Page 97 of Kingdom of Briars and Roses

“What’s your problem?” I demanded.

“Excuse me?”

“Your problem,” I repeated. “With me. Why do you hate me so much?”

His glare only intensified. “What kind of question is that?”

“You tell me. You look at me as if I’m a thief who’s broken into your house to steal something precious. But I’ve done nothing to you. I don’t even know you.”

“I just saved your life. Would I have done that if I hated you?”

I crossed my arms. “I’m beginning to think the answer is yes.”

I could’ve sworn I heard a snort from the other room.

Rydian didn’t answer.

I scowled, more determined than ever to understand what was happening. “Why did you save me?”

His smirk was infuriating. “You’ll have to be more specific. Which time are you referring to? What is that, twice now? Or three? I can’t keep track.”

I kept my expression blank, refusing to react to his taunting. Instead, I asked the question that had been bothering me since the moment it happened. “The Obsidian in the Emerald Forest. You could’ve let it kill me. Why didn’t you?”

Something gathered in his dark gaze. An intensity that held a secret—one he had no intention of sharing. Sure enough, when he spoke again, it was to change the subject entirely.

“The Withered are fae who’ve been drained of their magic and now seek vengeance against the crown for what’s been taken from them.”

“Drained how—and why? I thought Daegel said they were angry about taxes.”

“Summer’s land is dying, is it not? Succumbing to the seasons, its magic slowly fading.”

I blinked, surprised he knew about that. But I didn’t bother trying to deny it. “What does that have to do with?—”

“So is Autumn’s.”

I shook my head. “It looks untouched.”

“That’s because Duron found other means to feed the land—to offset the curse Heliconia cast here.”

My heart thudded as his words hit home. This place was cursed just like my home—even if I couldn’t see the evidence. And Duron had found a way to stop it. Maybe he could help me after all. Hope leaped inside me.

“What has Duron found?” I asked quickly.

But Rydian’s expression morphed into one of disgust. “AsDaegel said, he’s enacted a tax on all the fae who live in his land.”

“What kind of tax?”

“Once every turn of the season, all Autumn fae are required to report to a donation center where their magic is siphoned away.”

I stared at him. “That’s impossible. Fae magic is part of our soul.”

“It’s in our blood, actually,” he said grimly. “And it’s very possible if you have the right tools.” I didn’t know what tools existed for that, but something told me they would be brutal. “Once drained, their magic is used as an offering to feed the land so that it continues to thrive.”

“But… their magic should replenish?—”

“Not if it’s being drained faster than they can regain their strength. When the curse first took hold, donations were once a year, and it was enough to sustain both the land and the fae. But the curse has worsened, and donations have been ordered too frequently for the fae to regain their strength between each appointment.”

“What happens to them?”

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