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Fenna Ashryver Galathynius… of Mistward brushed a few wisps of hair that had come loose from her braid back from her forehead and peered around at her garden. It had only been about a month or so since a demonic attack had completely destroyed it. And yet…

  Things were coming along rather nicely. Bit by bit, plant by plant, it was beginning to come back.

  Of course, she’d given it a bit of help. It had never bothered her before, but this time regrowing her garden, even parts of it, completely using magic had felt a bit like cheating to Fenna. So much of the fortress would take much more work to get back together. What right did she have to mend her piece of it so quickly?

  Predictably, Rowan had seen things differently.

  “Don’t do all of it, then,” he’d said over dinner one night. “Just parts of it, if you want it to be more natural.”

  Fenna had sat back in her seat and stared at him. “You don’t think it’s a bit unfair? When those of you in charge of rebuilding the walls don’t have that level of ease with your task?”

  “Maybe. But none of us will begrudge you what you are able to do because of what we aren’t. In fact, part of me wonders why, if you have the ability you aren’t using it.” He considered. “Besides, having a bit of beauty around might be just as beneficial to the community as a refinished wall.”

  Emrys had eyed her – not unsympathetically. “He’s right, Songbird.”

  Leaning forward, Malakai had cut in with a wry, “Well, maybe not practically. But my guess is you knew that when you suggested it, didn’t you, Prince Rowan?”

  As he had every time one of the kitchen crew used his title lately, Rowan had barely perceptibly winced. He didn’t correct them. But Fenna could tell there was part of him that wanted to fit here. Part of him that was longing for a new place to belong.

  Now, as she glanced over at him from across the garden, she frowned. Maybe with the kitchen staff eventually, but he certainly seemed out of place out here.

  “What are you doing to those lobellias?”

  He glanced up at her, looking like a scolded schoolboy and not the warrior he was.

  “What you told me to.”

  “I told you to trim them, not hack them to shreds!” Rising, Fenna stormed over to his side and crouched, restraining a horrified shriek at the sight of the soil littered with ribbons of flower petals. As it was, she didn’t quite know what to make of the sight before her.

  Fenna stared at them. Rowan stared at them. Neither moved for a moment.

  “The leaves, Rowan. The branches. The bush. Not the flowers.”

  “I thought you said a few of the flowers were fine.”

  “If they were dying. None of them are.”

  As she took the shears from him and began to demonstrate, Rowan leaned back into his crouch, looking around. “No. I think you’d be hard-pressed to find anything dying in this place.”

  She wasn’t quite finished with him yet, but Fenna supposed she’d go a bit easier on him than she might have if she wasn’t simply able to regrow what he’d destroyed. He was right, however. Something about getting her memories back seemed to have made her magic stronger. She didn’t know what, precisely. She’d thought about writing the Berellan chancellor to see if he’d neglected to tell her anything when he’d given them back to her, but something had held her back from it.

  Maybe it was the uncertainty of so much of her life right now, but it had felt like it would have been ill-timed.

  As it was, Rowan was right. The only thing that seemed capable of killing her plants was, in fact, her rather inept assistant.

  “I still can’t figure out why you want me working in here,” Rowan said quietly as she regrew the blooms. “You never explained it.”

  “Didn’t I?” she asked. “Maybe because you actually talk to me. And I don’t want your jaw to get stuck.”

  “I talk to the wall crew.”

  “A few words here and there, Malakai tells me. And only necessary ones.”

  “I wasn’t aware you had the headman of the fortress reporting to you.”

  “You really should know better by now.”

  In all actuality, Fenna thought she did understand. Rowan’s leaving of Mistward eventually was almost certain. Unless something horrible happened to Aelin, in which case, this would be the only place for him – but she didn’t like to think about that and she guessed neither did he.

  Regardless, it made sense to her that he wouldn’t want to get attached to anyone here if he were only going to leave. The kitchen crew was different. He was already attached to them – or, at the very least, her.

  But no matter how she could feel the longing to fit somewhere emanating from his very bones, she knew he wouldn’t let it be here.

  Sighing, Fenna sat back and smirked at him. “Maybe because of what you said the other day. I think some beauty will do you just as much good as rebuilt walls.”

  He stared at her for a moment, and had only just started to smirk back when there was an enormous clattering from the kitchen and an ungodly roar from Emrys.

  Instantly, the pair of them were on their feet. Fenna had never climbed the garden wall as fast as she did now, and Rowan positively vaulted it.

  What on earth could have caused that noise? Not to mention the one from Emrys.

  But as they got closer to the kitchen door, Fenna felt her heartbeat calm just slightly as her mind seemed to register it had been a roar of rage, not pain, and she heard what heretofore had just been a vague string of words in her head.

  None of them were complimentary, and a few of them were profanity the likes of which she’d never heard from him before.

  “The demons may not have touched this kitchen, boy, but the day I let you in here was the day it was doomed! How on earth are we supposed to make dinner for –”

  Fenna pushed the door open – or tried to. Rowan attempted to shove it more and was somewhat more successful. Peering into the crack they’d managed to create, Fenna could see an obscene amount of pottery scattered across the floor of the kitchen. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, a very frightened Luca cowering behind the table.

  “—the entire fortress, if there is no cutlery on which to serve it!” Emrys finished. He was entirely hidden from view on the other side of the kitchen. “And this after we’re already behind on dishes!”

  “Fenna, move.”

  Stepping aside, Fenna watched as Rowan inched the door ever closer and closer to being open enough that she, at least, could get through. As she surveyed the kitchen, Emrys’s scolding still continuing but going down to a low muttering, she quickly pieced together what had happened.

  Both Fenna and Luca had separate duties since the fortress had required rebuilding, as well as their regular ones in the kitchen. As a result, Emrys had been largely on his own, still cooking for a rather large if reduced fortress, and the dishes had been left to the wayside as long as there were still enough to be used.

  But presently, it seemed Luca, doing gods knew what, had managed to knock the table in just the proper way to send all of the clean ones resting on it to the ground. All of the clean ones, which looked to be a good portion of the fortress’s supply.

