Page 51

Laurel

Iron is poisonous to fae. Without quick action, an iron wound can fester and make even the strongest fae very ill. Deep cuts or prolonged exposure will kill. It takes incredible amounts of aether to heal an iron wound. Healers treating those inflicted by iron should expect weeks of depleting their power stores to aid their patient.

A Practical Guide to Magical Healing

We’re in the greenhouse at Thorne’s request. He’s been experimenting with his light the last several weeks to see if it will influence the exotic plants here, exploring some hunch he’s yet to tell me about. As we walk around the room, he points out every plant in painstaking detail, not missing one tiny leaf that may have changed with his magic. As it turns out, the plants have thrived under his radiant tutelage. At least four that have never flowered before now display bright, unique blossoms, and even more have grown larger or brighter. It’s like they needed his power to fully mature.

When Thorne brought me in here, his eyes filled with pure joy, my heart—both of my hearts—had squeezed tightly. Despite the bone deep ache I’ve felt since the moment Carex informed me that Nemesia had been captured at the port in Echosa, Thorne somehow makes me smile. Since I’ve accepted the mating bond, my magic feels lighter, easier to carry. My aether-heart, the source of my magic, is soothed in a way I didn’t know was possible, a way I didn’t know I needed. I’m steady and grounded with Thorne by my side, despite everything closing in on me right now.

We still haven’t made any progress in finding the rebels after their disappearance from the throne room, nor have Silene and Fionn been able to contact them. It’s like the rebellion has completely disappeared from Thayaria. Not to mention, Nemesia’s reaction to the accusation that she was the mole isn’t sitting right with me. She looked utterly lost and confused in those cells, devastated when I accused her of being a traitor. Silene’s suggestion that the letter we found was intended for me but intercepted by the rebels has replayed in my mind at least a dozen times.

I’ve only visited her once since we brought her to the palace cells in the two weeks she’s been imprisoned. I’d had to tap deep into the cold and heartless Witch Queen persona to stop myself from aerstepping her away from the cells and into my sitting room, where we could pretend everything was back to the way it was before she left for Velmara. I ordered her to be left alone and well cared for, not able to bring myself to have her tortured for information. I saw a cut that had festered on her arm, and sent healers to mend her, but otherwise have kept my distance, despite my near constant worrying about her. Nothing makes sense to me anymore except Thorne, and the irony of that is laughable.

“Where have you gone, witchling?” Thorne’s soft and amused voice breaks me out of my spiraling, and I look up at him with a soft and sad smile.

“Just thinking about Nemesia.” It’s all I can say aloud without breaking down, but he understands. Thorne wraps me tightly in his arms and places a kiss atop my head. Tears gather in my eyes. “What if I got it wrong, and I’ve left my best friend, my only family, to rot?”

“Then we’ll fix it. If she isn’t the mole, then she’s still the same Nemesia you know, and the two of you have a bond strong enough to survive this.”

“I think I should move her out of the cells,” I whisper, afraid to admit what feels like weakness in me. “She can still have guards posted in a low-level room, but I can’t bear the idea of leaving her down there any longer, even if she is the mole. The Council will be in outrage though.”

Thorne chuckles and pushes me away from him slightly so he can look into my eyes, his warm hands placed solidly on my shoulders. “Laurel, you are their Queen. You rule by committee most of the time, and that’s admirable beyond belief, but you shouldn’t shy away from making the decisions you feel are right out of fear of their reaction. Trust your instinct. And if any of them push back, I’ll spear them through with light and drown them on dry land.” He gives me an unholy smirk, filled with the promise of violence I know he’s capable of.

I laugh aloud. “Look at us now. I’m the charming courtier trying to make everyone like me, and you’re the menacing brute force who will kill any who opposes you. Our roles have reversed.”

“What can I say, spending time with the Witch Queen has changed me.” His wink makes my thighs clench. I love it when his flirtation turns wholly on me. I bite my lip, and he growls, pulling me close again. “If you keep looking at me like that, I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” he whispers in my ear, nipping it with his teeth. The move sends shivers down my spine.

“Maybe that’s what I want,” I coo in a husky voice, arching my back to press my breasts closer to his broad chest. He trails his finger down the column of my neck.

