Page 82 of The Edge of Darkness

“I’ll make sure your food is more suited to your tastes,” I said.

I didn’t expect a “thank you,” I wasn’t even sure Nivelle was capable of saying the words, but what she did say surprised me even more than any form of thanks.

“You are more gifted than you think, Daughter of Karios. You can see someone’s heart.”

I blinked, realizing that was her way of acknowledging the reality check I’d given her, but also the compassion I’d shown her. “I don’t think my power is⁠—”

“There is no magic or power involved where that is concerned,” she stated, tilting her head as she observed me a moment longer. “It is a natural gift. Your mate, and that other brute, could learn a thing or two from you. I will not tolerate being called ‘narrow-minded’ by anyone else.” She held my stare, and I could have sworn the corner of her lips twitched upward.

Of all the things she was going to tolerate, it appeared I was to be one of them.

An understanding settled between us. A mutual respect. A kindling of trust, new and tense and . . . promising.

I nodded, my own mouth curving up at the corner before I stood. There was nothing more to be said—not right now. The precipice we’d left the conversation at was a comfortable victory for both of us.

Now was the time for getting answers to all these questions and unknowns. I needed to seek out someone older. Older than the fae I was surrounded with. Older than the Elders. Older than Remic. Someone or something with knowledge of the ancient past, of history that we didn’t possess a record of. After reading what I had in Evander’s journal yesterday, only one thing came to mind.

Silas saw me out, and I headed straight for the meeting room in search of Aremis.

We had a wraith to visit.

My talk with Nivelle must have bridged the awkward gap between us and broken some seal of silence, because the witch was sitting at the patio breakfast table the next morning, sunning her face in the morning light. Pale blonde hair flowed freely around her, and the ink between her brows and on her chin was a stark contrast against her skin, marking her as other.

The crisp air was still and calm. Birds flapped overhead, their chirps echoing through the valley. Nivelle’s eyes opened, and she mapped their path, following their trail until they dipped toward the trees then soared back up into the clouds. Her head turned to me as I stepped out onto the patio. She didn’t smile. She didn’t say anything at all. But her expression was lighter.

She was trying.

I nodded in her direction, acknowledging her, then summoned my enchanted candlestick and touched it to the fresh logs on the firepit near the table.

Nivelle watched my every move, not with scrutiny, but with a curiosity that I recognized. I had been that way when I first arrived here in Anbrya. This place, and the fae, had been so foreign to me that everything I witnessed was astonishing.

The way she watched the birds fly, the pinch in her brows as she felt the sun on her pale skin . . . The witch had never stepped foot off the isles. She was learning the world, beyond what she knew, just as I had done. Experiencing things she didn’t know were possible. Seeing creatures she probably didn’t know existed.

There was an understanding that stretched between us as our eyes met.

“The magic pocket is something Niall taught me to do,” I explained. “Perhaps it is something you could learn to do as well.”

She pursed her lips as she gathered her response. “We deal in spells—a different sort of magic.” She eyed the candle as I slipped it back inside the invisible room in the beyond.

I began warming my hands over the flames, taking her statement as an invitation into conversation. “How do spells work?”

“It depends on how they are cast. They can be used for good, or for ill. Spells manipulate the natural order of things, so they are a dangerous magic to meddle with. Only the most skilled of witches can practice certain spells.”

“Do they require any power on your part?”

“Some do. Some don’t. Most call for something from the earth to anchor the spell into being—seeds, roots, bones, stones. Particular spells might require particular items. There is always a give and a take.”

A give and a take. I knew that part about magic very well.

“So, what of your power?” she asked, her voice quieting ever so slightly.

It was clear that she didn’t like to come off as too eager for knowledge, probably to avoid seeming like she was desperate for answers in a realm that posed so many new questions. But I recognized her strategy, and I was almost positive that she was well-aware of my understanding. Which meant she wasn’t just tolerating me, she was making a meaningful effort.

I pulled my hands away from the fire and held one palm up between us, willing an orb of light to manifest in it. Nivelle watched carefully. The orb pulsed with my heartbeat, then I dug a little deeper and the orb sank into my skin, illuminating me from within. Slowly, the light spread along my veins until every inch of me was radiating with a white glow.

Nivelle got to her feet and stared. “You have the fallen god’s light?”

I nodded.