  Fenna was sure whatever had possessed him, Luca had had a sufficiently decent reason for doing all of… that.

  But she wasn’t sure she blamed Emrys for being as incensed as he was.

  Rowan, who had managed to sweep the door aside just enough to squeeze himself inside – the culprit seemed to be an abundance of clay pots which had lodged in between the wood and the ground – took one look at the damage and summoned a wind to scoot the remains into a pile in front of the table. Fenna eyed him suspiciously.

  “You couldn’t have… I don’t know, done that with what was under the door?”

  He said nothing, and she left it alone, crouching beside the pile and picking up a shattered piece of pottery.

  “Do we have anyone who can fix this quickly?” she asked.

  Shaking his head, Emrys leaned forward on the countertop, massaging his forehead. “No. The only one who could have melded it together was Feofan, and…” His voice trailed off.

  He didn’t have to finish. No one needed to be reminded that along with losing many friends, the fortress had lost a good portion of its workforce last month. Sighing, Fenna looked up at Luca. He seemed on the verge of tears.

  “I’m sorry, Emrys,” he said, voice quiet and watery.

  Heaving a deep, pent-up breath, Emrys nodded. “I know, lad. I’m sorry I erupted just there.”

  Rowan peered at the debris, brow furrowed.

  “Vaughan could have melded these together,” he muttered.

  Not knowing that Vaughan’s ability with matter expanded to repairing it, not just severing it, Fenna chose not to tell him that wasn’t of much use, as Vaughan wasn’t here and likely, no other members of the blood-sworn would be here for quite a while.

  Who was she to blame him for missing them, even as he pretended otherwise?

  “Do you think you could?” he asked then.

  Fenna stared at him. “What?”

  But he didn’t look as though he thought it was a last-ditch effort. “Your magic seems to come from the earth. To have something to do with it. And clay is earthen. I wondered.”

  She’d never thought about it before – she’d always thought it had to do with living things. But then again… she’d met people with her ability now who had the power to shake the earth if they so pleased.

  Maybe it wasn’t so farfetched as it seemed.

  “I can give it a try,” she conceded. “Maybe it will work.”

  She extended a hand toward the pile, furrowing her brow. If she wasn’t mistaken, some of the pieces shifted a bit, as though trying to get back to their fellows. She envisioned them fusing, stitching back together again. Mending, as the rest of this fortress was doing.

  But as it turned out, it was of little use. As soon as her brain touched on the image, it was immediate rushed with questions. Would the pieces fuse together willy-nilly, or would they somehow know instinctively where to go? What if it ended in one massive lump of clay, as each of these dishes had once started? What if they started shooting all over the place like jagged missiles?

  As soon as the doubts crept in, the fragments stopped moving. Sighing, Fenna sat back on her heels and shook her head.

  “Maybe with a bit more practice,” she muttered.

  Rowan eyed her knowingly. “It was worth the try, Fenna.”

  She didn’t have time to respond. Emrys’s voice, still bearing that thin note of strain, cut into her thoughts.

  “It was worth the try, but there’s still the matter of serving the entire fortress,” he said tiredly. “And we won’t be able to do that with the cutlery we’ve got left.”

  “Could we make something that doesn’t necessarily require plates?” Fenna suggested. “Finger food, maybe?”

  He nodded, considering. “It would be simpler that way.” His frown returned. “Though what we could make that was entirely filling is up in the air.”

  “It’s still something,” Fenna said quietly, standing. She turned to Rowan. “Would you go get Aludra? I know it’s technically her rest shift, but we’ll need her to help mend all of these.”

  Nodding, Rowan shifted and flapped out the window past Emrys’s head, leaving the older male cursing once again and swatting at a few molted feathers left behind.

  Inhaling deeply, Fenna looked back and forth between Emrys and Luca. “Emrys, you and I will work on dinner once Aludra gets here. Luca, you’ll work on fixing what cutlery is salvageable with her. I’ll help with it for now. Does that sound reasonable?”

  Both males seemed frozen where they stood. It worried Fenna, even after a month.

  “Does that sound reasonable?” she asked again, gently but more pointedly in Emrys’s direction.

  Seeming to shake himself, he nodded.

  “You know where the adhesive is?” he asked.

  She gave him a look. “How long have I lived here?”

  Rolling his eyes, Emrys went back to the dishes in front of him. “Ingrate.”

  That was a bit more like himself. Restraining a sigh of relief, she jerked her head toward the door, summoning Luca. “Come with me?”

  Eyes still trained on the floor, he nodded, following along.

  In truth, Fenna reflected as she went across the hallway to the storage closet, Luca at her heels, it was more for her own comfort than any need of him that she asked him to come along. Normally, she forewent the security of having someone with her in this part of the corridor, especially if they were busy in the kitchen. But there was nothing he could do there, so she’d have him come along.

  It made her feel safer.

  As though drawn by her slightly elevated heart rate, as happened every time she passed the door to the banquet hall, Fenna felt a tug on the mating bond. Ever so subtle. A question that poked gently at the edges of her soul.

  Is everything all right?

 Shaking her head and smiling to herself, opening the closet door and searching for the vats of adhesives.

  Yes, everything’s fine. Just… having some memories, that’s all.

  Another sensation, not quite reassured but accepting of her insistence, followed by something resembling comfort, and then silence. Fenna didn’t restrain her sigh this time. Though she wouldn’t be able to tell Gavriel specifics, she imagined he’d understand if he were here.

  Then again, if he were here, it would probably be him at her side instead of Luca.

  “Are you talking to him again?”

  Rather like Emrys’s mutterings earlier, she took some comfort from the fact the tease in Luca’s voice felt much like the way things used to always be between the pair of them. Shooting him a half-smirk over her shoulder, she handed him one of the small, cylindrical vats and shut the storage closet door.

  “You know very well it’s not necessarily talking,” she said. “More… communicating.”

  “So that’s a yes, then?”

