and isn’t going to be easy to change.
Grayson pulls his hands away and shifts his weight, glaring at the three males behind the magical barrier. Taking a step to the side, I angle myself so I can see all of them. Tor seems to have relaxed a little at seeing the mage. The two of them met back in Arhaven, but he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice, his eyes flicking from the mage to me, and back again. When I glance over at the elves, I’m surprised by what I see. Vaeril still has his glowing hands pressed against the barrier, snarling as he narrows his eyes on the mage. This doesn’t surprise me, but Naril does. The elf is crouched and looks ready to pounce, his lips pulled back over his teeth, exposing his sharp incisors as he snarls at Grayson. I’ve never seen Naril act like this before, he’s always been the calmer of my companions, perpetually ready with a snarky comment. The presence of a magician must be setting off his fae instincts. I won’t flatter myself to think that he’s acting like this out of some need to protect me.
Sidestepping, Grayson closes the gap between us, holding his hand out to me while never taking his eyes off the elves behind the barrier. “Clarissa, we need to go,” he urges in a low, unhurried voice.
“What?” Frowning, I look up at him in confusion, convinced I’ve heard him wrong. He wants me to leave with him?
“My magic will hold them for a while, but they’re fast,” he explains, and my stomach sinks. “We need to go now if we want to get a head start on them,” he continues, and I gape at him in horror. He’s still looking away, so he can’t see my distress, but I know what’s about to happen. He’s going to make me choose, and when he finds out what’s happened, about who I am, he’s going to hate me.
His outstretched hand hangs between us, and he finally realises I haven’t taken it. Turning from the elves, he looks at me with a frown, like he can’t understand why I’m holding us up. He’s my knight in shining armour coming to my rescue yet again, but I’m stalling.
“Why would I want to get away from them, they’re my…friends.” I stumble over the word ‘friends,’ but I try to keep my voice light, attempting to make him understand without saying it directly. He’ll work it out soon, he’ll see that the bond between Vaeril and me is stronger than friendship.
Pulling his hand back, he shakes his head, and his expression hardens. “The elf kidnapped you,” he argues, like I’ve been so traumatised by said kidnapping that I don’t understand what’s happened to me. “He forced you to break the spell on his cuffs, and he kidnapped you,” Grayson reiterates, telling me his version of my escape, his voice getting more forceful, as if he’s trying to convince himself too. “The tribesman was working with him and created a diversion so the elf could get away, taking you as his prisoner.” Taking a deep breath, he looks from me to Tor before rubbing his eyes.
“As soon as I heard about that night, I left the guild and I’ve been trying to find you.” He opens his eyes, turning to face me again. He scans my face, as if he’s looking for something. “I know what the king is saying is a lie. I know you didn’t kill those people.” He lowers his voice as he speaks as if trying to reassure me.
A flash of alarm jolts through me at his words. Stepping forward, I place a hand on his wrist. “Kill? What do you mean?” I feel sick as my mind starts spinning, imagining the worst. The Mother’s vision flashes into my mind of the mass graves the slaves were digging while the king and Jacob watched over them.
“A lot of people died when you escaped, and a lot of people just simply disappeared.” His voice is soft, like he can sense how sick his words are making me. “There have been more disappearances in the city, and the king is blaming you.” Dark eyes flit over my face as he speaks, trying to judge my reaction, but I have no words. Am I surprised that the king is blaming me? No, he was looking for a scapegoat, and I was the perfect target. I messed up his plans when I refused