Chapter 15

Gwendolyn's handon my shoulder grounds me as all my other senses are turned off. I see nothing, I hear nothing. Even the taste of bile at the back of my throat disappears. The only thing to focus on is her hand on my shoulder, which she placed there as we walked into the hall.

My legs move, but I can't feel them, not really. I'm aware of the motion of my own walking because I'm making myself do it, but it feels like my entire body is numb, well, not even that. It doesn't feel like I have a body at all, except for where her hand is on my shoulder. That's it.

Then a pinprick of light begins to glow ahead, and it grows larger as we move toward it, eventually revealing itself to be another doorway. A doorway of light as opposed to the darkness that encompassed me when I followed Gwendolyn.

When we step through the light doorway, we enter a serene glade with wild flowers in full bloom and a babbling brook complete with a small herd of deer drinking from it. Frogs croak, unseen, and the background hum of life permeates the peacefulness. A picnic is laid out on the grass, and Gwendolyn lowers herself to the cushioned blanket, inviting me to join her.

"This is my private realm. I created it when I was young to escape the tyranny of my mother. She's dead now, but back then she was the most powerful witch in three realms. I feared her as much as I loved her, and I often needed an escape, so I made this place for myself."

"That's amazing. What the–? What is happening right now? Am I talking?"

Gwendolyn's benevolent smile is full of sharp black teeth, but I genuinely have no fear of her. She looks like a Big Bad, but she's clearly one of the good ones. "The glade makes up for any lack. In your case, the lack of voice means that it gives you one."

"Holy shitcakes! This is amazing! I've only ever been able to borrow someone else's voice. Is this how I would sound if I had vocal cords? My voice isn't very deep, is it? And how do I have an accent? It's not even the one my parents had. I don't think in accents… The stream of consciousness happening aloud is going to get annoying—"

"Focus, darling," Gwendolyn interrupts. "Make a rule in your head that the only thoughts that get spoken aloud are the ones you want spoken aloud. Just set your boundaries and the realm will adapt."

"Ok yeah, no more talking unless" I decide I want to say a thing aloud.

Whew, that's better.

"Thank you," I intentionally think aloud. This is amazing.

Gwendolyn smiles kindly. "Magical problems can be fixed with magical solutions."

"What magical problem is that?" I ask curiously.

She points to my neck. "Your voice is missing, yet you have no other issues. I recognize the scars of a magical drain. You were young, a baby perhaps, and someone stole your fae heritage, leaving you magically scarred. They left just enough to keep you from dying, but they closed the wound so that you'd never be able to take your magic back."

As she speaks, my mind goes numb, taking the words and refitting them into the narrative I was told in whispers by people who followed my stepfather to their deaths. A cult that ended violently at his hand, a man who in turn died because he thought he was invincible against bullets.

"God damn it." The curse echoes around us.

Gwendolyn reaches out, offering me her hand, and I take it because I need something to help as rage—deep, visceral rage—floods through me from my heart to the tips of my fingers. I want to scream, but I can't because that fucker didn't just take my voice, he took my magic. I'm the fucking little mermaid, giving up her voice to the evil witch, except I was a baby and did not consent to having my magic stolen from me.

"I'm sorry, my dear. I thought the injury seemed so old that you would have investigated it already. Unfortunately there is no way to recover your magic, but the small kernel you still retain is helpful." She peers at me like she can see inside me. "It offers you a small amount of protection in the form of good luck, and your elven lifespan is still intact; you'll live unless you're killed or you choose to end your life, and with your good luck, you'll likely never find yourself in true mortal danger."

I suppose that having survived so many massacres, that makes sense. I take a deep breath and let the anger go. It's useless and far too late. After a few deep breaths, and reminding myself that I have an excellent life even without magic, I open my eyes and focus on Gwendolyn. "Thank you for telling me."

Gwendolyn pours wine into two crystal goblets and hands me one. "There are no obligations between us, and you may freely partake in my hospitality," she informs me before sipping her wine. "This isn't Fae and the rules are different here, however, one rule I did keep was that no one can lie or be deceived here. The magic will warn you if you believe something is true that is not. I've brought all of my potential lovers here, and none have left here with any hope of becoming the Consort of the Throne of Bones." She chuckles softly. "Someday someone will love me without ulterior motives."

"I've heard that Tova is enamored," I say, since he did abduct me in order to impress this woman.

She snorts and shakes her head. "He is too far beneath me. I have standards, my dear."

I slowly blink at her. "It's pretty crass to dismiss a potential partner because of their social status. You want someone who complements you personally. You're not your career, and your partner isn't a business decision. If you want someone to love you for who you are, you need to consider that the right person might not be in your social circle." Classism isn't one of the things that I'm going to dismiss out of hand. "I was homeless four months ago, so I'm not the person to sympathize with you if you're classist."

Gwendolyn's black eyebrows rise as she assesses me again in the light of my chastisement. "You make a valid point. I will be less dismissive of potential partners with a lower status."

Since she can't lie and I can't be deceived in this realm (if she's not lying about the rules of the realm), then I believe her because there's no indication that I shouldn't.