  “What do you think?”

  Of course, she was communicating with him. Gods, this bond was the only thing keeping her from going insane some days. Rowan was trying his best to be supportive. But Rowan was… Rowan. He wasn’t her mate.

  She just hoped Gavriel was a bit more subtle about it when she reached out to him than he was to her.

  “I can’t blame you,” Luca said, shrugging. “I would do it with Lilah if we were separated like you two.” He paused. “I have used it, actually.”

  She frowned at him. “When?”

  He didn’t respond for a moment until just before they reached the kitchen. “During the battle. When it seemed like we might not make it.”

  Fenna paused, blocking his way into the kitchen. She looked him up and down, finally asking the question she’d been meaning to for about a week now.

  “Are you still having the dreams, then?”

  Luca nodded, eyes downcast.

  Sighing, Fenna closed her own. Of course, he was. It wasn’t quite exactly a month since the battle – just a little over. And yet, they were all feeling the same anxiety as keenly as they had before it started.

  He hadn’t told her about the nightmares in detail, and she wouldn’t press him for it. As she understood, he was processing things with his mate just as much as she was reaching out to hers. And yet, there was part of her that felt sad whatever they were, the male who’d been much like a younger brother to her couldn’t or wouldn’t tell her what they were about.

  “And that distracted you to the point where you bumped the table over,” she finished.

  Again, he nodded.

  “Hey.” She adjusted so she could look him in the eye, much as he tried to avoid hers. “That’s all over. There’s no reason for anyone to target Mistward again. We defeated any Valg on these shores, and the rest of them are probably…” She swallowed, because the reassurance she was about to give him was terrifying to her. “Probably going back to Adarlan.”

  Where her sister was likely now safely settled again.

  “There’s no reason for us to worry here,” she said quietly.

  He held her stare for a moment.

  “Fen, I appreciate that you’re trying to help me,” he replied. “But do you honestly think whatever Elentiya is doing on the western continent is going to stay on the western continent, if she doesn’t succeed?”

  Fenna opened her mouth to respond, and bit back her initial answer.

  Because if she was honest, no, she didn’t. When it was just the King of Adarlan Aelin was dealing with, that was one thing. When it was the King of Adarlan and his demon army… that was quite another. Kings could be driven back and defeated.

  But without someone with as much power as her sister on Mistward’s side… without the blood-sworn here to help protect it as they were a month ago…

  She shoved the thought aside. So much was uncertain. She’d been over it and over it more times than she could count. Fenna was weary of the topic at this point.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go start glueing together some plates.”

  If Luca was troubled by her lack of response, he didn’t say anything. Which was fine by Fenna.

  She was troubled enough for the both of them.

Chapter Text

The walls were almost up again completely within a week. Which was good. Beyond the fact that the fortress was more fortified, Fenna thought Emrys might be relieved just to have his kitchen staff back full force again.

  But right now, she was not in the kitchen. She was not in her garden. She was helping Tyron in the hospital wing, because as it turned out, those involved in construction tended to get a decent amount of scratches, bruises, and pinched appendages.

  It also turned out that highly trained warriors were no exception to that rule.

  “What did you do,” Fenna grumbled as she laid out the bandages and the cleansing serum she’d soak them in, “punch the rock?”

  Rowan was stonefaced. “Not exactly.”

  “Listen, I know Reuven can jabber your ear off sometimes, but that’s no reason to take it out on your own hand.”

  “That is not what happened, you incorrigible little sprite,” he growled. “I do have some self-control.”

  As though to prove his own words wrong, he winced at the dab of the serum-soaked cotton swab on his bloody knuckles.

  Fenna raised a brow. “A battle-hardened warrior like you, cowed by a little sting like this?”

  “This wouldn’t be a problem if any of your healers had healing magic,” Rowan grumbled.

  “Right. We should put advertisements in the surrounding villages – demi-fae with healing magic wanted for mountain fortress. Oh, wait a moment, that would never work.”

  To her surprise, Rowan was frowning in confusion.

  “Why?” he asked. “If you don’t let people know you’re here, how do they know how to get here?”

  Fenna stared at him. Did he truly not know? But then again, why would he? It wasn’t as though the average citizen of Doranelle, minor royalty or otherwise, was often aware of the lives of the demi-fae surrounding it, or for that matter, interested. She’d thought perhaps, being one of Maeve’s blood-sworn…

  But then again, Maeve herself cared little enough for Mistward. Why should her warriors?

  Either way, perhaps a lesson would keep his mind off the sting.

  “We mostly find out about it via word of mouth,” she said. “With me, it was a traveler stopping by my village and buying some produce from my garden took pity on me and let me know there was another place for people like… well, like us.” She gave him a wry look. “I didn’t realize it at the time, either he wasn’t in his Fae form or he didn’t have the pointed ears. One way or the other, he would have had to be one of us.”

  “Or he could have simply been here before,” Rowan offered up unhelpfully.

  Fenna had never really considered that as an option before. But as she mulled it over, she didn’t know why, but she had the impression the traveler who’d directed her was, in fact, like her. He’d never said he was. Few demi-fae who could pass for human did.

  But she liked to think there was something that had connected her to him, even if he was imagined.

  “I never knew,” Rowan said. “I just assumed…”

  His voice trailed off, and Fenna wasn’t going ask what he’d assumed. Part of her knew. He hadn’t assumed anything. He hadn’t cared enough to. Most of those who grew up in Doranelle – especially those who’d grown up royalty – would have had little to any idea that there was a fortress full of demi-fae congregating in the forest a few days’ journey from where they lived.

  And if they had, there was every possibility they might have considered it threatening. Never mind that the defensive force here was minimal and it was largely that – defensive. So Fenna couldn’t decide whether she was glad most of them didn’t give it a second thought.

  For the fortress’s sake, she was. For the demi-fae who had the misfortune to live inside Doranelle… well, she felt slightly differently there.

  “Never mind,” Rowan said. “It doesn’t matter what I assumed. Thank you for telling me.”

