Page 90 of Crown of the Courtesan

“Really?” I ask, a chill running up my spine. “I’ve never heard of a ceremony like that, not even within the Spirit-Fae Cathedral.”

“They would if they could. The priestesses are a bunch of opportunists. They use any magic at their disposal to keep their power, but lucky for us, these trees are the key, and they don’t grow south of the Ashland border for those pretenders to appropriate.” She points at the pile of white kindling and logs. “This is what truth looks like.”

I narrow my eyes as Ashland uses an iridescent flint to light the foliage. “The ax and flint are Alexra—aren’t they?”

Valora purses her lips, but she doesn’t deny it.

Soon, the flame blazes with iridescence, much higher than I thought possible. As the smoke rises into the darkening sky, a buzzing runs through my skin, prickling at my fingertips and under my fingernails.

Ashland’s gaze meets mine through the fire; he stands tall, breathing hard. I’m overcome with an urge to go to him, but his strength scares me.

I’m so focused on the embers framing his determined face that I don’t notice when he marches over and grabs my hand. For a wild second, terror shoots through me—thinking he’ll throw me into the flames. Then I notice what’s in his other hand.

My circlet, gleaming in the shimmering firelight.

“What are you doing?” I screech.

“Only a female with true magic in her blood has the potential power of sight, and currently, you are the only one in our group who fits that bill,” he says, his grip loosening. “We need to know where the missing girls are being taken. Our scouts can’t keep up with them.” The warnings about womenfolk being stolen across the realm flash in my mind. “You’re going to be a good girl and help us.”

The mounting pressure of everything leads me to dig my heels into the ground. My voice is strained with panic. “Don’t you possess magic? Why can’t you do it?”

He lets go, and I leap back, tripping over a branch.

“I’m a male, if you haven’t noticed.” A muscle twitches in his jaw as he cautiously steps closer. He snatches me by the waist, lifting me effortlessly over his shoulder. My heart races as he hauls me toward the roaring fire despite my kicking legs and flailing arms.

Damn him!

Flames warm my face as the crackling wood snaps in my ears. One of my flailing boots comes into sharp contact with his ribs.

“Stubborn mule!” He drops me, his gaze simmering with wrath as he pants, clutching his side.

My skirts tangle around me as I clutch the ground. Taking a deep breath, I desperately struggle not to think about how Madame Phyrne claimed her vision felt like the worst type of torture. I close my eyes, trying to control my fear…

“Do you want this or not?”

My eyes fly open.

He holds my circlet.

“You would allow me to keep it?” I ask, a tremble escaping my throat.

“Of course not.”

“Then I refuse.”

The whispers in my mind let out a war chant, urging me not to surrender as we argue. Time passes, but I don’t know how long. He stares into my eyes, never blinking, before giving in. “Fine. It’s yours.”

I refrain from reaching out. Instead, I demand, “Say it.”

“This circlet belongs to you. By my word, I won’t take it back. Happy?”

“Neither your men,” I say, catching sight of Valora watching intently, “or your women.”

“Nor any of my people, no matter their connection to me. Are you satisfied?” he growls.

I rise to my feet. With Ashland’s hand still outstretched, I reach to meet his offering. A shock shoots through my arm as we both touch the Alexra. He releases his grip, and I behold the circlet. It feels like home, like the soft petals of honeysuckle. I gently return it to the crown of my head. The next breath in my lungs grows clearer. The whispers cease chanting—for now.

I almost ask him what I’m expected to do next…