Black blood gushes out of its gut, dripping over my hands and my forearms. It stains my bloodred cloak black. I grit my teeth and drive the blade in deeper, determined. The demon's shrills cries quiet into guttural, wet noises. It slumps and I narrowly avoid being crushed under its weight.
I drop to the ground, staring up at the blue sky dotted with puffy clouds. Thal leans over me, a wry smile on his lips. “You alright?” He asks, holding out a hand.
I take it, letting him drag me to my feet. “I’m fine,” I pant.
He admires the dead demon. “You moved quickly, almost as fast as a Fae.”
“Right,” I laugh disbelievingly.
“No, it’s as it should be,” Thal says proudly. He pauses, eyes widening, and I spot a flash of guilt in his green orbs.
“Thal?” I balk, brows furrowed with confusion. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, dragging a hand over his jawline in a familiar move that his cousin has done countless times. He struggles to speak, chewing over the words on the tip of his tongue. Finally, just as apprehension is building in my chest, Thal pulls me away from the other Fae soldiers. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you this,” he whispers.
“Tell me what?” I demand, ripping out of his grasp.
He brushes his long black hair out of his face. “You’re half Fae, Verity. Your mother was a Bloodbane witch, a Fae woman. It’s why you have the powers you do. Why you’ve lived so long.”
My chest is as cold as ice, I can’t even feel my heart beating anymore. My fingers tremble and I hide them in my cloak instinctively. “I haven’t lived long. I’m twenty-four,” I say softly. “It’s impossible.”
“No.” He looks pained, his lips twisted into a grimace. “The First Bloodbane, she said you’ve lived for a thousand years. And your mother confirmed it.”
“My mother?” I laugh, feeling wild and confused. “You’ve never met my mother.”
“I have,” he says slowly. Thal drops his gaze to the carpet of green. “The Bloodbane witch in captivity is your mother. She was forced to send you away, to keep you from Sadal.”
“Is he,” I choke on the words, feeling nauseous, “Is he my father?”
Thal looks up sharply, brows furrowed with worry. He grips my shoulders and squeezes. “Gods no, Verity, your father is dead.”
I take a deep, shuddering breath, keenly aware of the curious glances thrown our way. “Who was he?” I ask. I laugh, shocked at my own faith in Thal’s assertions. “What am I saying? This is impossible.”
"He was a human," he says, ushering me away from the other soldiers and the emerging farmer and his family. "Verity, I swear on the gods, everything I'm telling you is true."
“How?” I can hardly breathe; this revelation has rocked me to my very core. I’m nothing and no one. I’m hardly the Curse-Breaker, hardly a Bloodbane witch. I’m just a librarian who is very far away from home.
“I can’t explain everything.” He shakes his head and peers into my eyes. “It should be Altair.”
“But he never said anything,” I say, the words spilling out in a rush.
Thal grimaces. “He asked me not to.”
Anger flickers in my veins, faint but powerful. My lips part in surprise and I raise my brows. “He told you to keep this from me?”
“Perhaps he was waiting for the right moment,” Thal says, trying to reassure me.
“The right moment?” Spittle flies from my lips as I speak angrily. “This is my life, my past, he owes me the truth!”
Thal rubs my shoulders as if to comfort me but I tear away from his grip. “Verity,” he murmurs, looking hurt.
I ignore him, marching quickly up the hillside as if to walk all the way back to the fort. My heart is pounding furiously, blood roaring in my ears. My life. My history. My parents. I swallow the hurt in my chest. If they aren’t my parents, who are they? Why did they raise me if I’m not their own? And why wouldn’t they tell me?
I drop to my knees once I’ve crested the hill. I dig into the grass, using a dagger to carve a spell into the dirt. I grit my teeth against the pain as I dig the blade into my palm lightly. I draw just enough blood to wet the blades of grass and upturned soil. In an instant, the hill beneath my knees is whisked away. I close my eyes against the rush of magic, riding out the strange sensation that roils my gut.
In seconds, my knees are smarting from kneeling on rough stone. I open my eyes and take in the small stone room I’m kneeling in. It’s the room I stayed in for a single night while I was here, dreaming about Altair and Erzur. I scowl, fresh wounds from Altair’s betrayals sparking like fireworks. I hoist myself to my feet and stalk out into the halls in search of the Fae King.
Servants and soldiers glance at me in surprise as I pass but I ignore them, determined to find him. I know he’ll be working in his study, planning the future of Alnembra. His future with Erzur. I stomp towards the door, not bothering to knock before I slam it open. My vision is tunneled directly towards him. Altair stands in the center of the room, looking startled. I pause in the doorway, surprised once more by his beauty.
His hair, growing long enough to brush his shoulders, is tied into a messy knot at the base of his neck. His chiseled jaw is covered in the ghost of a beard, giving him a sense of wisdom and age. But it’s his eyes that draw me in like a whirlpool; hazel and glowing in the light of day, they tug me towards him. Heart to heart. Mind to mind.
“Verity?” His voice breaks
