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Levian stood and began to pace before the wide hearth. “I’ve heard whispers that the zephyr’s High Priestess had a pet ghost,” she said. “I believe this ghost and the creature you encountered are one and the same. Even as a half-blood he won’t be welcome on Strye—the zephyrs loathe the mixing of blood with lesser Folk. Nestra must keep her ghost well-hidden if I’ve heard so little of him.” She stopped her pacing. “I’ll find out what I can of him, and of Marcus. I have a few friends on the island.”
Sirus trusted she would do as she pledged.
Levian perched on the edge of her seat and looked at him as if she had something else to say but wasn’t sure if she should. Sirus knew she would. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked a moment later.
He cocked a brow, not sure to what she was referring. He’d told her everything he’d thought relevant.
“Something happened between you and Gwendolyn in Abigail’s garden,” she reminded him.
Only decades of well-schooled, cool composure kept him from displaying any outward unease. He supposed he’d not told Levian everything.
It haunted him still. Their embrace. The kiss that had set fire to his frigid blood. In his recovery, Sirus had even dreamed of it, of her. The feel of Gwendolyn’s soft feminine curves pressed against his rigid muscle. The sweet taste of her lips. The faint scent of lilies blended with the roses. Despite his remorse over all he had done to Gwendolyn, all the pain he’d caused her, Sirus’s blood quickened at the very mention of the garden. What a monster he was.
“Nothing of importance now,” he replied with no hint of emotion at all. Sirus had told the mage plenty, but that particular detail was none of her business.
Levian looked skeptical but didn’t push the subject. She shifted in her seat, leaning back to prop an elbow on the armrest while she tossed one of her long, thick white braids over her shoulder. “Abigail told me something before we left her,” she admitted, her tone guarded. “She uncovered little in her scrying, but there were a few things she was leery to say in front of Gwen.”
A tinge of foreboding slithered through Sirus. He’d suspected as much when the witch had sent Gwendolyn out into the garden to fetch him that night. It was also why he’d suggested they tarry a while longer in the roses. That, and because he’d desired her company.
“Witches have a strange sense of magick, and Abigail has been known to be wrong,” Levian prefaced. All things he already knew. The fact she felt it necessary to remind him only set him on edge that much more. “She mentioned a mage, and though she wouldn’t say it for certain, I think she believes one of Gwen’s progenitors must have been one.”
“Directly?”
Levian made an unsure face. “Abigail wouldn’t aim to guess, but I think it’s probable it was one of her parents. It’s rare, you know, for a mage to sire another.”
Sirus had only known two mages born to another, Levian being one of them herself. They were often powerful. It would make sense if Gwendolyn were such a creature, given the powers she’d displayed, though he’d been sure she wasn’t a mage. Her magicks didn’t harbor the same feel. Mages were conduits that syphoned the chaotic forces of magick, twisting and molding it into order. Gwendolyn was powerful, but her magicks were unique. Different from anything he’d ever seen or felt from any mage. He assumed Levian harbored similar opinions, and her clear skepticism only proved it.
She tapped a long, sparkly purple fingernail against her glass. “If one of Gwen’s parents was a mage,” she theorized, “it’s possible she was bound in some way to keep her magicks hidden. It’s even possible they hid a part of their own magick in her.” Her expression grew dark. “There are spells for such things in old texts. Rare spells. Horrible spells. Blood magick is powerful. The magick between bloodlines can be even more potent.”
All these things were true. None of them boded well. If Gwendolyn was bound, that meant they’d probably only experienced a glimmer of what she was capable of. As an immortal she could weather such demands of strength, but as a mortal her body was weaker to such taxation. Sirus remembered the blood that had run from Gwendolyn’s nose after her unintended explosion of power back in London. The smear of blood over her lips when they’d escaped from the Hall of Mirrors thanks to her magick. It tore at her mortal form every time she used it, demanding its pound of flesh. Magick always came at a cost.
“She cannot be mortal and a mage,” Sirus pointed out.
Levian sipped her drink and glanced aimlessly back into the fire. “True. But that is what makes it all so curious and concerning,” she replied. “I have never known any creature of the Folk to possess magick like hers and not transition into immortality. As before, I find myself with more questions than answers. One thing I do know though.” She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. “Using her magick is taking a toll, and I think the price will only grow steeper.”
Silence lingered then. Guilt slithered through Sirus anew. Gwendolyn had used her magick to get them through the mirror but the cost had been worth her sacrifice. As death had consumed him that night he lay on the floor with Gwendolyn watching over him, he’d been comforted knowing she was safe. That Rath would watch over her. But Gwendolyn had given even more of herself. Too much. She had used her magick to save Sirus from death, risking her own life.
He could still feel the presence of her magick in his bones. Like a euphoric hum of energy. He felt disgusted by how much he savored it.
“Abigail also made mention of the Celestial Stars,” Levian continued, drawing Sirus back to the present. “She said if I truly wished to uncover more of Gwen’s magicks, I should speak to my father.”
The unease within him blossomed into concern at mention of Levian’s father. “The Stars are hidden or lost. Why would they be of interest?” he asked.
Levian eyed him. “So it is said,” she retorted with little hint of belief. “But we both know tale is not always fact.”
That rattled him even more. If Gwendolyn or her magick were in any way connected to one of the three Celestial Stars of magick, it would be beyond significant. If it was true and word ever spread, Nestra would be the least of their worries. Every faction, kingdom, order, council, court, and underground mercenary of the Folk would hunt her.
“And your father?” Sirus pressed. “What would he have to offer?”
Levian pulled a face and let out a heavy breath. “Knowledge, I suppose. He’s rather well-versed in such things. Probably even more so than the Keeper of Truths for the Council of Mages. Even more so than many of the ancients of the fae kingdoms. It helps when one lacks the limitation of bigotry and boundaries in one’s hunger for knowledge and power.”
Levian would know. She was much like her father in her bookishness. To her, there was no tome or opinion beyond the worth of educating herself. It was the whole of all the pieces that helped her create a true understanding of the mysteries of magick she attempted to unravel. Except where the shadow fae were concerned, the Dökk. Their dark works had tempted her father into his own destruction. Had driven him to abandon his family in pursuit of absolute power. They were also why he would now rot for eternity alone in the darkness of The Prison.
Sirus didn’t care for the idea of Merlin knowing anything about Gwendolyn. He didn’t care for the idea of Levian having to go to him for such knowledge. There had to be someone else.
Levian scowled, her distaste over the prospect of going to her father palpable. “I’ve not decided whether that’s the best course of action, despite Abigail’s unsubtle encouragement,” she clarified. “I will seek an audience with the Council though.”
He lifted a brow in surprise. Levian loathed the Wizen Council of Mages just as much, if not more, than they loathed her.