“If I recall,” he murmurs, “you were just complaining yesterday that I’m ruining all your favorite garments with my impatience to get you naked.”

He’s right. Since I accepted the mating bond, our need for one another has been uncontrollable. We can barely spend any time alone without ripping off our clothes, no regard for where we are. Silene’s been the one to handle getting out the word to the Council that she and Thorne’s betrothal was a sham, whispering it into the right ears. It’s a cover we desperately needed with how much additional time we’ve been spending together, often in compromising positions. Yesterday, we were nearly discovered naked in the Council chamber while waiting for advisors to arrive for a meeting. Thankfully, Silene once again saved the day, having the foresight to speak loudly to Admon before they walked in together, buying us enough time to dress. While I’m sure my advisors have their suspicions about us, I certainly don’t want to confirm them via accidental nudity.

Evenings are a different story. Regardless of whose bed we’re in, gone is the savage and wild lust. Instead, Thorne makes love to me gently, slowly. We explore one another, our sighs filled with emotions we haven’t yet expressed. I tell him stories of my life, and he offers his own. And when we finally fall asleep, it’s in each other’s arms. I’m the happiest I can ever remember being, despite the Nemesia-shaped hole that consumes me when I’m not with him.

I mock pout, and Thorne’s pupils dilate. “Why can’t you simply unlace my gown or pull the skirt up, instead of ripping open the front of whatever I’m wearing?” I ask him with a smirk. He returns it with his own, then peppers kisses over my collarbone and neck.

“Because. If I’m going to fuck you. Witchling. I need it to be with your breasts. Cupped. In my palms,” he says between kisses. I moan.

“Let’s try it, just this once,” I breathe out, then lift my skirt to my hips. To entice him, I wrap one exposed thigh around his waist. He takes the bait, lifting me fully, and I wrap the other leg around him as he carries me to a worktable in the back corner. Plants cover the table, but in a blink, they disappear and reappear in neat lines several feet away. Something prickles in the back of my mind, but I push it aside, lost in my lust for Thorne. He sets me down gently, tucking my skirt out of the way before he unbuttons his own trousers. My already wet center pulses, and I can’t pull my eyes away from his cock.

“Like what you see?” His voice is low and gravelly, and it sends electricity shooting through my veins. I only nod, unable to speak. “Keep those eyes where they are. I want you to watch as I push into you.” I do as he commands, practically coming undone as his length slides into me. Fully seated, he slowly pulls back out, and we both watch as our bodies come together. He slams into me, and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

“Thorne,” I sigh, and he growls, hands coming to my breasts and kneading them through the fabric of the gown. He lets out a frustrated sound.

“This is the only time I will ever agree to this,” he pants. “We’ll get you infinite gowns. We’ll order a dozen replicas of each one.”

I let out a laugh that quickly turns to a moan when he conjures light to touch my clit in soft strokes. The surrounding air becomes almost unbearably humid, water dripping down my back. Thorne lights up the steam in the air around us, surrounding our bodies in a soft glow. My own body hasn’t radiated light since the first night we came together, but one or both of us is always letting our magic out unbidden when lust overtakes us. The plants suddenly seem to glow on their own, and my eyes widen. I meet Thorne’s gaze, and he seems as incredulous as I am as he continues his even rhythm of thrusts. The greenhouse has transformed into a lush and tropical oasis, light and water dancing around us as we reach our climaxes. With a mutual roar, we crest that wave together. Our panting slowly evens out, though Thorne keeps his forehead pressed to mine as he caresses my hair and places kisses atop my head.

Slowly, so slowly, he pulls out of me. I stand and adjust my dress.

“If our clothes stay mostly on, we can do that a lot more often, princeling,” I say with a wicked grin.

“Still not worth it,” he murmurs, squeezing my nipple teasingly. The sensation lights me up with need all over again.

“What is it with you and my breasts?”