  She drew back from where she’d finished bandaging his hand. He for whatever reason insisted on flexing his knuckles, immediately wincing again. Fenna eyed him, knowing this was hardly the first time she’d had this thought. And though it would be the first time she’d voiced it, she didn’t think it would be the first time he’d gotten the impression she thought it.

  “You’ve changed, Rowan Whitethorn,” she said simply.

  He glanced up at her, brows raised in surprise. Just as quickly, however, they lowered again.

  “If by that you mean I’ve become more decent, I suppose you’re right.”

  “Maybe,” Fenna said, rising and going to stow the bandaging strips. “But I think you wouldn’t have minded having the information when I met you six months ago. It might have even crossed your mind to be grateful for it.”

  He gave her a doubtful look, but seemed willing to humor her. “So the change is?”

  “You wouldn’t have thanked me.” Fenna gave him a smile she imagined was bordering on smug, then reached down and pulled him onto his feet with his good hand. Well, at least gave the impression of hauling him to his feet. He was quite a bit bigger than her, after all. “Come on. I imagine you have work to get back to.”

  “As though you don’t?”

  “My shift just ended, actually. And we actually have leftovers tonight, believe it or not. So I’m not needed in the kitchen, either.”

  “In that case…”

  Fenna stared at him. She didn’t know what to call this look on Rowan. On anyone else she might have called it shy but… was it embarrassment? Awkwardness? Any of those seemed so out of place, and yet they were the closest she could come to a correct term.

  “Have you ever cut hair?”

  Blinking, Fenna thought. “I did cut Luca’s once when his mother was sick.”

  “And did he hate it?”

  She frowned at him. “No. Unless he was simply being kind to me, but somehow, I doubt he would have let it go if I’d left him looking absurd.”

  Nodding, Rowan hesitated a moment longer. It was long enough Fenna felt she should prompt him.

  “Would you… like me to cut yours?”

  He didn’t respond, but Fenna already knew the answer. She tilted her head to the side, peering at Rowan’s chest-length silver hair.

  “Why?”

  As though casting about for an answer, he finally shook his head.

  “I’m… not sure.”

  Fenna considered. She wondered if there wasn’t something deeper there. She often heard females talk about this sort of thing after ending things with a lover, the need to change some part of their physical appearance. Hair was often the easiest thing to do it with. It wasn’t a stretch to assume that males might experience the same feeling, though she’d never heard one talk about it.

  And Rowan hadn’t ended things with anyone recently. Well, unless you counted Maeve.

  And wasn’t that enough? She knew from what she’d been told that the blood oath was practically one’s identity. He’d been sworn to Maeve for so long, and now that he was sworn to Aelin… his inner identity was changed. It made sense that he might want his outer identity to be changed, too.

  “Shorter hair might be more practical for going into battle,” she mused. “But you’re forgetting something.”

  He peered at her, confusion in his green eyes.

  “You’ll be going to join Aelin on the other continent at some point,” she said. “In Adarlan, if they find out you’re Fae, you get burned alive.” A shudder ran up her spine. “You’ll find it a lot harder to conceal if your hair doesn’t cover your ears.”

  Rowan seemed to think about it, and Fenna took the opportunity to start walking back toward the kitchen, where she’d probably conduct this hair-cutting business if it happened. She beckoned him to follow, and he fell in step beside her.

  “She’s not calling me until she’s ready to take back Terrasen,” he said quietly. “That will only be after she’s taken out the king and restored magic. By that point, won’t it be possible for Fae to exist freely on that continent?”

  “Perhaps legally, but maybe not in people’s minds.” She shrugged. “But you are going to be at Aelin’s side most of the time, and my guess is no one would dare touch you with her glaring them down.”

  “Not to mention that you’re seeming to forget I can take care of myself,” Rowan griped.

  “Maybe,” Fenna conceded pointedly. She wasn’t quite certain she could explain things to him if he was determined to put himself in harm’s way. But then again, he did have a point. When magic was restored, he would certainly be able to handle a squadron of human soldiers on his own. When it came to his battle skills, he would be difficult, but still possible to overpower.

  With his magic? Nigh on impossible.

  Sighing as the kitchen came into view, Fenna came around in front of him.

  “All right. I’ll do it. But under one condition.”

  He nodded wordlessly.

  “When you join Aelin, don’t let her send for me a moment sooner than necessary.”

  He frowned. “She wouldn’t –”

  “She might. If she thinks I’ll be safer in Terrasen than close to Maeve, she will. And I don’t want to leave before I have to. I want –” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to say goodbye any sooner than absolutely necessary.”

  Even if he didn’t believe her that Aelin might act before she needed to, he seemed to understand that much. He nodded.

  “Agreed,” he said. “But don’t blame me if I happen to agree with her timing and it differs from yours.”

  “Just give me a solid explanation and I’ll attempt to not hate you,” Fenna said, hoping she sounded somewhat blithe as she led the way into the kitchen and knowing it was a dismal failure.

  Once she had him situated on a stool in front of her – a low one, even cutting Luca’s hair had been a challenge for her to reach and Rowan was significantly taller – Fenna debated how best to go about this. Luca had never had hair this long. She’d been trimming his, not fully cutting it.

  But from what she remembered, it would help things if it were wet. So she started there, getting a basin and having him lean back so she could soak the tresses before she began snipping.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, Fenna cutting, Rowan… well, she wasn’t sure what he was doing, but she presumed it involved thinking.

  “You know,” he said eventually, voice low, “you don’t have to come when she does call you.”

  Snorting, Fenna shook her head.

  “Neither do you.”

  “I’m blood-sworn to her. There’s a difference.”

  “As though she’d force that on you. She allowed you to take it because of the loyalty you bore her, I assume. Not because she wanted to impel you to do her will.”

  But Fenna thought about it, and she wondered. Would Aelin ever use that part of the blood oath to force Rowan’s hand? Wasn’t this why she’d been worried when he told her he’d taken the oath? She wanted to believe better of her sister. But she was a strategist.

