Chapter 6

6

I wake on a cot in the same cell, a thin blanket draped over me. Heart racing, I rip it back to examine my leg.

It is healed completely.

It's impossible. I shake my head, dumbfounded. The massive burgundy stain on my jeans is proof enough that I didn't imagine it. But there is no deep gash, no scratch.

Nothing.

I scramble to the iron bars, pulling and pounding my fists against them until the heels are bruised and bloody. I shout until my voice is hoarse from crying out for my father like a child waking fresh out of a nightmare. Exhausted and heartbroken, I sink to my knees.

I don't make it back to the cot.

I curl up in the fetal position, shivering on the cold, hard floor as the tears stream silently down my face. A dull ache forms in my chest as I replay the earlier interaction between me and my dead father. The overwhelming shock of seeing him alive and healthy catches up to me in a raging flood of emotion. The sobs shake me relentlessly as I flip back and forth between terror, confusion, and strange joy. Because I thought I had said goodbye to my dad forever.

That is the only silver lining to this sordid mess. Seeing his face again.

Even if he doesn't recognize me. Even if I die in this cell waiting for him to come.

A small white dot darts into my vision, slipping beneath the barred door of my cell. A flash of light erupts, sending me sprawling back toward the stone wall. The tiny white mouse is replaced by a male form. I find myself staring into the warm brown eyes of a young Mr. Tatler.

And his totally naked body.

I open my mouth to scream, but he rushes forward, clamping a hand over it and crouching in front of me.

"The guards will hear. If they find out I can shift in here, they will have me removed. I'm not going to hurt you," he says in hushed tones. He slowly eases his hand from my lips, watching me warily.

"Where are your clothes?" I hiss. I don't intend for that to be the first question out of my mouth, but the amount of skin he's showing makes it kind of difficult to form a coherent thought.

"You humans with your shame." He shakes his head and does a quick sweep of the room, snatching the thin wool blanket off the cot and draping it around his waist. With his lean, muscled chest and arms still bare, it isn't much of an improvement to my poor concentration. His eyes catch on my bloodied pants and widen in horror.

"What happened?" he demands, dropping down to brace my thigh in his hands.

"I was strapped to a chair, tortured, and accused of being a witch." I shove his hands away.

"They tortured you?" The color leeches from his face before something like rage takes over .

"Yeah, and I'm guessing it had something to do with your little stunt with the book," I growl. "How did you just do that? You were a mouse ."

My head swims as I search for answers in those eyes, those familiar brown eyes.

I gasp.

"In the forest, that fox-wolf thing that tried to save me, that was you?"

He presses his lips together—his answering silence confirmation enough. My gaze shoots to his chest, where the arrow pierced him. I reach forward instinctively to check for the damage. He gently encloses my hands in his before I can touch him.

"I'm alright. You pulled the arrow out before the paralytic spread. I was able to heal myself."

"Heal yourself?"

I stare at the tiny pink mark above his breast where there should be a gaping hole. The skin is perfectly smooth. My eyes snag on the small tattoo across from it. Over his heart are two overlapping circles joined with a small star in the shared space.

I wrench my hands out of his grasp.

"What are you? Where the fuck are we?" The questions tumble out of me like an avalanche, each one competing to be voiced first.

"We're in my home, Solterre, world of the fae."

World of the fae.

I blink and give that a moment to sink in.

"That fox-wolf thing from the forest is called an OrCat . And yes, that was me. I'm fae." He turns his head to the side and tucks his silky, caramel-colored hair behind his ear. His slightly pointed ear. "And a shifter."

"A shapeshifter? You're fae…and a shapeshifter?" I repeat mechanically .

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this. About all of it." His expression is sincere.

I don't trust it.

But with the wall at my back and his half-naked body so close, I have nowhere to retreat. A beat passes while I stare at him, grasping at straws for any logical explanation for what's happening, but it's getting harder to deny how very real it all feels.

"What did you do to Tatler?"

His brown eyes hold mine as he takes a steadying breath. "I am Tatler. Just as I have been many people to you."

I wait with narrowed eyes.

"I have been Tatler. I have been Annie Arnold, I've been your third-grade math teacher, the health inspector for The Black Rose, and many, many others. My name is Zadyn. I am your familiar, blood sworn to you at birth to protect and guide you. I have been with you your whole life, though unbeknownst to you."