“Are you kidding? Isn’t it obvious?” When I shake my head, he laughs in delight, cupping them both through the dress again. “Your breasts, Laurel, are exquisite. Have you never noticed how different you are from other females? They’re slim and lithe. No curves or breasts to speak of. I love everything about your body.” He growls the last sentence, and my toes curl. Of course I’ve noticed how different I am. How could I not? But to hear Thorne praise that difference, to find it attractive… The desire to run from this feeling is strong, but I push it down, deciding to sit with the feelings of delight and fear and something else , however uncomfortable. I survey the greenhouse. Misty steam has fogged up the glass panels that make up the dome. Even if someone walked in here, I’m not sure how much of us they’d even be able to see. Soft light glows around us, though I can somehow sense that Thorne is no longer controlling the light. The plants also glow with a luminescent shimmer. “Your magic is incredible, Laurel,” Thorne remarks, but my brows furrow, finally having the clarity of mind to process the magic we see.

“This isn’t me,” I say slowly, and now Thorne’s brows scrunch together.

“Then how—” he starts.

“I think,” I interrupt. “I think it’s some kind of reaction to your power. It feels like you, but I can also tell you aren’t using your magic. It’s unlike any power I’ve ever encountered.” He surveys the room with renewed interest, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before responding.

“This place has always reminded me of Eastern Velmara, where the light channelers come from. What if…” He trails off, lost in thought.

“What if what?”

“What if this place was meant to be some kind of replica? Of Eastern Velmara? I think I knew I was connected to this greenhouse in some way. It’s why I started experimenting on the plants.” The implications of his theory are too massive for me to consider right now, only minutes away from lust-addled fog.

“We need to speak with Admon.” Thorne nods his agreement. I look around the greenhouse one last time, marveling at the otherworldly feel it has to it, before taking Thorne’s arm and aerstepping us to Admon’s chambers.

We knock on Admon’s door, but there’s no answer, which is unsurprising, since it’s the middle of the day and Admon is a busy man as the now permanent Chair of the Council of Advisors. Just as I’m about to aerstep us back to my rooms, Admon appears at the end of the hallway, slowly walking toward us.

“Your Majesty,” he says with a bow when he reaches us. “I did not expect you. Did I forget a meeting we had scheduled?”

“No, no,” I say to the old fae, feeling guilty for appearing without notice at his door. “Thorne and I just wanted to discuss something with you. But we can come back at another time. Give you more notice.”

“As it happens, I have something I’d like to discuss with you as well. So the timing is fortuitous.” He smiles, then leads us into his sitting room. I heat water in his teakettle, then make myself and Admon a cup of tea before settling down into a leather sofa by Thorne. I give him a wink at the frown I see forming on his expression and instantly know it’s because I did not let him make the tea for me.

“Admon,” I say once he’s also settled, “what did you want to discuss?”

“I’ve just come from visiting Nemesia.” I tense. I hadn’t explicitly forbidden anyone from visiting her, but I didn’t expect that she would have visitors. “I confess my own curiosity about what she may have learned from the Velmaran archives drove me to her. I’ve visited a few times. I hope I did not misstep. I assure you, Your Majesty, my intentions were scholarly only.” Thorne rubs circles on my thigh, and I relax.

“It’s okay.” I trust his intentions implicitly. “It’s good that you’re attempting to extract information from her. Though we should consider anything she tells us carefully, as she could be lying.” I’m not ready to voice my doubts about Nemesia aloud to anyone but Thorne, even Admon.

Admon looks thoughtful. “That is, of course, a possibility. But I’ve spoken with Nemesia at length about her time in Velmara, her escape, and what she uncovered.”

“Escape?” I ask, fear for my friend cutting through all the layers of emotional detachment I’m trying to maintain.

“Indeed,” Admon continues. “Nemesia discovered a great secret, and King Mazus killed someone she’d grown close to before attempting to capture Nemesia. Thankfully, the librarian who was killed was a powerful air channeler, and she aerstepped Nemesia to the Echosa port just before she died. I believe Nemesia feels immense grief over the loss of the librarian.” My mind is racing and my stomach churns with too many emotions for me to unpack right now.

“What was the secret?” It’s all I can get out amid the flurry of feelings roiling through me.

“She says she won’t tell anyone but you. Even now, Nemesia demonstrates her stalwart fealty to you and to Thayaria. I must say, I struggle to believe Nemesia betrayed us,” Admon says gently. “She’s always been so loyal to you, and the knowledge she revealed to me matches the books she brought with her. She insists the letter you discovered was meant for you.” I crumple in on myself, those words from Admon the final nudge I need to change my approach with Nemesia.

