“And if he kills you next time?”
He falls silent. Enough so that I look up at him. He nods. “He’ll come to Faelen,” he says quietly. “But not for King Sedric.”
I wait.
“The right to rule was given to five Uathúils—five monarchs. And the line of Faelen’s royal blood was always the strongest.”
I continue to wait.
“Sedric’s ancestors weren’t Uathúils, nor were they the original kings. The Elementals were. But even then . . .” He pauses and softens his gaze, reaching his words deep into my soul. “Even Elementals weren’t powerful enough to sustain the abilities contained in all five original Uathúil rulers. That’s why Draewulf needed you to absorb the vortex—so it’ll hold the powers and blood of all five without aging the host.”
He’s not making a lick of sense. “So why didn’t Draewulf just absorb the ability himself then?”
He studies me. “Because the woman who gave it to you was his wife.”
I stare.
Until it’s clear he’s not jesting.
“Draewulf’s wife was that witch?”
He nods.
Is he jesting? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I confess to not being the most clear-minded with Draewulf in my head.”
“But she offered them to me. She gave me them.” My gut heaves in disgust. “Why didn’t Draewulf just get them from her himself then? And how could she even have those abilities if she is Isobel’s Mortisfaire mum?”
“Just as Draewulf enhanced himself, the witch found ways to enhance her ability too. The Mortisfaire are known for dabbling in magic. However, she stopped before it went as far as Draewulf’s, which is ultimately what destroyed their union. Those powers all lead to something, and while consuming them will eventually turn the host like Draewulf, not all of them are the same. The ability the witch offered you is one she kept from him and he couldn’t create on his own. Instead, she gave it to you.”
“But why? How does that help anything?”
“Because an Elemental will be his downfall, and you are Elemental. As were your ancestors.”
I shake my head. “My ancestors weren’t Elementals and neither were my parents. I was an anomaly.”
“An anomaly in that you were born female, yes. But not an anomaly in your genetic lineage.” His voice drops. “A lineage that belonged to the original rulers of Faelen.” He watches me as if willing me to grasp what he’s getting at.
The airship shudders and the sensation is answered by a matching shiver beneath my skin. In my veins. I blink and frown at him. And swallow as the witch’s voice rattles in my chest. “And whatever you do, don’t let him take the final one.”
When I look down, my left hand is twisting even tighter into the crippled stump owner number fourteen made it. And as it squeezes, a tiny black line emerges through the vein beneath its skin. For a fleeting second the feeling of dark hunger edges my lungs.
Like the distinct imitation of a spider testing my sinew before beginning to reweave her web.
Eogan’s voice finally emerges again through the wind and sea salt and snowcapped air. “When he comes to Faelen, it’ll be for you. Because you’re last in line, Nym.”
MY POCKETFUL OF THANK-YOUS
IF I’M HONEST WITH YOU ABOUT THIS TRILOGY, I’D tell you that writing book one was like this scary-wild celebration of friends, and fellowship, and love . . . whereas book two has been more a scraping of the soul. Ultimately a good thing, yes, but also rather terrifying. Ha! In fact, I may have spent much of this story feeling like I was wandering in the dark, suspecting the creation of book one was a fluke because good grief what in hulls was I thinking trying to write another?
Yet in that dark there were people slipping their hands out to hold mine, reminding me that this is a journey and some of the best parts come from the hardest parts (so quit whining and get back to work, and also, have some Doctor Who episodes). So here’s to you, my dear fellowship of hand-holders. For being the people I want to be like when I grow up.
Especially my husband, Peter, who more than anyone has walked beside me, forging his own awesome path amidst steadying mine. You are the very best person I know and I rabidly love you.
Same with my three muses, Rilian, Avalon, and Korbin, who remind me daily that the key to believing is to pause, breathe, and look for the magic. (Also, shopping.)