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I trembled at the mere memory of them in that pit in the dungeon long ago.
“That was King Xakiel’s way,” Meck said, his expression grave. “And I’m sorry for your encounter with his wights, Mizrah.”
I pressed my lips together and turned my gaze back to Gozriel’s statue, embarrassed that my ordeal had spread around enough for them to know of it. “It was more than an encounter.”
“Goll’s father was a cruel king,” added Ferryn. “Wights weren’t originally made for those purposes.”
“What good could an army of the dead have?” I asked, frustration and distress evident. “It is an evil gift, this neklia.”
Meck flinched. “It is meant as a helper to the wraith king who wields it. To a good wraith king.”
A stabbing panic gutted me still. My voice was barely above a whisper when I asked, “And Goll holds this power?” I could not, and would not, call it a gift, no matter that it was one given by their greatest god.
“No,” answered Ferryn, his expression grave. “Goll was not given neklia.”
“But he is a very powerful zyfer,” added Meck. “The most powerful Northgall has known actually. As well as a dragon rider, which in itself is a rare gift.”
Intense relief washed through my body, so overwhelming that my knees buckled. I caught myself against Hava but didn’tmiss the way both Meck and Ferryn stiffened, ready to leap forward to my aid.
They’d been kind and attentive guardians, even while I insulted their kind. I couldn’t see any positive use for neklia. The thought of it only ignited a deep-seated fear and agonizing fury that any wraith king would wield it against their enemies. Not even their enemies, but innocents like me caught within their borders.
A memory flashed to mind of me freezing and shivering beside a small fire near Dragul Falls where a water sprite had pushed me into the icy water. Then the stomping of heavy boots coming for me through the trees and me trying to fly away, but being snatched from the air as I lifted off the ground.
Pushing that nightmare away, I straightened my wings and looked at the statue, needing a change of conversation. “Why does he have two horns? Why do some of your kind have two and some have four?” I asked.
Hava, who had two tiny, delicate horns spoke up first. “Four horns designate the highest born of the dark fae. I’ve heard there are even some with six.”
“That’s not true,” snorted Ferryn. “Those are rumors the shadow fae spread to try and aggravate us. They’re no better or more powerful than us.”
“Some of our kind have none at all,” offered Meck, his concerned gaze flicking to Hava. “And though that does designate them as having no highborn blood, they are no less than any of us.”
I realized then that Meck’s expression was concern for Hava, that perhaps he’d hurt her feelings since she had only two horns.
“Well, I have none,” I offered with levity, “and I’m fairly certain that I’m pretty wonderful.”
Hava giggled. Meck and Ferryn smiled.
“That is for certain, mistress,” agreed Ferryn, his gaze flicking to my wings. “And you are one of our kind now.”
I refrained from touching the new markings on my wrists beneath my sleeve and made no comment, my feelings somewhat conflicted. Yes, I was a mizrah to King Goll, but I did not yet feel like one of their kind, even with the marks of Vix upon my skin. My hidden ambition was still more aligned with my people of Lumeria and my sick father. I needed to find out if it was only Lumerians suffering from the plague.
I also needed to get to that path behind Meck and Ferryn and find out if I was right those many years ago, or if I’d lost my white wings and my healing magick in vain. The stirring desire for vindication and for the truth nearly had me marching right past them.
But I knew they wouldn’t allow me to leave the palace grounds without Goll’s permission. And Goddess could strike me down before I went begging him for anything. He didn’t even want to see me. Fresh ire coursed through my blood.
“You know,” I said, injecting fatigue in my voice, “I’m feeling a little tired. I’d like to return to my bedchamber to rest.”
Since the only control I did have was over this little army of my own—all of them servants and friends and protectors at once—we immediately set out for my bedchamber.
The halls were alive with activity today, servants moving from one place to the next and many of the Culled milling about the castle corridors. I smiled to myself, knowing it wouldn’t matter if all of them were guarding my door. I had a plan. I’d been thinking about it for some time, but I was finally brave enough to want to do it. I still needed Hava to agree.
As soon as my bedchamber door was closed, I whirled toward my bed and knelt on the floor.
“What do you need, Mizrah?” asked Hava, scurrying after me. “I can help you. What is that?”
I’d already pulled my thick book of oracles from beneath the bed. “Come. Sit with me. I want to show you something,” I whispered.
Meck and Ferryn stood watch on the other side of the closed door. Though they likely couldn’t hear through the thick door of my bedchamber, I was wary.