  And if it came down to Rowan or the kingdom… she wasn’t sure which Aelin would pick. Part of her wondered if either Rowan or Aelin knew, either.

  It was a rather gloomy thought. But it merited thinking on. Neither of them spoke until she’d at least gotten him to a somewhat shaggy, just below the ears look. Knowing her own opinion, Fenna handed him the mirror.

  “What do you think?” It was the closest she could offer him to protection – it still slightly covered his pointed ears.

  But Rowan frowned, shaking his head, and Fenna wouldn’t deny that she was relieved for his appearance’s sake. “Shorter.”

  Holding back her immediate response of “Good,” Fenna started in cutting again.

  “It’s a serious question, though, Rowan,” she said. “You’re bound to her, yes, but even if you weren’t, you’d go anyway. And we both know you’re safer here, I’m safer there. So why do you think I should be given a choice, not you?”

  He didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and even if he had, there wouldn’t have been time to give one. There was a knock on the door, and someone poked their head in.

  “I was told there was use for someone who could meld matter in here?”

  Fenna blinked, recognizing the male but forgetting his name.

  “Well, we did glue most of the damaged plates and things from a week ago back together, but you’re certainly welcome to try making it stronger…” She added a question at the end of her sentence in the way one did when they indicated they needed a name for the person they were speaking to.

  Eyes widening with recognition, he nodded.

  “Noham. And no need to tell me who the pair of you are.” His gaze darted to Rowan, then lowered. Fenna didn’t blame him – most found Rowan intimidating, and for good reason. He was intimidating.

  Fenna nodded toward the cabinet they kept the dishware. “You’ll find them over there.”

  Noham slipped over to the cabinet and opened it, peering at the plates.

  “You can tell which ones were broken,” he said, a corner of his mouth tilting upward. “The cracks are more obvious.”

  Supposing that was an objective observation and not aspersion on the kitchen staff’s ability to use adhesive, Fenna went back to cutting Rowan’s hair. But she couldn’t help being curious about this newcomer, and besides, it wasn’t as though she and Rowan could continue the conversation they’d been having with him here.

  “When did you arrive at the fortress, Noham?” she asked.

  As he worked, brow furrowed in concentration, he answered intermittently. Fenna was impressed with how fast he could move.

  “About three weeks ago.”

  After the battle, then. That made sense, then, why she’d seen him around but hadn’t had the opportunity to become acquainted with him yet. Fenna thought she knew everyone who lived here.

  “I imagine finding it in the state it was might have been a shock for you,” she said.

  He shrugged.

  “Well, if it hadn’t been for the patrols and the obvious people moving on the parts of the walls that were still up weren’t a dead giveaway, I suppose I might have thought it was a ruin. But yes, I did expect it to be a bit better fortified.”

  “Battles will do that,” Fenna said. Biting her lip, she frowned. “Had you not heard of the battle, then? I thought word of the attack might have reached the farthest corners of the world already by then.” The attack, and the powers that had stopped it.

  He gave a low laugh and shook his head. “My village was very, very remote. We don’t get much news. It was honestly remarkable I’d heard of it at all.”

  “It’s just you, then?” Fenna kept her voice low as she said it. It was a sensitive question for quite a few people who came to Mistward, because so many of them had to answer yes. But if he was ready to talk, she might as well know.

  True to what normally happened, he froze. After a moment, he spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yes. Just me. It wasn’t always, though.”

  Restraining a sigh, Fenna nodded.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t know why, but every time she asked the question, somehow her hope that it was otherwise held out over her expectation that it wouldn’t be. There was always that quiet bit of horror for whatever the person she was asking had been through, even if she didn’t know what it was.

  After her memories had been taken, her life in a human village hadn’t been perfect, but it had certainly been better than what a lot of her fellows had been through in their time out in the world. She knew that well enough from Malakai’s story. From Luca’s. Emrys, who had been born here, had a slightly better story, but plenty others didn’t.

  As though sensing that the mood had dampened, Noham brightened just the slightest amount. But not much.

  “That’s not strictly true,” he said, stacking a plate on top of the first stack, then starting another. “I do have a sister.”

  “And where is she?” Rowan asked.

  Fenna wasn’t sure which shocked her more – the fact that he’d spoken after having been silent this whole time, or that his voice sounded… hard. Exacting. As though he’d sized Noham up and found him a threat.

  Her eyes narrowed. Visiting Fae dignitaries were one thing. But one of the fortress’s own was another. After all, if Malakai had let him through, he must have passed muster.

  Then again, they’d thought Bas passed muster before the battle. She supposed one never knew.

  Even so, Rowan was being remarkably sharp with someone who was clearly traumatized – perhaps recently so.

  “I don’t know,” Noham said, proving her words. “I hope she finds her way here eventually.”

  There was something else in his voice that Fenna couldn’t quite define. She finished with Rowan about the time Noham finished with the plates, and they’d done that in silence. She was throwing Rowan’s hair clippings in the waste bin when Noham muttered something in the way of farewell and took off.

  She turned to survey Rowan, who’d taken it upon himself to lift the mirror and look at himself. Fenna honestly thought he looked better this way. As though he’d always been meant to have close-cropped hair.

  She hated to admit it, but if not for the ears, it might have done a good job toward calming down anyone he might encounter in Adarlan. Especially if, like Aelin said, the men there tended to keep their hair short.

  It had not been the case in Terrasen, she remembered. Her uncle, her father, the guards, even Aedion at fourteen had kept his hair long. Perhaps one day Rowan would grow it out again to fit the customs there better.

  Either way, his hair was not her foremost concern.

  “What do you think?” she asked, trying not to sound just as sharp as he had a moment ago.

  He nodded, face still set. “It’ll do.”

  Knowing that was the equivalent of a hearty approval, she left the hair and moved on to the next topic.

  “What on earth was that?” she demanded. “Are you trying to be an ass?”

  He didn’t even have the grace to act as though he didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “I don’t trust him,” he said simply.

