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I am A-OK with that.
I just wish I could still reach Andromeda. And that my head didn’t feel so clouded with sand.
The origin point of Castor’s voice changes, getting closer. “As we do only have minutes left, I’d regret having you waste the energy and agony of this opportunity.” In another moment, before I understand what’s going on, weight settles behind me, and my scarf is ripped away.
“Castor, stop!” Andromeda shrieks.
“One wrong look, and you’re stone, little lamb. Stay where you are.” Castor grips the back of my head and firmly positions my face forward, away from him. “That goes for you as well, Mrs. Role. Fight me at your own risk.”
I keep my eyes firmly closed and trace, trace, trace the star on my skirt. “Why are you doing this, Castor? Even if I become fully fae, I won’t help you hurt anyone. And, if I am as powerful as you say, I will not rest until I know you can’t hurt anyone else.”
Castor heaves a sigh. “Woman, calm down.”
My teeth grit. “That’s, like, the number one thing you don’t say to a woman.”
“My apologies, then. In case it isn’t clear, I’m very bad at people. Still, it pains me to watch you sacrifice your existence to fit into places you were never meant to be. You are not made of plastic smiles. You were not born to make everyone else comfortable at the expense of yourself. You are more than that. I believe you are capable of facing the truth, surviving it, and then thriving in the brilliance of all you will come to create. You are smarter, and wiser, and kinder than that. You are ready. Open your eyes.”
Chest burning, I refuse. “I don’t trust you.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to. Open your eyes.”
My head thunders. “Tell me what you get out of this. Will you get your hands on my power if I turn fully fae right now?”
“I already have what I need of your power, silly girl.”
“What?” I croak.
“I had it before I asked. Don’t you think I’d know better than to genuinely petition permission from someone? Face it, you have no idea what I am up to. You cannot hope to outsmart me. Yet, I will offer you the plainness of these statements: I am not going to hurt you. And I am not going to force you. I am merely giving you the option to become what you were born to be and making sure you know where a safe place to look is.”
“I do not trust you.”
“That is your prerogative. But I cannot lie, and I am feebly attempting to help you.”
Everything hurts. “Your ideas of help may not be mine.”
“Right again, yet I have respected your wishes of ignorance by not telling you what you are. Do not do me the dishonor of ignoring my sincerity when I am very capable of prying your eyes open or feeding so much stress into your bloodstream the only options you would have left is to adapt or perish.”
“If you actually won’t force me, and if you actually want to help me, do you know about Zahra?” My chest is tight. Filling inexplicably with too much sand.
“Your assistant? Yes, I know of her.”
“What is she?”
Castor sighs. “Zahra is an asteriai.”
“An…” My brow furrows. “How do you spell that?”
“I’m not the teacher between us.”
I snap, “Well, I’m not the ancient faerie man who knows what the heck an asteriai is.”
“It’s a star nymph,” Andromeda says. “Zahr-Zahr is a star nymph, just like Pila is a tree nymph.”
A star nymph. That makes too much sense.
“Kassandra Eve, while I respect the depth of your affection for your friend, these moments are not about her. Focus. If you do not take care of yourself, you will be unable to do anything for anyone else.”
The ache in my head grows, blooming. The longer I resist, the worse the pain gets—as though it’s begging me to give in. Softly, I say, “You aren’t trying to trick me?”
