Page 48 of Cursed Shadows

“And now, it’s time to learn some of those secrets.” Anona stands and approaches me, her legs straining to keep her upright in the shaking truck. I momentarily wonder why Baron didn’t offer theTruth Serumwhen he knew I was just as eager as he was to have my memories returned to me.

But that thought is banished when I feel Dravon beside me, one huge hand on the back of my head and the other at my jaw. He pinches my mouth and forces it open. I try to pull away from him, but he’s too strong. Anona removes a dropper from the vial and holds it steady above my mouth. Two drops of theTruth Serumfall against my tongue.

The serum tastes bitter, like unripened berries, and my jaw aches in response to the sour drops. Dravon releases me and I wish I had my hands free to massage the pain away. I resort to glaring at him.

Anona returns to her side of the truck and puts the dropper back into the bottle. She replaces the vial with a smug expression. “First question. We’ll start with an easy one. Where’s the bug?”

Without even a moment to stop them, the words come flying out of my mouth. “He’s on his way to findRiverine!” The confession practically falls out of me, leaving me defenseless. I’m left gasping. I want to clasp a hand over my mouth—to stuff the information back in. Then, from beside me, I feel a nudge. Baron’s shoe touches my foot but I’m not sure if the touch is accidental. I fight the urge to look down.

His shoe taps me three more times.

He’s awake.

Suddenly, an image of the first time I met Baron drops into my head. I remember him saying he was an expert in poisons. And that he was immune to the effects of certain types… Hope rushes through me, and Anona doesn’t seem to register my sudden change in mood. Now, I can only pray that Baron can execute some sort of plan before I blurt out any other secrets.

“Ah, so youhaveseen the sprite, then? Pretty little liar.” Crossing her legs, Anona puts her hand to her chin. “What else aren’t you telling me?” She leans forward again, her focus intense.

“N… nothing,” I manage.

“What does Variant want from you?” she demands.

My mouth begins to form the shape of my next sentence, but before I can get any words out, a voice inside my head tears through my thoughts.

NO!she shrieks.

It’s the same voice that’s acted as my companion since I found myself alone and running from something. The woman’s voice has warned me away from danger; she’s told me who I can and can’t trust. And, because of that, I trust it.

I clench my mouth shut and I close my eyes, pushing hard against theTruth Serumwhich commands me to speak. The words hang, perched on the tip of my tongue and I have to fight hard to hold them back.

A look of anger and impatience flashes across Anona’s face. “It’ll be easier for both of us if you cooperate.”

Beads of sweat form on my forehead and my eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. I suddenly feel exhausted.

“What does Variant want from you?” Anona demands again.

This time, the voice in my head rebels so violently, it’s her voice that speaks rather than mine.

“Silvanus!” she shouts.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SILVANUS

Fae Realm

A deer rots upon the forest floor, flies dancing between the saliva strings of the scavengers who come to pick at its flesh. When they depart, the remaining hair and bones will dissolve into the earth, providing a feast for the worms. The soil will grow rich, plants will sprout from its fertile womb, and more deer will come to eat the leaves that grow from the trees that emerge there.

Such is the way of things. Birth and death, happening side by side for all eternity.

But eternity is a mere extension of time.

And time is a mortal concept—a construct meant to measure that which is infinite. And yet, its creators are slaves to the very idea they themselves constructed. It traps them, binds them, blinds them.

For a forest, there is no such thing astime. A tree does not know its age. It does not anticipate its death, nor does it expect its rebirth. The forest is a single entity, in a constant state of growth and decay, its processes occurring with no ideological constraints. It existed before time was invented, and it will continue long after all those who track time’s passing have vanished from this earth.

I bow to a different master, of course. One that does not measure in minutes, or months, or centuries. This master cares only for balance, and the eventual return to stasis. I do not operate on the schedule of mortals,unlesstheir actions threaten the balance of all living things.

Silvanus!

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