  “Do you even know him?”

  “No. But think about it – why was it just now that we learned he could meld matter? Isn’t that something you all normally tell Malakai when you come here?”

  Her teeth grinding – though she couldn’t tell what it was about his sentence that had set her so on edge – she said, “Yes. Maybe Malakai just didn’t think of it until now.”

  “On top of that,” he continued as though he hadn’t heard her, “he behaves oddly on the work crews. That was the friendliest I’ve ever seen him. He’s quiet – even for a newcomer, even for a reserved one. He keeps back, doesn’t interact more than the expected amount –”

  “Oh, so he behaves like you, then?”

  Fenna didn’t know why she was acting this way. She didn’t know why she was getting up in arms with a friend over someone she’d never even met before a moment ago.

  Rowan’s jaw set as he glared at her.

  “I just have a feeling about him, Fenna. That’s all.”

  She knew he was the more experienced of the pair of them – both in matter of years and matter of dealing with untrustworthy people. She should follow his instinct.

  But maybe, just maybe, she wanted anyone who came here to feel welcome. Maybe, just maybe, that overrode any logical thought. She just wanted Mistward to become safe again. And it wouldn’t be safe if there was a sulky, sharp-tongued warrior interrogating everyone who was new.

  It wasn’t rational of her. But she felt protective of anyone who might be new here. She didn’t want Mistward to change – she wanted it to be the haven it had always been. For anyone. But especially her people. Especially those who had been through much.

  “We haven’t even given him a chance,” she said quietly.

  Rowan rose, casting aside the towel she’d laid across his shoulders.

  “The fact that I haven’t cornered him yet should tell you, I am giving him a chance,” he said. “And I will continue to do so. Until, of course, he gives me a reason not to. But has it occurred to you that Maeve can use anyone she wants?”

  “Why would she use demi-fae? It’s obvious she thinks we’re scum – Lorcan aside.”

  “Don’t assume she feels any differently about Lorcan than the rest of you. It’s him who’s enamored with her.”

  Somehow, Fenna didn’t think that was quite true. In fact, she thought Lorcan more than the any of the rest of them knew what Maeve was capable of. Even Gavriel, Fenrys, and Connall. But she held her tongue. Defending Lorcan wasn’t the topic of this conversation, and she wanted to keep it on track.

  “That’s exactly why she’d use demi-fae. Because if they were to be caught, she doesn’t care what happens to them. Not that she cares what happens to anyone, but there’s more expendability with a demi-fae.”

  “But you don’t know, Rowan.”

  “Gods damn it all, Fenna, I know I don’t know!” he growled. “But I can’t let my guard down, because if it’s me someone is sent to tail, or if it’s you, that will make its way back to Aelin eventually! It’s the only reason she’d have interest in me, and only one of two reasons she’d have interest in you. I cannot afford to blindly trust someone who seems to be hiding something. All right?”

  She thought she understood. It didn’t mean she had to like it.

  Footsteps sounded outside, and Emrys entered the kitchen, eyes casting back and forth between the pair of them. If he noticed Rowan’s haircut, he didn’t mention it.

  “Is all well in here?” he asked, voice low and warning.

  Only her knowledge of Emrys’s accuracy in knife throwing made Fenna think Rowan had best be afraid. But he didn’t show anything on his face. Simply held her gaze before grunting, “I have to get back to work,” and storming out the door.

  Sighing, Fenna shook her head, running a hand through her loose hair. She had no connection to Noham. Why was she so bound and determined to defend him? Her desire to keep her home what it had always been aside, she didn’t have a particular explanation.

  “What was that about?” Emrys asked.

  She looked at him sadly.

  “To be honest, Emrys, as far as it goes on my end… I’m not sure.”

Chapter Text

Fenna spent the entirety of the rest of the day going through her work woodenly. She didn’t know what else to do, so she reached out to Gavriel.

  For not the first time, she wished she could hear his exact words over this bond. When she’d asked Rowan to describe what actually being bonded to someone in carranam felt like, it hadn’t been too different from what she’d already experienced traveling with Fenrys. Not exact words, but the basic awareness of what your carranam was thinking. Communication was quite easy that way.

  From what it sounded like, the actual bond came with not just the basic awareness, but the certainty. Not so the mating bond. Rather than thoughts, it conveyed emotions. And in a way, it made sense that there was no exactness, no certainty there. Emotions themselves were tricky things.

  At least it came with understanding of the depth of whatever your mate felt in regard to what you’d just told them, through the bond or separately from it. Comfort was enough for her – sometimes. And she’d certainly needed a lot of it in the last month.

  Today, however, she longed to hear his thoughts on this matter. After all, nothing Rowan had said was incorrect. But she wanted Gavriel’s insight on her own jumbled up thoughts and feelings.

  There was none of that. Only the vague assurance that he knew she was in turmoil and that he was far from uncaring about it.

  As she cleaned up after dinner, she felt something come through the bond. Pausing, she frowned. Was that… anticipation? Why on earth would he be sending that?

  “You all right, Fen?” Luca asked.

  She shot him a quick nod. “Fine. Just trying to figure something out.” She smirked at him. “You know. Bond-wise.”

  “Ah.” Luca raised his brows and went back to his own work. Rather like if they’d been there being sickeningly sweet in front of him, Fenna imagined he had no desire to know further what she and Gavriel communicated through the bond.

  It felt somewhat private to her, too, so she wouldn’t complain.

  What on earth does that mean, exactly? She hoped there would be some indication that she wasn’t worried, per se. Just confused.

  What she received back was not at all clarifying but certainly put her heart, if not her mind, to rest. A bit of reassurance and a hint of mischief. It was as though she could practically hear him saying You’ll see all the way from Doranelle.

  Fenna smirked. Was he teasing her? She liked this side of him. It came out so seldomly.

  Sighing, she set the towel down and examined the last of the dried plates before putting it back where it belonged in the cabinet. Noham had done well earlier. She couldn’t tell which ones had been broken and which ones had remained whole.