"You've been posing as different people in my life ever since I was born?"

He nods.

"That's impossible. Annie? One of my best friends?" I gape.

There is no way. No way she could have been this person all along. Although, she did drop off the face of the earth pretty abruptly. I remember thinking it was strange at the time, but I just chalked it up to her being happily married in a foreign country. My heart sinks at the possible truth of his claim. Shaking the thought from my head, I force myself to stay present.

"Why am I here? Why is my dad here, my sister, Ja—" I swallow abruptly. Saying that name will just trigger the waterworks all over again. "Why is my family here, and why don't they know me? "

He sighs, leaning back, palms splayed on the stone floor. His abs threaten to distract me from the rising panic.

"The world of the fae is like a mirror to the human world. A parallel universe. People here may seem familiar, but do not mistake them for the people you know—the people you love—despite any appearances. You must treat them like strangers, or else it can cause a ripple effect that alters nature's course," he warns. I shake my head in opposition.

"I need to speak with my dad. He'll recognize me if…" My voice trails off feebly.

The stranger—Zadyn—shakes his head, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm afraid that won't be the case. The king has an entirely different set of memories, a past absent of you. That isn't the man that raised you."

I blink back idiotic tears.

"In this world, your father is King Derek Accostia, one of the five fae kings of Solterre. This is his kingdom, Aegar." He pauses, no doubt reading my crestfallen expression.

"And my sister?

"Her name is Sorscha. She's the king's only living heir, born from his late wife, Queen Margot. Queen Ilspeth is her stepmother."

The image of the cold, beautiful female on the diamond throne beside my father flashes through my mind.

"This is insane…why am I here?"

"In this cell or in this world?" he asks earnestly.

"Both!" I shout, my voice clamoring against the walls. "Why am I being tortured for information?! Why am I being called a witch?!"

"The Kingsguard must have seen the shadow smoke in the Bone Forest when we arrived. They brought you here because they think—they hope—that you're the last Blackblood witch. "

"Are you kidding? That's literally insane. Why would they think that?"

"I was getting to that part," he says almost guiltily. Fixing him with a death glare, I lean in.

"What. Part."

"You were born in the mortal realm," Zadyn begins slowly, readying me for the shoe I know he's about to drop. "But you possess the last drop of black blood left in this world, in all worlds."

"Meaning what exactly."

"Meaning that you are the one and only living descendant of the Blackblood clan."

I don't know what that means, but a wild laugh bursts from me because I'm sure, I am positive , that I hit my head in the bookshop and none of this is really happening. I shove to my feet to pace around the small cell while Zadyn watches me carefully from the ground.

"Are you alright?" he asks after a moment.

"I think you're sorely mistaken. I was born in the human world, on this little planet called Earth —I believe you've heard of it? My father was not fae or ‘ Blueblood ,'" I use air quotes.

"Blackblood," he corrects.

"And my mother may be a witch, but she sure as shit isn't the kind you're referring to. Both parents perfectly human, okay? Just like me." I gesture to my disheveled, bloodstained body.

"Your lineage has no bearing. Black blood isn't hereditary; the magic chooses. You were chosen across worlds, across time."

"How did you—never mind. This is all a pipe dream. I've completely lost my shit." I toss my shackled arms up and slide down the length of the rough, uneven wall. "Oh, well. Guess I don't have to file taxes this year on account of insanity. "

"This is very real." Zadyn scoots closer and places a large hand over my drawn-up knee, peering into my eyes. The warmth in his beautiful face is almost enough to combat my speeding heart and growing anxiety.

Almost. But not quite.

"Don't you think I'd know if I was a witch?" I hiss. "I have no supernatural abilities. I never have , and believe me, I've attended my fair share of middle school sleepover seances."

"You are the last Blackblood," he affirms. "You may not know it yet, but you have great power within you."

Shaking my head, I counter, "And why should I believe a word you say? You've lied to me my whole life, and you expect me to just believe I was chosen by some voodoo bullshit to be a witch? Maybe you're just as crazy as I am." My gaze falls to the heavy shackles encircling my wrists.

"Look at me." Reluctantly, I do as he says. "I'm telling you the truth. You were chosen. Just as I was chosen to be your familiar, to guard you, and deliver you here safely. This mark—it brought me to you." He points to the tattoo on his chest.

"Your tattoo?" I ask incredulously.

