Page 49

Chapter

Forty-Eight

W et from all the snow the children had managed to get in under her clothing, Lessia walked through the forest back to the castle.

Her ears buzzed from the delighted screams they’d all let out as they played and from Kalia and Amalise telling her of everything she’d missed the past week.

Two of the boys had begun working with Bren in her favored tavern, and so far, it had gone well, apart from a small mishap when a soldier had gotten a little too rowdy and one of them had punched him out cold.

Despite that going against the rules Lessia set for them—no fighting, especially with humans—she smiled to herself.

The boys’ success had prompted one of the girls to see if she could get work in one of the weaponry shops. While the owner had been hesitant at first, when she’d worked a day for free and he realized how skilled she was at molding the iron, she’d been offered three full days a week.

Lessia pushed away the sense of wistfulness that traced across her skin upon realizing many of them might leave the house soon.

It was a good thing for them to integrate into Ellow’s society.

Even if it might mean the house would be a bit emptier when she returned.

She rushed her steps when shadows danced over the rocky path before her.

It was still early afternoon, but the sun was already on its way down, and she wanted to be back at the castle before darkness fell.

When she rounded an especially sharp turn, the lights from the capital finally breaking through the tree line, the hair on the back of her neck rose.

A sense of being watched pricked her skin, and she whipped her head around, holding her breath as she listened to the forest.

Snow crunched to her left.

As silently as possible, she slipped behind a tree, unsheathing the two Fae daggers from her waistband.

Leaning her back against the tree, she planted her feet like Merrick had shown her, breathing deep to keep her rising pulse in check.

Snow crushed again, closer this time, and Lessia risked a peek around the trunk.

A cloaked figure approached her, the height indicating it was a male if it was a human. Pulling off her hood to ensure her eyes were visible, she reminded herself of everything Merrick had taught her.

Keep your center low so a swing to your face or chest doesn’t make you fall.

Take them by surprise if you can .

Don’t bother being gracious. Go for a kick between the legs or a hit to the stomach—anywhere where it’ll hurt the most.

Merrick’s voice echoed in her mind, and she quietly promised him that she’d make him proud—that the training sessions had taught her something valuable.

When the person’s soft breaths broke through the silence, she steeled herself and leaped out from behind the tree. Daggers raised, she launched herself at the figure, but he anticipated it, fingers wrapping around her wrists as the force of her attack slammed them both into the snow.

Snarling, she tried to free her hands but stilled when low laughter erupted beneath the hood.

“Are you trying to kill me, darling?”

Lessia groaned as she tried to free her hands once more, but Loche wouldn’t let go; he only pulled her closer until she could make out his amused expression beneath the black wool.

“Let me go,” she growled.

The corners of Loche’s mouth curled. “If I do, will you try to stab me again?”

“That depends on why you’re following me.”

Lessia’s heart slammed against her rib cage as she realized he’d come from the direction of the meadow.

“I told you I’d find out your secret.” Loche winked.

Her pulse roared in her ears as she stared back at him.

She’d have to make him forget.

He’d send them back.

They were here without papers, breaking one of Ellow’s fundamental rules: all Fae, part- and half-Fae alike, needed to report their ancestry to ensure they weren’t related to the ones responsible for the destruction during the war.

Most of them were younger than sixteen, the age of adulthood in both Vastala and Ellow, when they were brought over, so they were also required to be accompanied by a parent or guardian.

Since the children had either dead parents or parents who didn’t want them—parents who would more likely kill them if they knew they were still alive—that wasn’t possible.

Instead, Lessia smuggled them over on Venko’s shady ships.

Hiding them in the provisions hold, she got around having to inform anyone in Vastala or Ellow about their existence.

But it also required her to keep them hidden until they were of age and they could forge papers for them, allowing them to work and contribute to Ellow’s society.

Loche’s eyes bounced between hers, and his features softened. “You’re doing this for them.”

Swallowing, she began pulling on her magic, even as everything inside her told her not to, that if she did this, she’d ruin everything between them.

Her nostrils flared at the thought.

There was nothing between them.

And even if there was, she couldn’t risk the people she loved.

Not for a man.

Not for anyone.

Familiar waves of warmth began rolling through her when Loche released her wrists. Muscles tensing, she sucked in a breath when his hands cupped her face instead, and he forced her eyes to his.

“I won’t tell a soul.”

She narrowed her eyes, her magic buzzing over her skin.

Loche didn’t seem to notice as his thumbs stroked her cheeks.

“I knew there must be something behind you joining the election. You clearly weren’t doing this for yourself—I’ve never seen anyone be so reluctant.

Now I understand why. You’re saving those children, trying to make their lives better.

And you can’t do that without them being fully accepted in Ellow. ”

“Loche…” she started, but Loche interrupted her, a shadow crossing his face.

“I won’t tell a soul because what you’re doing is not wrong, Lessia. It’s admirable. It’s right. If you don’t win, I will make sure you and all your friends, and anyone else who comes from Vastala, are taken care of. That no one will endure what you have had to experience during this election.”

She didn’t know what to say.

Gratefulness and guilt tangled within her as she pushed the magic deep down.

Lessia shook her head. “Loche, I…”

The tattoo on her arm burned, tightening its grip on her throat.

Her daggers slipped out of her hands, landing on the snow with a soft thud.

“Are you hurt?” Loche’s brows knitted, his eyes searching hers.

“J—just a bit sore still.”

She bit her lip at the lie, hating that she couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t the reason—or at least not the only reason she was doing this.

He didn’t deserve this.

King Rioner was wrong.

Loche had nothing to do with what was happening.

She must have read Stellia wrong. It was her soldiers who kept attacking, and the captain had disappeared without a trace.

It wasn’t fair for Lessia to continue this.

She couldn’t hold back a wince as another stinging pain shot up her arm.

“Perhaps you should get up if your ribs are still sore? Unless you plan on lying on me all day. Although thinking of it, I might not mind that too much.”

Loche’s eyes twinkled when she met them, and her breath caught in her throat when she realized she was still lying on top of him, his chest moving with hers as they filled their lungs with air.

Shifting her eyes down, she scrambled to her feet. Lessia picked up the daggers and tucked them into her waistband again while trying to block out Loche’s low chuckle.

“Come.” Loche reached out a hand as he got to his feet. “I want to show you something.”

When she glanced at his hand, he pulled back his hood and smiled at her.

A smile that made her face heat despite her cold and wet clothing.

Her eyes flitted between his, and she hesitantly took the hand he offered, following him as he guided her west—the opposite direction of the castle.