  “I can’t believe we didn’t know we had a matter melder in our fortress,” Luca mused, looking at another plate.

  “Neither can I,” Fenna said. “Malakai must have neglected to mention it when he signed him in.”

  Luca nodded. “He’s been so busy lately, it makes sense.”

  In truth, the kitchen had barely seen Malakai in the last month, not even for meals. Emrys claimed he was spending most of his time in his office. Perhaps that explained something of the kitchenmaster’s strain.

  Fenna sighed. She’d worked out for herself what it was about Noham she’d been so determined to defend, and it was as simple as what she’d originally thought – she just wanted her home to go back to normal. Just wanted things to feel as safe as they once had. Wanted to be secure in the knowledge that some things never changed and that everyone belonged here, even if she had to fight for them to be accepted. Like Aludra. Like Rowan.

  Like herself. She could no longer say she’d never wanted to belong anywhere but here. But she could still say she’d never wanted to belong anywhere so much as she did Mistward.

  It had always been a haven for demi-fae. It had always been the place people came to feel safe, and she loved that about it. Rowan was right, Maeve could send anyone to tail either of them, and that would get back to Aelin eventually. Eventually, she would come to be affected by any danger to either one of the pair of them.

  But the odds were greater that a newcomer was more refugee than spy. And if she could make Mistward as much of a safe harbor for them as it had been for her, despite the danger that lay over the fortress still in part because of her… she’d do that.

  She had to make sure it kept that which made it… Mistward.

  But there was no sense in telling Rowan to lay off anyone. Especially when he likely wouldn’t be here all that much longer, and certainly not permanently. He could glare at whoever he pleased. Fenna just hoped it wouldn’t drive anyone away.

  Shaking her head, she tried to rid herself of the thought. Rowan needed a place to shelter him at the moment just as much as anyone else. If she was so determined to hold this view of her home, she couldn’t afford to think that way about him anymore than she could Noham.

  “You all right, Fen? You normally don’t look like that when you’ve been talking to Gavriel.”

  There was little point in reminding him it hadn’t been necessarily “talking.” Fenna gave him a small smile.

  “Just thinking.” She inhaled deeply, looking out the window at her garden. “It seems like the world’s changed irrevocably sometimes, doesn’t it?”

  Luca nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes I wonder whether we’ll ever go back to the way it was before.” He braced his hands on the counter beside her and stared down at a pool of water atop it thoughtfully. “It seems like we won’t.”

  And because he looked so crestfallen, because if Luca didn’t believe there was hope Fenna couldn’t bring herself to do so, she nudged him.

  “Probably not exactly as it was. But with any luck, it’ll get better than it is now.”

  There was no telling what they may lose to get there. If Aelin managed to gain Terrasen back, it would at least take the threat of Adarlan and the Valg away. But the threat of Maeve still loomed over their heads. Whether any of them would be around to see that better world Fenna hoped for, she didn’t know.

  Delusion was sometimes easier than realism.

  The door creaked open, and they turned to find Rowan entering, his eyes downcast.

  “What is it?” Fenna asked. He’d eaten with the soldiers tonight – Malakai as well. Apparently Malakai had thought his presence would provide some morale.

  Giving an uncharacteristic sigh, Rowan looked up at her.

  “Luca,” he said. “Would you mind giving Fenna and I a moment?”

  Glancing at her, Luca finally nodded. “We were just finishing up anyway.” He gave her a half-smirk. “See you tomorrow, Fen.”

  Rowan sat at the table, and Fenna went to join him. The tension hung thick in the air, but not, Fenna thought, out of any animosity. She didn’t know how she knew why Rowan was there, but she did.

  “Are you going to apologize first, or shall I?” she asked.

  Another sigh, then Rowan looked up at her, eyes not quite as hard as they might have been.

  “I won’t apologize for being cautious,” he said quietly. At a look from Fenna, his even stare turned into a glare. “And if you’re thinking ‘paranoid’ is more like it, I think that’s a gross overstatement for simply wanting to protect my queen. And, incidentally, you and this fortress.”

  He let that hang in the air, and Fenna was sufficiently chastened.

  “But I will apologize for losing my temper,” he said finally. “I’ve been trying to curb it lately, especially since this has become… well, home for lack of a better word.”

  “I have noticed,” Fenna assured him. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “And you’re right. There’s nothing wrong with being on our guards, especially now.” Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “I just would really rather not have to be. I know that’s a luxury we can’t afford, it just…” She cast about for words. “A Mistward where I have to be afraid of everyone who enters doesn’t feel like Mistward at all.”

  “Not afraid. Just suspicious.”

  “Those may be two different things, but my feelings about them when it comes to these people aren’t.”

  Rowan was quiet for a moment. He seemed to not know what to say.

  “I wish I had words for you,” he said finally. “I haven’t known a place like what Mistward was before for a long time. And it does pain me to see it come to this. Don’t doubt that, Fenna. But war is looming on the other side of the world. And you knew what you were signing up for when you acknowledged your bond with Gavriel. You knew what that meant for us all. So did we.”

  She nodded. “I knew. And I wouldn’t change anything. I just don’t necessarily like what’s come of it.”

  Though she meant it, though she wouldn’t trade what she and Gavriel had for anything, she still regretted that it meant putting all of Mistward through this.

  “Is it selfish of me?” she asked. “To want to stay here? Even with everything it means for everyone else?”

  Rowan shrugged. “You’re planning on going west when Aelin sends for you, aren’t you?” At her nod, he said, “There you have it, then. You really have no option besides staying here until that time comes, do you?”

  “I could always hide somewhere in the woods,” she said. “Somewhere secluded.”

  He snorted. “Even if it wasn’t absurd, there’s no way Gavriel, me, or anyone here would let you live completely unprotected like that. Especially not from Maeve.”

  “I do know how to defend myself now,” she pointed out.

  Rowan both did and did not seem to hear her. His hands fisted on the table in front of him. “Nothing good has ever come of non-combatants living on their own in the countryside. If you were battle-trained, maybe but –”

  “I’ve been useful in battle before.”