“Admon,” I sigh out, rubbing my hands over my face in exhaustion. “I’m going to have Nemesia moved to rooms on the lower level of the place, right above the prison. The iron below will still somewhat affect her, and I’ll station guards, but…” I remember Thorne’s words, his encouragement to own my decisions. “I want her moved today.” My words are resolute.

“I think that’s a wise decision, Your Majesty,” Admon counsels with a smile, and my shoulders rise in pride at his praise. Thorne nudges my arm to silently communicate I told you so .

“You do? Why?” I ask.

“Beyond my hesitation to believe she’s betrayed you, Nemesia is a quicker translator than me. If we have any hope of finishing the translation of the Old Fae book she brought with her, we need her working on it. I truly believe there are critical answers in it. If you still doubt her, I can spot check her work to ensure it’s a truthful interpretation of the text.”

I nod. “Coordinate her move. And inform me if there are any rumblings on the Council about the decision.” My voice reminds me of my mother, and I smile inwardly.

Admon nods. “Now, what is it that led you and Prince Hawthorne here today?”

I’d forgotten that Thorne and I had our own set of questions for Admon, so wrapped up in my thoughts of Nemesia. I struggle with where to begin, looking to Thorne for support. He jumps right in.

“The greenhouse reminded me of Eastern Velmara, though the plants are not the same,” he starts. “I’ve been experimenting with exposing the plants to my light magic, and they’ve had an incredible response. New blooms, larger leaves, growing taller and wider.”

“By new blooms, he means plants I’ve never seen flower have suddenly sprouted breath-taking blossoms,” I add, and he grins. Admon only continues to look on with interest.

“I was showing Laurel, and we… uh… I…” he trails off, remembering what exactly led to our discovery.

“He showed me the progress he’s been making on combining light and water channeling. He lit up the greenhouse in a misty glow,” I finish for him. Admon has a gleam in his eye that tells me he knows exactly what we were doing, and I’m completely mortified, but continue anyway. “The plants themselves started glowing and continued to do so even after Thorne stopped channeling. Even the light and mist remained. And the magic… it felt like him.” Admon’s expression looks far away, like he’s remembering something from a long time ago. He shakes whatever it is from his mind and smiles inquisitively.

“That is curious indeed. I’ll stop by the greenhouse today and take a look. I suspect the answers we need are in the books Nemesia brought with her.”

“Let’s get Nemesia moved to new rooms, and then she can begin translating,” Thorne says excitedly to me, threading his fingers through mine. “You can speak with her about what she may have learned, and we’ll figure out together what we believe.” I squeeze his hand in appreciation of his support, so unused to having someone to rely on.

As we’re walking out the door, Admon calls out to us. “I’m happy that the two of you have both accepted the mating bond.” My brows furrow.

“How did you know?” We hadn’t yet told anyone other than Fionn and Silene.

“I can just tell from seeing the two of you together. You’re glowing,” he responds with a smile.

The next day, Nemesia is set up in rooms just above the palace cells, the iron from below still making any fae on that level uncomfortable and dampening their power. Thorne and I agreed he’d come with me to speak with her, but that he’d stand back and allow me to do the talking. It’s a small but important moment as we learn to navigate our life together. I consider donning the Witch Queen persona, but the effect would be moot on Nemesia, who has so often seen that mask. Instead, I opt for soft leggings and a navy tunic, braiding my hair back in its classic style. At Thorne’s insistence, I wear daggers on both thighs. We both know I won’t need them, but the mating bond requires these small compromises to settle the persistent desire to protect.

Thorne brushes a piece of hair off my face, then squeezes my hand in my bedroom before we aerstep to Nemesia’s door. Four guards stand at alert, barely reacting when we arrive. They all bow quickly before one of them pulls a key from his belt and unlocks the door. Thorne and I enter, hand in hand.

Nemesia doesn’t look good. White-blonde hair hangs in matted clumps around her face. Her eyes are hollow, very little emotion reflected in them as she sits in a leather chair by the fire. Her clothes are still dirty and soiled from the weeks she spent in the cells. A twinge of guilt stabs my gut.

“Have you not been provided with clean clothes and water for washing?” I ask, sternly. Nemesia doesn’t even look up at me, just continues staring into the fire that warms the room.