"It's the mark of a familiar," he explains. "It appeared when you were born."

Absurd. So fucking absurd.

"The mark acts like a compass, guiding me to you. You were glamoured at birth to blend in with the humans of your world. Your magic was repressed, your appearance muted."

" Blend in with the humans? I am human. Why would I need a glamour to blend?"

"You may have been born in the human world, but you aren't human. Witches are native to Solterre."

"There's no way." I slide my fingers into my hair, gripping it by the roots. "There's just no way. You're trying to tell me that I'm not human? That this isn't my real face? That I have magic inside me?" My voice rises with growing hysteria.

"Yes. Exactly."

"Oh my god," I groan, knocking my head against the wall. "Can this nightmare just be over already?"

"I know this is a lot. I never intended to deceive you." The words are a quiet murmur against his full lips. He sounds truly regretful. I crack an eye to peer at him.

"We'll circle back to the lying and deceiving part." Blowing out a long breath, I stare up at the dark ceiling. "What do they want with me? Are they going to kill me?"

"No." Surprise flashes in Zadyn's eyes. "King Derek needs you. For the dragon. He's been searching for centuries?—"

"Centuries?" I repeat, making sure I heard him correctly.

"The fae are immortal," he says, shrugging his shoulder. "Most of us have lived far longer than you can even comprehend."

I jerk forward, coming nearly nose-to-nose with him.

"Oh, I think I comprehend that just fine. What I can't seem to comprehend is how and why I am now stuck in a mirror world where my own father locks me in a dungeon because he wants to use me and my black blood to what? Slay a dragon?" I spit.

"Not to slay, never to slay." He shakes his head, his eyes reverent.

"To ride."

I stare at him in utter disbelief.

He presses on, rushing his words as if I'll stop him at any moment.

"This world hasn't seen a Dragon Rider for thousands of years. The Blackbloods were the only ones powerful enough to wield dragon magic without being torn apart. There is only one left in our world, and you alone are capable of bonding her. All five kingdoms have been hunting for you for ages. "

"A literal witch hunt." I swallow hard in utter disbelief. "For me? Why?"

"Many reasons, the main one being that a dragon is an invaluable war weapon."

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.

"This is a mistake. I'm not a Dragon Rider, and I can't be a witch. It isn't me. You've got the wrong girl."

"I don't, and whether you want to admit it or not, neither do they. I know who you are. I've been there all your life, and I'll be there every moment from now until your last breath. My life is tied to yours."

I shake my head and fall silent, trying to process all this information. I hear what he's saying, but it's not making any sense. A magical world with fae? With witches? Dragons? It's impossible.

After a few moments of fighting back tears of confusion and frustration, I force myself to look back at Zadyn.

"How can I trust you? How can I believe you when all of this"—I gesture around me—"is straight out of a fantasy book?"

His gaze falls to my bloody fists. Gently pulling me forward, he places his hands over mine. Warmth spreads through my palms and up my arms as I glance from our joined hands to his long, lowered lashes. When he pulls back, my shackled hands are as good as new. I stare up at him, awestruck.

"All stories are rooted in truth. No matter how outlandish. You were always meant to be here."

"I just had a knife jammed in my leg! I'm trapped in a dungeon with you, waiting to see if I'll live or die! Not feeling very welcome here at the moment!"

"I won't let anything happen to you," he says matter-of-factly. "Besides, they would never truly harm you. You're too valuable to them. They're likely only keeping you here until they can confirm your identity. All you have to do is prove you are who you are."

"Well, that's not gonna be very easy since I don't have magic, and I just learned I was a witch two seconds ago!"

"Slow down." He reaches out, placing a gentle hand on my knee. "Take a breath. You're trying to process everything. I know it's a lot. You're taking it better than I expected, actually."

I glare at him, and he slowly retracts his hand.

"How did you even get in here?" I ask after some time.

"Shapeshifting has its perks," he shrugs. "Tiny spaces, tiny body."

He opens his mouth to say more, but the sound of footfalls outside the door distracts him. A bright light flares, and once again, I'm seated across from a little white mouse.

One of the twin guards with hair like burnished copper unlocks my cell and drags me down the corridor. Zadyn scurries behind as I am ushered up endless sets of stairs and hallways that open up to a castle so stunning my mouth drops.

