Page 89 of The High Mountain Court

“I did not know Baba Morganna lived for many years. I thought it was her midon brik”, the last stand of a witch, used to swap her fate with another, “I thought she was swapping her life for my own. All five of the other witches went that way: one by one, we were chased down, and each one sacrificed their life for my own. Heather was there when the last red witch fell, and she took me in. They sacrificed their lives for me.” Remy seethed against that pain. “They sacrificed their lives for a hope that even after thirteen years amounted to nothing.”

“No,” Hale said in an adamant voice. “Not for nothing. They pledged their lives to protect your family, and they died with honor, fulfilling that promise. That sacrifice is meaningful, powerful.”

“It is only powerful if I make it count for something,” Remy said with quiet wrath. “And I have done nothing but hide. I have not once dropped this glamour since I was six.” Hale’s eyes widened at her. “What?”

“I forgot that this is not your true form,” he said, shaking his head. She would not have been able to convince many that she was a human, since she could not glamour her witch magic the way she could her fae form. But with her red witch magic, it was easy enough for people to assume she was just that: a witch.

“I don’t feel fae. I don’t know that I want to feel fae,” Remy said more to herself.

“Can you do it? Can you drop your glamour?” Hale asked. “Are you ready to?”

Remy half grinned. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

Dropping her glamour meant facing who she really was, something she had been hiding and denying for the past thirteen years.

Hale put his hand on her knee and squeezed it. He didn’t need to say anything. She knew he didn’t care what form she possessed, that he saw her true essence through any glamour. He, of all people, knew what it meant to face the truth of who you are.

Remy reached for that flicker of fae magic, straining as if lifting with a phantom muscle, but she was pulling against nothing. The memory of her fae form was as fogged and distant as the images of her fallen family. She was a ghost even to herself. Her eyes searched desolately, scanning for that feeling inside her.

“It takes time to face it,” Hale said, as if reading her mind. “Permit yourself that kindness.” He idly stroked her back again. “And when you are ready, I will be there.”

Her heart clenched again at that. He would be there. He wanted to be there. She felt the tears welling again. Every time she thought she had cried herself dry, a fresh wave would rise.

“It’s too much,” Remy said, choking on her words. “I am the only person between the Northern King and the Immortal Blade.” She thought of her elder brothers, Raffiel and Rivitus, and of her little sister, Ruadora, and the weight her sister must also feel on top of her. Remy would do anything to keep her sister from feeling that same way.

“I had held out hope for so long of finding Raffiel,” Hale said. A tear slid down Remy’s cheek as she heard his name. He was twelve during the Siege. The memory of his face had faded, like looking through a fogged mirror. “Raffiel was a good person,” Hale said. “So unlike the other firstborns in the courts. He was the only one who treated me as an equal.”

More tears slid down Remy’s cheeks as she asked, “Do you remember my mother?”

Hale put his arm around her. “She could command an entire room with just one look, yet she was kind, gracious. She was the sort of leader any kingdom would want. She was hard but fair. She took up every space when she walked into it . . . just like her daughter.”

Remy allowed the sobs to come. She cried until there was nothing left in her to give to it. And then the voice of Baba Morganna came back into her mind, “Make enough ripples to last centuries.”

That was what she must do. If she wanted to protect her Fated, if she wanted to protect this love that now existed in her life, she would have to fight for it. And if she lost, at least it would be at the tip of her dagger and not hiding in some broken tavern. The world would keep coming for her, keep taking from her, either way. So she would take from the world, she would fight for her right to this happiness.

* * *

The sky was already darkening even though it was before dinnertime. They were almost there. Remy looked forward to the warmth of the inn Hale promised was up ahead. She wanted a greasy meal, a warm bath, and a soft bed with Hale in it.

Horse hooves clopping on the thin blanket of snow sounded from up ahead. Remy turned to the noise. It revealed itself to be four armored soldiers wearing the Northern Court crest.

“Curse the Gods,” Remy whispered, ducking her head so her black cloak fell further across her face.

Hale put a gentle hand on her back.

“Just keep moving,” he murmured.

Another horse and rider appeared in forest-green finery. Remy could tell who it was from a mile away based on that arrogant riding posture alone. Ash-blond hair and green eyes, tall and lithe, sitting stiffly upright on his sorrel steed was Renwick, Crown Prince of the Northern Court.

“Damn,” Hale echoed, clenching his hand in a fist. “Just play along.”

Remy adjusted the neckline of her cloak, making sure that her missing witch’s collar was not visible. Hale was the first to acknowledge the Northern Prince as though it were a pleasant surprise to run into him.

“Renwick!” he called with a wave.

The Northern Prince halted his horse in front of them. A cruel smile spread across his face. His eyes seemed to bore into Hale and then settled on Remy. Without the drinks and that red dress, she thought she may buckle under the weight of his stare.

“Hello again,” Renwick said unhurriedly. His eyes scanned Remy’s cloak as though he could see the missing witch’s collar. She feared in the cold light of day he could see her for who she really was.

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