Page 210 of The Edge of Darkness

She nodded, slipping the amulet into the pocket of her cloak. “Thank you for coming here and for your concern. I’ve never really known what to think of your kind, given all that the humans say about you. But after spending my entire life hiding what I am, out of fear of being rejected, I did not want to deny your request because of what you are.”

I couldn’t help the breathy laugh that crept up my throat. “If you were a fae, some might consider you a fool for that statement.”

She squinted, focusing on me like she was trying to glean what was beneath the surface. “There is something different about you. But you don’t strike me as a threat. Whether or not that truly does make me a fool . . .”

“You are not my enemy, so, as I said before, I am no threat to you,” I assured her.

“Very well. I will keep watch for your emissary.” She bowed her head as she turned toward The Veil, but before she crossed through it, she looked back over her shoulder and said, “Niall? For what it’s worth . . . The dream that I had, when I saw you greeting me . . . there was a crown of darkness on your head. Does that have any meaning to you?”

A crown of . . . darkness?

I stared back at her, fighting against the spool of anxiety threatening to unravel in my gut. The idea of a crown other than the one I already wore as High Lord was unsettling, to say the least. If her visions were anything like Vanir’s, vague and left to interpretation, it could mean she was only seeing a manifestation of my power and status.

But if they were as literal as Fallon’s visions were . . .

“Perhaps it was how your mind interpreted my power.” Just hearing myself say it, I knew I was wrong.

“Perhaps.”

She gave me a parting nod and crossed The Veil, leaving me standing amidst the trees, strangely plagued with the reminder of the cù-sìth’s appearance, and the unsettling feeling that somehow, the crown of darkness was connected to it.

I stared at Nivelle’s slender back as she stalked down the path through Neveshir’s forest.

Somewhere up ahead, the Dionachs awaited our arrival, summoned by Torin to be briefed on the war and the bargain the goddess had struck with Niall.

The trip here was made infinitely easier with the witch goddess lifting the wards, which allowed for me to port myself and Nivelle to the arched gate at the top of the grotto on Neveshir’s coast.

The difficult part was getting Nivelle to talk.

She had chosen a mood of indifference for the journey. It was a change from the usual scowl and ever-present sense of annoyance she always seemed to have around me. More palatable. But it made for poor company when it came to traveling. Which was a shame, because I quite liked Neveshir, even though it was set within an illusion.

I’d hoped Nivelle and I could at least have a cordial conversation during our walk, perhaps one that built off the progress we’d made during our dance in Vahrenhall . . . right before I’d foolishly tried to kiss her and probably ruined any chance I ever had at making progress between us.

Instead, the trek had been full of me staring at her back while she kept a steady pace ahead of me, and getting half-assed answers to every question I asked. The only question I’d received any sort of elaborate response to was when I had asked about the Dionach hierarchy, and what to expect when we confronted them. She’d said their age determined their rank, and that I had no business speaking to or giving them commands.

Fates, why did all her words seem like a godsdamn challenge? Was I just making them out to be that way?

Did she want me to confront her? Pursue her? Or did she hate me?

I didn’t understand her, which pissed me off. She irritated the fuck out of me, and all that did was intrigue me even more.

Maybe I was the one who was conflicted.

Ahead, surrounded by the twisted trees, was an entryway leading into the side of a hill within the forest. Built from stone and weathered logs, it looked similar to the entry to Nivelle’s cottage, but on a much larger scale. The thatched roof was covered in patches of thick moss, and two large beams bracketed the wide opening—fit for beings with wings. There was no door, only darkness beyond the threshold.

I swallowed the anxious lump in my throat, hoping this wasn’t about to be a replay of the underground tunnels in Benmoor. Reassuring myself that there were Dionachs inside made me feel slightly better, considering their size. Though, somehow, Remic had managed to fit through those tunnels, so on second thought . . .

There was no time to think twice as Nivelle passed through the opening and disappeared without a word.

Fuck it.

I followed, stepping into the cold, dark⁠—

No, not dark. There was light everywhere. Dozens of torches lit the walls, and basins of fire were stationed along the sides of a grand chamber that was carved into the earth below.

I nearly gasped at the size of the space. It had to be an illusion. There were hundreds of Dionachs waiting. Rustling wings and the low hum of conversation reverberated through the cavernous room as we stepped forward into the throng.

At the center of the space was a stone pavilion—a dais—with a set of rough-hewn steps, carved from the isle’s volcanic rock. Without hesitation, Nivelle made straight for them, leaving me debating whether I was supposed to follow or wait at the base of the platform.