Like the diamond cave, every surface of the high arching hall sparkles brilliantly. I gape at the polished blue-white marble floors and pillars, the ceilings lined with diamond chandeliers that dangle overhead with no visible suspensions, the windowed walls that peer out over shadowed hills and black waterways glittering with night. In the distance, I can vaguely make out the twinkling lights of a city in the valleys below. The beauty of my surroundings successfully distracts me until I'm yanked to a stop.

The guard knocks twice on the door before us. "Madame Gnorr, I've brought the girl."

"Send her in," a voice calls from the other side.

The door opens to a small infirmary. A slight, elderly woman in flowing gray robes turns to face me. Her face is so wrinkled I can barely make out her eyes. She must be a thousand years old. Her hair is concealed beneath a matching headpiece, displaying her gently pointed ears.

"Have a seat here, child." Her voice is warm and inviting as she gestures to one of the clean cots lining the wall. I move toward her wearily while my eyes dart around the room, taking in the shelves full of colorful vials, the stacks of folded linens, and the small wooden work table scattered with scrolls and parchment.

"Privacy, if you please, Sir Maxim," she says to the guard.

He clears his throat, dipping his head. "I'll be outside."

The door closes, and a small silence ensues as the ancient-looking fae assesses me, hands folded in front of her.

"A familiar," she regards the white mouse at my ankles.

"How did you?—"

She smiles knowingly. "How rare they have become. Treasure that bond."

I swallow as she turns her back and moves to open a wooden cupboard.

"Are you going to torture me, too?" I finally venture. She whirls to me in surprise, taking in my bloodstained pants.

"No, child. But mark me, I will be having words with the captain about that," she promises. "My name is Gnorr. I've been the king's healer for fourteen hundred years. Long before King Derek was born. I served his father and his grandfather before him. I am not here to harm you, child. I am only meant to examine."

"You want to know if I'm a Blackblood."

She nods. Moving closer to me, she lays a gentle hand on my shoulder prompting me to sit back on the cot. In her other hand, she holds a vial of fizzy blue liquid. She places it in my palm and gives me an encouraging nod.

"Drink."

"Not unless you tell me what this is," I protest mildly .

"You will sleep and I will search." She taps my forehead twice. "Here."

"I'm not letting you into my mind." I shake my head.

"I promise to leave everything as I find it." She smiles, amused, lines crinkling her ancient face.

I dare a glance down at Zadyn.

Can I trust her?

In answer, he zigzags between her skirted legs, weaving between her frail ankles.

Take that as a yes.

I watch her warily as I gulp down the shimmery blue liquid, praying she didn't just feed me a melted Tide pod. It tastes sickly sweet. Like pears and cough syrup. Before I can form another thought, I'm out cold.

I don't know how long I'm down for. But when I wake, staring up at the ceiling, my head throbs. I blink and let out a loud gasp when I see Zadyn in his fae form perched beside me, watching over me intently.

"There you are," he says.

"You're not miniature," I croak, pushing up to my elbows. My throat is dry as sandpaper.

He chuckles. "Madame Gnorr is ancient. She knows what I am. She can be trusted."

"I gathered. What do you think she saw in my head? What was she looking for?"

"Her gifts are unique. That's why she's been in Aegar's employ for over three generations. She is a special kind of healer, a sensor. She reaches out into people's minds and, well, senses them. She can even transmute pain when necessary."

"So, like an empath," I say.

"Yes, but with the ability to alter emotions. She was getting a sense of you, sifting through memories and feelings."

"How intrusive. "

"Better her than one of the Kingsguard torturing it out of you some more."

I roll my eyes.

Voices sound from outside the door and I freeze, straining to listen. Hearing my dad's deep voice, I race to the door, ready to fling it open but Zadyn is there in an instant, his hand closed over my wrist. He shakes his head and lifts his pointer finger to his lips. I hold his gaze as we eavesdrop on the conversation.

"Well? Is she a witch?" Dad asks in his familiar husky voice.

"I could sense witch blood in her, Majesty. Though it was very quiet."

"Black blood?" he presses.

"That I cannot glean, sire, not upon a first attempt, even with the elixir. There is a heavy glamour over her, one that I may only hope to undo in time. I do know that she is not of this world. She comes from the human realm, as she claimed."

A pause ensues. I hold my breath.

"Could she ride? With the proper training, of course."

