Page 40 of Wolf Caged
But Chase and Morden.
They would seek out a way to reach this world in order to take me back.
Morden in particular.
He took his position as my protector seriously, and if he discovered what had happened to me, what Lucas had done to me, he would feel responsible for my predicament. He would want to save me, even when I wasn’t sure I needed saving. I had a way back to my pack, and I could do it. No matter how long it took to pay off my debt to Kaeleron. It was time I learned to stand on my own two feet and take care of myself rather than relying on my family and my pack.
And some small part of me that was growing louder each day wanted to stay here and see more of this world.
“The little lamb grows quiet,” Kaeleron murmured, canting his head to his left. “Do you tire of my company?”
“No.” My denial came out quickly, and it wasn’t a lie.
This evening with him had been pleasant, almost normal, and I wanted more of it, wanted to stay right where I was and see what happened next.
Was that selfish of me?
That deep-rooted part of me that missed my pack said that it was, that I wasn’t where I belonged and I should be finding a way to escape and return to them. That part of me that craved adventure, had longed to see beyond the borders of my family’s lands, wanted to scream a denial and plant my feet to the stones of Lucia and refuse to leave until I had seen what was out there.
“Would you answer some questions for me?” I asked.
He poured himself another glass of wine.
I took that as permission.
“The chandelier in the stairwell… is it magic? It was beautiful. Like all of this above us.” I looked there, watching the flecks of golden light dancing across the ceiling and the globes of the chandelier wind around the vines. “This is magic, isn’t it?”
His eyebrows lifted, as if he was surprised to hear I found something in his world beautiful.
“A simple use of the power of this land. We often use magic to illuminate our homes, especially those in the highborn families, where magic runs stronger in our veins.” He pressed the tip of a pale finger to the rim of his full glass and I gasped as the wine drained from it only to appear in my empty one. “Magic has its uses.”
“And it comes from the land?” I couldn’t imagine what kind of world had magic laced through everything in it, there for people who could wield it to use as they saw fit. Witches had innate magic, a limited well of it inside themselves that they could draw on, but Kaeleron made it sound as if there was magic for the taking here and the fae could draw it to them.
He nodded. “Lucia grants us power, and we feed that power in return, performing rites that restore some of the magic to the land and also to us.”
Rites. I wanted to know more about those, and would ask about them later, because in my head, I was picturing him in a white druidic robe chanting at the sunrise over monolithic stones. I highly doubted that was the kind of rite he was talking about. Another image flashed in my head, this one of him bare-chested and stood before an altar, and upon it was a bloody sacrifice.
I shoved that right out of my head, refusing to let the vision unfold, not wanting to see what my mind put in the position of sacrifice.
“And highborn families have more of it? Does that mean you have the most?” I sipped the wine and it tasted the same as it had when I had poured it from the jug. “Is the magnitude of your magic the reason why the aura of power that surrounds you grows so strong at times that I feel I can’t breathe and I’m being squashed?”
He slowly nodded.
“I have the most in this court, and Jenavyr is second to me.” His gaze narrowed on me, a flicker of curiosity in it. He wanted to see where I was going with my questions and it was amusing him.
I had the feeling not many people in his court bothered talking with him like this.
Or he didn’t allow them to speak so freely with him.
“The most inthiscourt.” I frowned at his choice of words. “Other kings are stronger than you?”
“Our high king is the most powerful,” he said and refilled his glass. “But few others match my strength.”
“How many courts are there?” I leaned towards him and rested my elbow on the table, propping my chin up on my palm. “I take it a high king reigns over all the other kings?”
“So curious. I could believe you a cat if I did not know you were a wolf.” He smirked and sipped his wine. “There are nine courts of the unseelie and the high king presides over all.”
“And how many do the seelie?—”
