Who do you think would win?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Right now?” She inclined her head toward her king. “But that hasn’t always been the case. Once, they were very evenly matched. The winner of the fight would be down to luck and…” She tapped her brain.

“Wait, how is the Mist King stronger now?”

“Kal,” she said, and then laughed. “Oh, you dear thing. Oberon’s kept it all so close to the chest, hasn’t he? He doesn’t have access to his elite powers. The strength he currently possesses is a fraction of what he once had. He’s just like any common fae now. We all have more strength and speed than mortals, fast healing, and an immortal lifespan, but that’s it. Oberon has no extra magic, no light or fire power, no nothing. He doesn’t have it. And despite his attempts, he can’t get it back.”

That made me take a step back. “What?”

“Conniving bastard, eh?” Niamh shook her head, patting me on the back. “Sounds like he’s really had you all convinced he’s as strong as he’s ever been.”

It wasn’t something anyone had ever questioned. His power protected our little bubble of the world, and he’d never had any trouble keeping command of his throne. Of course, now that she’d pointed it out, I couldn’t help but realize he’d never demonstrated his full fae magic. The fire and light at his fingertips. At least, not in my lifetime.

“When did he lose it?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

She smiled. “Three hundred and seventy-five years ago. He poured all his magic into those gemstones, creating the barrier between our kingdoms. That’s how he keeps the mists out. Unfortunately for him, that means he can’t do anything else.”

With another pat on my back, Niamh led me out into the swirling mists, trailing behind the others. I fell into deep thought as we took careful steps down the rocky path. Almost four hundred years ago, the Mist King had invaded the Kingdom of Light. The strength of his army had rushed across the sunlit cities and fields, destroying everything in sight. Behind him came the mists.

According to legend, Oberon took his last stand against the Mist King just outside of Albyria. He’d called upon the power of the sun, and he’d “thrown” it right at the enemy army. The Mist King had thrown his power right back, and the two magical forces had slammed into each other. Light and dark, mist and fire. The land shook from the clash of magic.

A chasm yawned wide in its wake.