"Why did you want to see me?" I ask, sipping the wine experimentally.

I feel nothing, but then I felt nothing before until I tried to do something Ashley didn't want me to do.

"I was the Avatar of Neutrality ten thousand years before the cherubs killed the Avatar and locked the magic away," she begins, opening the picnic basket and producing some bread, cheese, and berries. She spreads the food between us on the cheesecloth wrapped around each item.

"I've never really considered that there would be other Avatars out there if they survived," I admit. "How many previous Avatars are still alive?"

Gwendolyn cuts the cheese into bite-size chunks with a cheese knife and breaks the bread with her hands, handing me my half of the loaf. "I know of three living ex-Avatars of Good. All previous evil Avatars were killed by their replacement—I believe that is the requirement for becoming the Avatar of Evil. And I am the only living ex-Avatar of Neutrality."

"Are you looking to become the Avatar again?" The information is interesting, but it doesn't explain why she wanted to meet with me.

She chuckles and shakes her head. "No. I was the Avatar for as long as I needed to be, and I will not be chosen again. I'm not quite as balanced as I was in my youth." She gives me a wry smirk. "However, the universal force never fully abandoned me. When the cherubs locked it up, the force stopped being interactive, but it still exists within me. It's a tiny kernel, nothing but the seed of a memory, but it is there. I've heard that you are looking for the next Avatar, and I think I can help you find them."

Oooh, there's an idea. "You think that the kernel of the universal force inside you would react to the next Avatar?"

"I do love a smart elf," she remarks, impressed. "I think that every time there's been a new Avatar, the magic in me resonated with them, so yes, I believe I can identify the next Avatar. But more importantly, I believe I am the only one who can awaken the power that sleeps. If you take me to the place where the living dead Avatar is, the power inside me will connect to the power in the trapped body. I will pull it out of its prison and unleash it into the next Avatar. I don't think breaking the prison is enough. I've thrown the bones and interpreted the readings, and having the other Avatars won't be enough. You need the third Avatar, but you can't make one without me."

I don't really know what to say. If she's lying about not being able to lie, then she could be lying about this, but if she's not, then we're going to need her, but there's a caveat she isn't telling me.

"I won't say no to the help, but I think you better tell me the catch." Because there isn't a fae alive that does anything for free.

Popping a berry into her mouth with a bit of cheese, she looks out over her realm as she chews and waits until her mouth is clear to respond. "My kingdom has been subject to the clans above us for thousands of years. I have never leveraged enough power, reputation, or influence to elevate our ranking above the seventeenth most powerful. The clan of the Silverdovers is passively powerful. Merith has never sought to rule, and yet he leads the third most powerful clan. I want to adopt him, bring our clans together, and form the Clan of Silverbones of which I would be the matriarch and ruler. I would require nothing of the Silverdovers. The Clan of Bones on its own is large enough to defend a higher ranking without the Silverdovers, but we cannot rise because of what we lack in power, reputation, and influence."

"I am not the right person to negotiate with," I admit instantly. "Tag would be the person you want to talk to."

She gives me a pitying look. "No, my dear. I do not have the ranking to approach Merith. I have to talk to a peer or someone of a lower ranking than me from his clan. I do not have the ranking to talk to anyone but you, and only you because you are new and unknown. You must bring my petition to your clan leader, and then if you convince him to, he may choose to meet with me to negotiate."

Being thrown into a socio-political system that I did not grow up understanding is wild, amiright? Here I am, minding my own business, and suddenly I'm the only person that a fucking queen is allowed to talk to because the clan I'm a part of, which I didn't know even existed until today, ranks higher politically, socially, and magically, than she does. That's crazy. From a homeless mute boy to talking—out loud—to actual throne-sitting queens! Talk about a turn of fate.

"I will talk to my clan, and someone will let you know. I expect you will hear from us quickly."

She gives me another benevolent smile. "I expect so as well. When you're ready to return to your clan, just will it. The teleportation curse on you is two-way. It will teleport you to your mate and to my throne room as often as you will it, no matter where you find yourself."

"I—I didn't know I was cursed with teleportation," I admit, confused. "When did you manage that?"

She smirks. "Fairies eat bone, you know? That fact is the root of the Earth myths about tooth fairies. I am well-known for providing swarms of fairies with as much bone as they desire, and they often show their appreciation."

Ah. Ok. Note to self: the Queen of Bones is allies with fairies.

I'm going to have to tell Fox—

The world tilts, nausea strikes, and I find myself bending over and vomiting all over someone's shoes. Not mine. Mine only get a little spatter on them.

The expletives that color the air as the shoes step out of vomit range are noteworthy, but my brain is too preoccupied with puking that I don't manage to note a single one. Dammit. It would be cool to be able to curse with the creative grace of the elves.

"Romily," Fox growls, boots stepping into my line of sight. He rubs the back of my shoulders as I finish dry heaving, and when I'm done, I take a deep breath and slowly stand.

We might have to break this teleportation curse because I cannot be teleporting to Fox every time I think about him. My shoes won't survive it.