Page 96 of Whisper Woods

“I cannot tell you how glad I am that you’re well.” Lia lays her hand on mine, resting atop the table.

I give her fingers a gentle squeeze, pointedly ignoring the tears pooling in her eyes. “And I you, Lia. But as glad as I am, should you not be resting?”

Almost on cue, there is a knock on the door and Lia smiles tightly at me and Seff.

“Yes, probably. But I feel like you need to be here for this.” Putting on her High Eminence mask, she calls out, “Enter!”

The door cracks open, and there, finally, is Brydon. I leap to my feet and rush to greet him, tears burning my eyes. He grunts when I pull him into the tightest hug imaginable, a laughing sob breaking from me.

“Need to breathe, Rafe.” He muffles against me, and I let him go just enough to get a good look at him. He looks tired, his aura more sombre than I’ve ever seen him. But physically he looks none the worse for his captivity.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my trembling hands squeezing his arms.

He nods, shutting his eyes.

“Yeah, Rafe. I’m okay.”

“We still have things to work through with the High Council, or what remains of it.” Lia interrupts gently. “But I wanted you here, Rafe. I thought, all things considered, it would be for the best whilst we discuss what has happened.”

I help Brydon to his seat and pour him a glass of water. He waves off my fussing, telling me to sit down.

“Brydon, the Council and the Orun reviewed everything… but we don’t quite understand.” Yorin opens the floor and Brydon takes it.

Leaning forward on his elbows, he twirls the engraved glass of water in his hand while he explains.

“My father, Heylor, he was going to kill us all. I had a sense of it before, but then after studying everything Rafe brought back, it became obvious that the Whisper Woods had moved Seff’s friends around like game pieces. But to what end? I couldn’t put it together until it all became clear. I think… I think it—the Woods—have wanted this for a long time. But they haven’t been able to. There were steps that had to be taken. The timing had to be right. We weren’t the only thing making the Woods sick. That fae you encountered.” He looks at Seff, who stiffens at the memory.

“She was the last piece in the Mundane. At first I thought she might be Tathissian, but I don’t think she was. I think she was just a fae who lived before the great wars and used the magic she knew from a long time ago to cheat death. She was draining the Woods of their magic. That magic corrupts all that is around it. It is why it is no longer practiced here, where we revere and preserve magic as we do. No doubt it is a skill long forgotten in the Mundane. No matter the cause, the Woods needed the right elements to defeat her—like putting together a potion. Your friends, together, were what it needed. In my Mundane history books, I’ve found other occasions where the Woods has intervened. And we’re not alone. Other sacred sites have gone through the same issues.” He takes a breath and shrugs.

“But that’s all whatever. I knew nothing was going to stop Heylor in his thirst for power. He never cared about Tathys, or the walls, or the Gods. All he wanted was control. The power. It was his birthright, he said. Due to bloodlines for the throne of the High Eminence being redrawn four centuries ago when there was no heir. My father’s family always felt slighted as they were overlooked. He waited his whole falyuk life for the right moment and when the walls began to fall, he knew this was it. The ability to take Tathys for himself like he always dreamed of. That he hated the Mundane was just extra justification for his greed. He wanted to find a way to seal us off again—no matter what it cost the Gods, or us—and take the throne. Lead Tathys into a new dawn under himself.”

“He didn’t know how, though. Secrets to such power have been long lost to us. I doubted it existedanywherein the world. And then I saw the book. It had… everything. Everything he needed to destroy us. Destroy the Woods. Potentially magic itself. But the book was written over hundreds of years and used a complex mix of languages. Some dead. Some not. Most only a few of us can read.”

“I knew this was the one chance. And so I took it. I told Heylor I wanted to help him. That I had seen the light. He was so blindly arrogant, he believed me. I didn’t even have to try. And so… I made a copy of the book.”

He finally looks up from his glass, looking at me with sadness and regret.

“I didn’t want to tell you, Rafe, or put any of you at risk. I thought it would be best if I acted alone. Less suspicious. I thought I was done for a few times. The spell to recreate the book almost went disastrously wrong. But, in the end, it worked.”

“So, why didn’t the spell work?” Seff interjects, his brow furrowed, muscles tensed as he tries to focus on Brydon’s story. Brydon smiles wryly at my future mate.

“Spells and contracts, man. Spells and contracts. Steer clear of both if you cannot understand them.”

“What do you mean?” Lia asks. The tension in the air is palpable. Brydon has effectively just admitted to treason of the highest order. Sweat pools at the base of my spine as I wait for Brydon to explain.

“I didn’t just recreate the book. I rewrote the rituals. I had to change the forgery in case there was a random follower who could read any of the text. But I also had to translate them for Heylor. He had no idea what he was saying. The magic he was invoking. I could have had him turn his followers into donkeys if I wanted to.”

“But you disarmed them instead. Incapacitating them so they could be arrested.” I say softly, the pain on his face clear as day. Brydon nods sharply, chewing his lip. After it all, he didn’t want his father harmed. Brydon was always too good for that man.

“Uh, yeah. But I had to sell it. Heylor was so pumped up on his own bullshit he believed that I was on board with his plans. It was weird, actually. Edris was the most sceptical of me. Especially when I fought so hard for them to banish Seff and not use him as a sacrifice. Edris was convinced that it was too large a risk. So I volunteered as a sacrifice.” He pauses his tale, swallowing against the hard lump in his throat. The room is silent, not a single being able to comprehend what he is telling us.

He turns to Lia, tears running unchecked down his ashen cheeks. “I didn’t know they were going to take you, High Eminence. I didn’t know…” Brydon’s voice fractures, and he sags in his chair.

He didn’t know his father would say yes.

Dear Gods, I want nothing more than to go find Heylor where he is being kept in the jails below the palace and tear him limb from limb. I want to kill him, slowly and painfully, and then bring him back to life—I am sure the method to do so is in the falyuk book—and then I want to kill him over and over again.

That he could do that—any of that—but specifically willingly sacrifice his son is evil, the likes of which I can’t begin to conceive. It takes all my childhood training in decorum and propriety to keep me in check. I rely on the reflexes of my upbringing to maintain a civil face—my impotent rage serves no purpose. Heylor’s future lies with the courts and the High Council—what remains of it at least.

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