hut.
It’s dim, none of the magical lights illuminating the interior like the last time I was here. There’s enough light coming in through the doorway, though, that I can see that something violent had happened. Her desk is split in two, as if someone was thrown on top of it, and the wooden chair lay in crumbles. All of the clay pots, bottles, bowls, and cups had flown about the hut and lay in shards everywhere.
The bowl holding the multi-colored, cylindrical crystals is still on her table, except now all of the crystals are devoid of color. I note one crystal though is on the table beside the bowl and the lock of hair I’d given Arwen during my last visit is laying over it. I’ve often wondered what she needed my hair for and if she ever got the chance to use it.
Carrick comes up behind me, effectively drowning out most of the light, but he must do something magically because suddenly there’s a glowing orb hanging over us, brightening the entire interior.
My eyes move over to the side of the hut where we’d seen the stain on the outside. It’s much darker on the inside, and there’s no doubt that at some point, a fae body had been in a sitting position against the hides, bleeding copiously enough to soak through the leather hide wall.
The question… was it Arwen’s body?
And is she dead or somewhere else, seriously injured?
I glance at Carrick, who is walking around while studying the interior. “What do you think happened?” I ask.
“I think Arwen found herself in a hell of a fight,” Carrick replies, his expression grave.
“Do you think she’s dead?”
“I honestly don’t know.” His look softens as he knows this distresses me. I liked The Scryer, who was able to tell me important information that has helped us greatly. I also had a soft spot for her since she’d been shunned by her noble fae family. “That’s a lot of fae blood on the wall, but if the brain or heart wasn’t pierced, that’s easily survivable. She could be elsewhere in someone’s care.”
His words trail off a bit, and I sense something else.
“But…” I press, needing him to tell me exactly what he thinks.
Carrick moves over to me and puts a hand along my neck, where he grazes his thumb along my jaw. “There was a violent struggle in here. I think this was to the death.”
There would be no body left behind if that was the case. They disintegrate into sparkles and float off to who knows where.
“It could be that Arwen is the one who killed someone,” I suggest, hope within me but my voice cracking a bit because I actually believe the worst.
“Could be,” he agrees, then takes my hand to lead me out of the hut.
“What do we do?” I ask, glancing back at the inside, which is dim again, Carrick’s glow of light extinguished.
“We have to go back to the castle. I’m going to ask Rebsha to help you get back through the veil.”
We had planned on Arwen sending me back through to Seattle because, seeing as how she was of pure noble blood, she had the power to open the veil for us.
“Should we notify Nimeyah, or maybe even Arwen’s mother?” I tentatively suggest.
Carrick shakes his head. “If anyone would want Arwen dead, it would be her mother. Nimeyah won’t care if she’s dead or potentially missing.”
Another reminder of why I hate the fae so much—Arwen, of course, excluded. I’ll even throw Pyke in there because he was genuinely nice and welcoming of me into Faere the last time. Even Rebsha is tolerable.
But the fact Arwen’s mother abandoned her because of her physical deformity—having been born with no eyes and just skin over where they would be—is so abhorrent to me that I have started lumping the values of all these creatures in with Arwen’s mother.
Knowing Nimeyah won’t care only solidifies this knowledge.
The Light Fae may not be as evil as the Dark, but their moral compass is completely nonexistent.
Carrick doesn’t waste any time, taking my hand and bending distance to bring us right back to the front doors of the castle. As always, Rebsha is mysteriously there, opening the door before we can knock.
“That was a fast visit,” he observes.
“Arwen was gone, and we didn’t feel like waiting around,” Carrick replies easily. “Do you mind opening the veil to let Finley back through?”
“Not at all,” he replies in that baritone voice, inclining his head. “Where would