“That’s fair,” he says, nodding.
I straighten and have to bite back a smile as an idea occurs to me. “How far does your gift work?”
“It depends. If the mind I’m tapping into is weak or has made a choice to intentionally strengthen our mental connection, I’ve been known to speak mind-to-mind from one side of a court to the other.
But if I’m trying to read the thoughts of a shielded mind, I have to be in the same room, and even that won’t work if the individual has trained well.”
“What about with humans?”
He smirks. “Human minds are typically easy to read.”
“Could you . . . Do you think you could check on my sister? Make sure she’s okay?”
He shakes his head. “My power doesn’t work between realms, I’m afraid.”
“Oh. Of course.” I study the thin layer of dust on my boots.
“I could send Storm so you could see her for yourself.”
I don’t like the idea of having any of his creatures spying on my sister, and my mistrust must show on my face because he amends, “If you don’t trust what you would see through him, you could send a letter through my goblin.”
“Really?”
“It would be my pleasure. I know what it’s like to be disconnected from a younger sibling.” He gives me a sad smile.
“Thank you so much. Theoretically, I know she’s okay, but now that I’m fae . . .” I search for the words, but my eyes burn, and I have to swallow hard to keep sudden unwanted tears from spilling over. “When I visited my sister with Sebastian, it never occurred to me it might be the last time I’d see her.”
“Would you like to bring her here?”
Yes, please. The words want to burst out of me, but I hold them back. I want Jas with me more than I want anything, but I can’t. I’ll never forget the terror in her eyes when I suggested that she come back to the Faerie realm with me. Whatever she endured while imprisoned by Mordeus left a mark on her, made my cheerful, trusting sister fearful of all fae. I won’t take away her choice the way Sebastian took away mine.
“No,” I finally say. “No. She’s where she wants to be. I’ll send her a letter.” I can’t imagine what I’ll say, but I’ll find a way to reach out to her without making her worry about me.
Misha slows; then we stop walking altogether. When he turns to study me, there is such raw compassion on his face that I have to turn away from him for a beat to find my composure.
“It won’t always be this way,” he says softly. “The loneliness isn’t unfamiliar to you, but someday . . . I promise someday it will be.”
I stare at my boots. “I thought you weren’t a seer.”
“I’m not. But I am very, very old, and I recognize a good soul when I meet one, and good souls are never alone for long.” He squeezes my shoulder, and then I hear the scuff of steps as he walks away.
Chapter Seven
I follow Misha quietly, embarrassed that I let my emotions get the better of me. By the time we enter the stables, I’ve collected myself enough to pull back my shoulders and lift my chin.
“This is Amira,” Misha says, waving his hand toward the tall female saddling her horse.
Tossing me a smile over her shoulder, his wife tightens a few straps before turning to me fully. I’m not sure if I’m more surprised by how genuine her smile seems or that she’s saddling her own horse.
She’s tall—as tall as Misha—with gentle brown eyes and skin as dark as the night sky. Her dark hair is cut short, cropped close to her scalp in a style that draws attention to her big eyes and the shining amethyst studs lining her delicately pointed ears.
Stepping forward, I extend a hand. “I’m Abriella. It’s nice to meet you.”
She takes my hand in both of hers. “It’s my pleasure,” she says, her voice low and melodious.
“Finn and Pretha have told me so much about you.”
I stiffen, thinking of her visit to Finn’s house—back before I understood the curse and before I knew Finn and Sebastian were both after a crown I didn’t know I wore.
“I’m glad to see you’re well,” she says, dipping her head with a deference that surprises me.
She’s queen of the Wild Fae. All I am is a former human who disrupted the future of an entire realm.
If I’d never been saved by Oberon . . .
Misha clears his throat, and I flinch at the reminder of his gifts. I might as well wear my wretchedness on my chest for him to see.