“I have. Don’t feel like cleaning up.”

“And why not?” I ask, shocked at the person who sits before me. She only shrugs, and I look at Thorne, suddenly lost for what to do. He squeezes my hand, encouraging me to trust in my own instincts. “You will clean yourself up before speaking to your Queen,” I command with the aether-voice. Nemesia stiffens, clearly trying to fight the compulsion, but eventually stands up and walks toward the bathing chamber, eyes burning with fury and hatred. For once, I don’t feel guilty using the aether-voice in this way. Something tells me Nemesia may not have washed up without it.

I seat myself by the fire while I wait for her. Thorne finds a beverage cart and makes me a cup of steaming tea. I smile when he hands it to me, grateful for this silly and small thing he always insists on. Rather than sitting beside me, he takes up a place against the wall behind me, leaning against it with his arms crossed. If I wasn’t already completely enamored with him, I would be after this. As always, he’s so beautiful it nearly takes my breath away, and the way he can pull off disinterest impresses even me. I sense that a subtle but strong shield of light surrounds me where I sit on the couch, invisible to all but myself. Just like me, he can perform incredible feats of magic with no sign of it in his expression.

When Nemesia returns from the bathing chamber, clean and in fresh clothes, she looks closer to the female I know, though her eyes are still haunted, and her frame is too thin. She collapses into a chair, and I study her for another moment before speaking. Something’s changed in the weeks she was in the cells. She was angry with me when I visited before, pleading that I had made a mistake. Now, it seems indifference has settled over her. That bolt of guilt shoots another strike through my body.

She notices me staring at her, and says, voice a sarcastic sneer, “Happy, Your Majesty ? Am I clean enough to be in your presence now?” I ignore the barb.

“You told Admon you discovered something you would only share with me. I’m here now. What is it you wanted me to know?” Nemesia’s eyes quickly dart to Thorne, uneasiness crossing them. “A lot has happened while you’ve been away. Thorne and I are… allies.” I opt to save the more unbelievable information for another time, still not sure I can trust her. “I trust him with any information you have to share.” She hesitates, staring between the two of us, scrutinizing us with those empty and hollow eyes.

“I discovered interesting information about the myth of fae mates while in Velmara. Would that be of interest to either of you?” I stiffen, instantly understanding what she’s looking for. She knows mates are real, suspects Thorne and I are connected in that way, and wants to determine if we know before she says anything more.

“It would, yes,” I say with a nod, the closest I’m going to come to admitting the truth. Nemesia nods, indicating she understands what I’m saying and the relationship between Thorne and me.

“Mazus knows. About the two of you, and your connection. It’s why he sent Prince Hawthorne here,” she finally admits, emotion returning to her somber eyes, body straightening itself to resemble the female I know. “Beyond that, I know nothing more of his motivation. I’ve already translated the section on mates from the book in Old Fae I brought with me. I wasn’t able to bring my notes with me, so I’ll have to copy it all out again to share it with you.”

“Why would you help us?” I ask, my voice tentative and questioning, seeking any clue in her expression or answer to help me determine whether I can trust her.

She deflates once again. “El, you must believe me. I did not send that letter to the rebels. I intended it for you. I don’t know how it got to the rebels. They must be working with Mazus.” Her eyes are pleading.

I believe her, despite my desperation to hold her at arm’s length until we can prove without a doubt that she’s not working with the rebels. The realization makes me question my sanity. Am I so desperate for my old friend that I’ll believe anything to erase the months of heartbreak and betrayal I’ve felt? I fear that my trust will be misplaced. Fear it will be a mistake I deeply regret. But Nemesia has been by my side my entire life—if she wanted to betray me, it would have been so easy in the early years, when I was a complete mess after the war. Even if her opinion of me has recently changed, I just can’t believe she would work with the rebels. But I’m not ready to admit this to her.

“So Mazus knows that Thorne and I are mates,” I say, and her eyes widen. She understands the statement to be the closest thing to an olive branch I can give her right now, and I think I see her lips quirk just slightly. She nods. “Is that the secret you would only tell to me? You should know that Admon also knows. We turned to him for answers. Carex knows as well.” Thorne stiffens behind me, and I realize I hadn’t told him that Carex knew about us. I inwardly smirk at the alpha-fae jealousy I’m going to have to deal with later but turn my attention back to Nemesia.

