“Come on now, Birdy,” I say. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“No.” She slams her hands on the table. “It’s your turn to share information, Cas. You are never honest with me. You always leave me out. I’m not a child anymore. Can’t you see what I’ve already accomplished in Spring?”
“Oh, I’ve seen.”
“Enough stalling. There’s something else about that girl at Castletree. Tell me.”
Two secrets war inside of me. The serum coursing through my system brings them both to the surface. I need to choose which one will escape my lips. Maybe this is fate, because one of them is a secret I’ve wanted to share with her for so long.
My gaze drops to the Nightingale’s calloused fingers. I can’t help but remember how small her hands were when Sira first commanded that I show her how to wield a blade. Better me than the weapon masters who would whip her for one wrong move.
Not that I could spare her from much of the terrors growing up. It’s hard to protect someone else in the Below when you can barely protect yourself.
For a moment, I think of taking her hand but quickly disregard the idea. “Well then, listen carefully.”
As the story leading up to the secret spills out of me, I watch her every movement. This truth will either heal her or break her. Her expression remains unreadable as I talk. Until I say the last word.
That’s when I see Birdy’s face fracture into madness.
Summoning my best impression of a certain icy fae bastard, I growl, “Oh fuck.”
The Nightingale stands, eyes alight with a sort of unhinged insanity. “How could you have kept this from Mother? I have to tell her.”
I stand and grip Birdy’s arm. “Go ahead, sing like the pretty canary you are. But tell me, sister, what do you think will happen when Sira learns the truth? Do you believe she’ll have any use for you when she could have someone that can summon gold itself? You would be discarded again, just like you were by your real mother.”
Pain flashes in her eyes, rare tears brimming. She can’t deny my words—she’d know they’re true even if this damn serum wasn’t coursing through my veins. Guilt rises within me, but I push it down. This is the only way to keep them both safe.
“Leave Rosalina to me. Forget about her,” I growl. “Return to Spring.”
The Nightingale shakes out of my grip, something feral flashing in her gaze. “I’ll never forget this.”
16
Farron
Papers fly out of my fingers as I throw the useless scraps over my shoulder. I’ve read and reread these texts and accounts a thousand times now. And yet, I’m still no closer to understanding.
I heave in a breath and clutch one of the wooden shelves in the alder tree. This sacred, secret space is the resting place of Autumn’s Great Scriptorium of Alder, and it has been a sanctuary to me before. Today, it feels like a prison, a tomb of worthless information.
Guilt creeps through my mind. I lied to Rosalina, to all of them. I’d told everyone I was spending so much time in the Autumn Realm so I could help situate my father as the new steward. Truthfully, my father doesn’t need my help; he’d been assisting my mother run Autumn for decades. With the winter wraiths gone, our crops are once again thriving, the once displaced villagers back in their homes.
No, I’ve been in Autumn for a different reason. One I will not voice to Rosalina. She’s been through so much already. I can’t add another burden.
But I have to know the reason why Caspian is able to speak in her mind.
And if it’s for the reason I fear, then I must figure out how to break it.
I collapse to the ground, fingers digging into my hair. There’s nothing left. I’ve scoured everything in here; so much was lost to my beast and Caspian’s most recent betrayal last month.
I ripped his notebook, and he returned the act by forcing me to destroy centuries of sacred literature and bringing an army of goblins to slaughter innocent soldiers. If there ever had been good in Caspian, it has been torn out of him root by root until only his selfish heart remains.
Forcing in a shaky breath, I remind myself to be grateful for what is left within the alder tree. Before George O’Connell left on his expedition with my little brothers, he painstakingly reconstructed what he could from the wreckage. There’s no doubting where Rosalina gets her tenacious spirit.
“I must accept what is,” I whisper to myself, a phrase I’ve repeated over and over these last few weeks. There is nothing here that will explain why the Prince of Thorns can speak in my mate’s mind. Or at least, no information that contradicts my worst fear.