"I cannot say with certainty, sire. The glamour is too thick. It would be a danger to the girl's life if she attempted to bond the dragon without black blood."

"She bleeds red," says another voice I recognize as Jack's. My heart clenches painfully.

"I have seen glamours affect eye color, skin color, blood color, even scent. Magic is a very powerful thing. I would rule out nothing at this point."

"And this doe-eyed, lost little girl act? Is she mad or just a convincing actress?" Jack asks. "How many Blues have come forward over the years claiming to be the Dragon Rider to satisfy their own inflated sense of pride? How many idiots have lost their lives trying to wake her?" he says in disgust.

"I sense disorientation in her, Majesty. She is frightened and fatigued. If she is a Blackblood, she certainly isn't aware of it. It would take a skilled witch to be able to fool a sensor such as myself into a false reading."

"Not to mention it would be an act of treason," Jack adds with a bite to his voice.

"I have been at this longer than you have been alive, young Captain." Her voice is lightly amused. "I sense no malice from her. Instead, I sense a tenderness for you, my King. She has told all that she knows."

"What do you propose we do with the girl?" the king says.

"She needs to be questioned further," Jack says mildly.

"I disagree, Captain. Torturing the girl isn't going to do any good in waking her magic or prying out answers she doesn't have. Put her to work around the castle. Keep eyes on her. Her magic will show itself in time. In the right environment, a safe environment," she says pointedly, "she may blossom and prove to be the one you seek."

"And if she's a danger?" Jack presses.

A long silence ensues.

"She poses no threat to the crown. Not to you, my King, nor to the princess."

"Very well, Gnorr. I thank you for your services and counsel," Dad says. He barks an order for Jack as his voice grows more distant, echoing off the walls.

"See to it she's moved into the servant's quarters, Captain. And that she is kept comfortable. Have Sir Warryn guard her."

"Sire, what of?—"

"See it done."

The hall goes silent.

I try to decipher Zadyn's expression before the door flings open. I jump back and nearly trample the short-haired white cat that crops up behind me. As I steady myself, I look up to see Madame Gnorr and Jack standing in the doorway. Watching me .

"Oh, good, she's awake," Jack says dryly, earning a soft smack in the stomach from the healer. He tosses her a look and then fixes those molten eyes on mine.

I should hate him. But even after he stuck a knife in my leg, it takes everything in my power not to run to him, to throw my arms around his neck and drink in that woodsy campfire scent I would know anywhere. But he regards me with not even an ounce of familiarity. It hurts to breathe under the scrutiny of his harsh gaze.

"Come," he commands me in a cold voice. He doesn't wait to see if I obey.

I follow him, struggling to keep up with his long strides as I'm led to the servant's quarters. They smell better than the holding cell, but not by much. Jack pushes open the door to a small living space with a single bed shoved against the wall and a rickety-looking three-drawer dresser across from it.

"Home, sweet home," he croons as I step inside.

He doesn't seem to notice the small cat that slips into the room behind us as he waves a hand, and the restraints on my wrists clank to the floor.

"Change out of whatever it is you're wearing and put these on." He pulls open a drawer and tosses me a bundle of drab-looking garments. I catch them reflexively, staring at him without restraint until he notices.

"Problem, witch?"

"N—no," I stammer, "you just look like someone I know."

"Lucky him." He hurls the words like an insult as he takes in my disheveled hair, torn clothes, bruising face.

"Dress quickly and meet me outside."

Without another word, he leaves me alone with Zadyn. I begin to undress and then pause, my shirt halfway over my head.

"Turn around, you. "

He purrs and leaps onto the bed, face buried in his paws while he stares at the door. As I pull my pants off, my phone goes tumbling out of my back pocket. I scramble to pick it up and try to get a signal. Nothing.

Jack knocks on the door to hurry me along. I stuff the phone under my pillow and start to dress.

The clothes he gave me are straight out of the Medieval Times costume department: a long sleeve, shapeless gray shift dress, and a lace-up brown leather bodice. I frown at my Nikes. I'm guessing servants here aren't allowed to wear name brands. I slip them off in exchange for a pair of slippers lying in the corner. My hair feels like a rat's nest as I thread it through the elastic around my wrist and tug the ponytail tighter.

"Let's do this," I say, more to myself than to Zadyn.

With a steadying breath, I step into the hallway to begin my first day as one of my dad's employees.