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Gwen forced herself to take deep breaths. “Why didn’t you warn me?” she huffed. “I didn’t even?—”
“I don’t care to be lied to,” the dryad replied.
She slid her cloak off her shoulders, revealing muscled arms and a soft green tunic that was elaborately tailored with folds and embroidery. It looked more like a living thing than a piece of clothing.
Something felt different, Gwen recognized. Softer. It took her a moment to realize it was Iathana’s magick. It was far less overwhelming to her now. The dryad seemed almost normal, except for the fact that she was clearly a faerie. Tall, with long limbs and pointed features.
“I didn’t—” Gwen started.
“I am far older than I look,” the dryad interrupted, her tone easy. “I learned to uncover untruths from the best weavers of words and magick long ago. I asked if you wished to come to the Veil, but you did not, so I brought you here instead.”
Iathana distracted herself with the purple blossoms as Gwen tried to steady her erratic heartbeat.
“Where are we?” she asked warily.
“Does it matter?”
Gwen scowled so deeply her face hurt. “So you’re not going to take me to the Veil?”
The dryad looked over, and Gwen felt a shiver of power vibrate through her. “The Veil of the White Wood is a sacred place, as I told you,” Iathana replied. “I do not casually allow outsiders. If you wish to come with me, I will honor my offer despite your lie, but you must truly desire it.”
Gwen’s head started to throb, and she closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew this was a big deal, and she knew she was botching it big time. “I’m sorry,” she said, followed by a deep sigh. “For lying. I just—” The words wouldn’t form. She didn’t want to talk about Sirus. Not yet. Gwen knew she couldn’t go back, but she didn’t want to go forward either. She felt stuck. Maybe Iathana should just leave her here in this purple-flowered purgatory.
“Do you love him?”
The directness of the question sent a shock up Gwen’s spine. “What—That’s—” she sputtered. Iathana set her with a look that said there was no point in lying. “It doesn’t matter,” she ground out.
The dryad raised her brows at that, the gold of her eyes shimmering in the light of the sun. “You’re a formidable creature,” she observed, looking Gwen over. “I could see why he would become attached to you, but not why you would care for something such as him.”
Heat flushed over Gwen from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. “He isn’t a something,” she clipped protectively. “He’s a vampire.”
“I’ve not thought fondly of his kind,” the dryad continued, looking at Gwen with a curious glint. “Vampires are cold and callous creatures, driven by bloodthirst. But they are still human in some regards. Still bound to the earth and its magicks at their core. Sirus has proven to be more than simply a creature of death and destruction like his forebears, but even he is limited by the magick used to create him. He knows his place in this world. He also knows you are meant for more.”
Gwen’s ears burned. She didn’t want to hear one more word out of Iathana’s mouth about Sirus. “How is this any of your business?” she hissed, her fingers tingling with magick.
“I’ve long felt your presence, Gwendolyn. Long before you ever drew breath as you are. The magick you wield is great. It is also a heavy burden.”
That took the wind right out of her sails. Gwen looked up into the dryad’s golden eyes. “You know what I am?” she asked around the lump in her throat. “Where the magick comes from?”
The dryad smiled softly before she said, “Vampires are not the only creatures to suffer prejudice from the Folk. Most believe dryads are spurred to action only by the whispers of the trees and the hum of the earth. They are not wholly wrong—or right. The simple truth is, we are patient; we listen. I came because Levian asked, and she is dear to me. It was only when I arrived that I recognized the power within you. I cannot claim to know who you are, child, but I know you are a daughter of Fate. I know because I have been waiting for you to come to me for a long while now.”
A tear fell down the brim of Gwen’s nose and plopped onto the ground. Iathana was being cryptic, but she could feel the dryad’s promise. She could give her the answers she’d been waiting for.
Daughter of Fate.
Other names had been given to her in her dreams. Daughter of Darkness. Child of Shadows. Gwen began to tremble. She felt the pull like a magnet to a pole. Iathana and the Veil were the next step in her path toward answers.
Gwen took a step. Then another. A third. Then she stopped.
“The Veil is Eden,” the dryad said. “You will live happily there. Be free to do as you wish without fear of injury or judgment. No one will hunt you. No one will use you. I will teach you what you wish to know of your magick. All you need to do is tell me you desire it, and for it to be the truth.”
It was everything Gwen had wanted. All they’d wanted for her. Peace. Safety. Answers.
Barith and Levian had often joked about being black sheep. How they were all outcasts who had found their way to one another. Gwen had never been a part of a family, but she’d felt like one with them and Sirus and Niah and Rath. She looked down at the sweater she wore. Dark red with green stars. It was hideous, but she loved it because Rath had knitted it for her.
The idea of this perfect Eden should have elated her. Instead, it filled her with dread. “What if I want more?” she asked the dryad.
Iathana looked upon the field as a breeze slipped over the flowers. “Love is a thing of chaos,” she observed. “It’s hard at times to know your own heart, let alone the heart of another. It’s not my place to deduce the plans of the Fates, but you and the vampire’s paths were woven together. They have been since the beginning. It’s up to you whether they remain so.”