  A light pattering of rain began to sound outside, and Rowan shook his head.

  “Defensively,” he said. “I know you’re referring to that wall of thorns you built around yourself and Fenrys in our fight against the rogues this winter, but as you learned, you can only hold that for so long, and eventually, a fully trained warrior would be able to hack through it. Much less an army.”

  “Maeve isn’t going to be sending an army after one female in the woods, Rowan.”

  “She might.” A shudder seemed to run through his body. “You’ve seen only part of what she’s capable of. Believe me, Fenna, she’s done so much worse than anything you’ve seen. Betraying her promise of aid last winter is nothing compared to some of the atrocities she’s committed in the past. Atrocities we’ve committed in her name.”

  Fenna would believe it. If for no other reason than that she’d seen Rowan look haunted before, but not quite so haunted as this. But in that on the score of cruel leaders, she hadn’t seen Maeve do anything she wasn’t well aware others could do. Keeping people close to her under her thumb through manipulation and threat, reneging on her promises when a better opportunity presented itself, using those she had power over for her own pleasure…

  It was definitely believable that a female who’d lived for eons could be capable of much worse than that which mortal rulers accomplished just fine. Even so.

  “Wouldn’t an army just be a waste of her resources?”

  She’d attempted to inject a bit of humor into the statement. None was taken. Rowan’s face might as well have been carved from the mountains.

  “Yes. But do you know what she’d probably do instead? Send the blood-sworn after you.”

  His glare only worsened the chill that filled Fenna’s gut.

  “And if she sends all of them after you, imagine what she might command them to do. Most likely, order Fenrys and Vaughan to hold Gavriel back while Lorcan slaughters you. Brutally. Which he won’t enjoy, by the way. He may be a bastard, but like the rest of us he seems to be at least moderately attached to you. Not to mention the possibility of ordering Gavriel to kill you himself. Which is more likely in my opinion.”

  The chill turned positively to ice. “Could he do that?” she asked.

  “Is he capable of it personally? No. Not particularly. If you weren’t his mate I think he’d hate it, but he wouldn’t have a choice. The mating bond itself raises a complication, but it seems remarkably inconsistent when it comes to whether one can cause their mate personal harm.”

  If she hadn’t hated this conversation so much, she might be amused at the fact that he’d started to sound like Vaughan.

  “So it’s possible he wouldn’t be able to in the first place. But if he were, and the blood-oath compelled him to, he’d likely fight it to his last breath. Which is what would happen, because whether it’s the mating bond or his own volition, he’d be breaking the blood-oath, and that’s a death –”

  “All right, Rowan, all right, I get the point.” Letting out a deep exhale, Fenna stared down at her lap. “I knew it was a foolish suggestion to begin with. We discussed it that first night. Emrys, Malakai, Essar, and I. It was an option, but Emrys and Malakai wouldn’t hear of it. They wouldn’t stop me from going on my own, but…”

  When it came down to it, Fenna wasn’t certain she’d discounted it as an option. Because her presence here was the reason Mistward wasn’t as secure as it once had been, and if her going returned it to the way it had been, especially if the solitude was only temporary.

  Sighing, Rowan’s hardened stare turned a tad more sympathetic.

  “Look, Fenna,” he said, in as gentle a tone as she’d ever heard from him, “the fact of the matter is, even if you did leave, when she came for you, she’d probably come for Mistward as well. It’s entirely possible that if he survived her order to kill you, not to mention your death itself, she’d probably have Gavriel lead the force against it. You know she’s capable of punishment in that form.”

  She knew only too well. That was what she’d done with his turning and fighting the rogues’ champion last winter – sent him after the Berellans. It made sense she’d want the message to get across – and as thoroughly as possible.

  Fenna sometimes wondered if the Fae Queen was more melodramatic than necessary. It was more about cruelty than melodrama, certainly, but half the time it seemed she never stopped with simply cruel.

  It was a bit much, honestly.

  Wondering if her thinking in such blasé terms about what the Queen of Doranelle may very well do to her and her mate both in the future was some odd way of coping with the possibility, Fenna massaged the sides of her forehead. All of this was beginning to give her quite the headache.

  “If you were to decide to go, however,” Rowan said quietly, “I’d understand the choice. It at least pushes out the danger to the others here. And if you did, know I’d be coming with you.”

  Fenna stared at him. “You’d – what?”

  His glare might have been believable if he hadn’t just told her he’d follow her to almost certain death. “What? You don’t believe it of me? I just told you there’s no way Gavriel, me, or anyone else here would let you go off unprotected against Maeve or anyone who might come after you. You are the sister of a queen, after all – Maeve isn’t the only threat.”

  Funny he should mention Aelin. “You wouldn’t be as easy to reach as you would here,” she said. “Someone would have to hunt us down when Aelin needed to find you.”

  He shook his head. “You think she wouldn’t skin me alive if I didn’t do my best to keep you safe? Besides, I wouldn’t be able to live with –”

  Fenna didn’t miss the way his voice cut off as something hidden deep within him seemed to halt him in his tracks. She didn’t miss the way he suddenly wouldn’t meet her eyes, the way his hands clenched in and out of fists once again.

  He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. And he’d been that way in regard to her long before she’d gained his loyalty. Long before she’d gained his friendship. Fenna frowned as a memory of their time traveling together came back to her. Of a time she’d gone right into danger despite his warnings, and his subsequent reaction.

  “Rowan,” she said cautiously as the rain began to pick up. “Gavriel told me something once. He said… I reminded you of someone.”

  His eyes raised slowly to hers. They were dry, but they might as well have not been. Because Fenna was convinced the only other way she’d see Rowan Whitethorn looking this gutted was if he was weeping.

  “Who is it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  For a moment, his guard seemed to drop. For a moment, he seemed about to answer her.

  The moment was lost, however, as the door swung open, illuminating a rain-drenched figure standing silhouetted in the doorway.