“No, that’s not the secret, though I had no intention of telling anyone but you of Mazus’s knowledge.” She takes a big breath, releasing it in a sigh to steel herself. It’s a mannerism I’m familiar with, and it brings me a bit of relief to see her returning to her usual self. “I believe Mazus is a blood mage.” Her words are firm, confident. Both Thorne and I tense, and Thorne walks to my side, our arrangement forgotten, though I can’t blame him. This was not the news we were expecting. Nemesia gives him a suspicious look but continues. “Blood magic is not what we’ve always been told it is. You must have the affinity, just like any other conduit power. You can’t just decide to practice blood magic; it has to be something you’re gifted with. And the blood magic line comes from Velmara. I believe…” she trails off, and I give her an encouraging nod to continue. Thorne sits next to me now, hand in mine and body leaning in toward Nemesia. “I believe Mazus descends from this line. What’s more, I discovered information that says the Andomers, the light channelers—your mother’s line,” she says with a nod to Thorne, “once ruled Velmara, but were forcibly overthrown by the Vicant line, the blood mages.” Thorne’s coloring has gone pale, and I can see the gears turning in his mind.

“I was always taught that the Andomers tired of ruling, so they peacefully handed over the throne,” Thorne says, clearly realizing the absurdity of the words as he says them. Nemesia doesn’t tease him, simply nods in understanding.

“Did you find any proof that Mazus is actively practicing blood magic?” I ask, but Nemesia shakes her head.

“No. Once I suspected it, I decided I needed to get out. What’s strange is that the four books I arrived with were not in the archives. Mazus had them sent to me from his personal collection. I still don’t understand why he allowed me to find this information. It was too strange, so I had to flee. I tried to bring the librarian who helped me back to Thayaria too, but she… Mazus…” Nemesia’s voice cracks, and I almost reach for her, but I hold back, still wary.

“Admon told us,” I say instead, offering her the compassion of not having to recount the story. I decide to speak with her about this again at another time, suspecting the librarian was more than a friend. But I know better than most that some wounds have to scab over first.

“There’s more information about mates you should know,” she says, changing the subject. “According to the Old Fae book, Thayarian rulers used to always have an Andomer light channeling mate. Even then—whenever that was—no one knew why. It just always happened, and it was usually the strongest among the light channelers who mated with the Thayarian monarch.” Thorne’s hand tightens around mine, and I grip it back tightly.

“The greenhouse,” he whispers, and I turn to look at him.

“What do you mean?” Nemesia asks. Thorne looks at me, seeking my blessing to take over the conversation, and I give him a nod.

“The greenhouse here in the palace. It reminds me of Eastern Velmara, and it struck me as a strange feature here. But it was practically life saving for my friends and I during Abscission, and I’ve been drawn to it. What if it was created specifically for those Andomer mates? To help give them a piece of home.”

“That’s a very real possibility,” Nemesia murmurs, lost in her own thoughts.

“And it explains the reaction to your magic,” I whisper softly as I squeeze Thorne’s hand, but Nemesia overhears.

“His magic?” she asks. I quickly explain what happened earlier, leaving out the more intimate details. Halfway through recounting the story, I realize I probably shouldn’t be trusting her with this information. But old habits die hard, and for over three hundred years, I told her most things, if not everything. “The greenhouse must be reacting to Andomer light after centuries or even millennia of it missing,” Nemesia offers, expression thoughtful, like there’s more she isn’t saying. “I’ll keep reading the books. I can make you a translated copy of the section on mates. I haven’t even read through two of them yet.” I nod, then stand to leave, but Nemesia’s expression goes hard, and I pause. “Laurel, you should make the Council believe I’m still a prisoner.” Her voice is steely.

“You are still a prisoner,” I add, eyes narrowed, though the words don’t come out with the intensity I had hoped for. Nemesia only rolls her eyes, and I have to stifle the smirk that rises to my lips at seeing my old friend before me.

“There’s still someone on the Council who betrayed you out there. Even if you don’t believe me, for the sake of Thayaria, proceed as if there could still be another mole. Let them think your suspicions lie fully with me.”

I nod, then leave, unsure who is friend and foe in this palace.