Page 114 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Everinne’s gaze slid cautiously to the kralv. There was no mockery in his eyes, no condemnation. He was asking a serious question, expecting a serious response.
“Um…” She scraped her teeth along her bottom lip, considering. There was only one plausible reason a fox of any kind would be discovered by a healer’s dwelling. “The herbs?”
“Perhaps.” He unlocked the cell, and it groaned open, swinging wide. The fox’s fur stood on end as it lurched back onto its rear haunches. “However, I have reason to believe this little fox is a shifter.”
A shifter.
Trooping and solitary fae were not altogether rare, but much like the snow fox, they did not always exist in Prava. They were exclusive of other realms, made their homes in places where archaic power thrived, where they could be connected and bound to the earth and seasons, where the magic wasgood.
Not deadly.
Everinne eyed the fox carefully, noting the way its tail twitched, how its vivid blue eyes seemed too keen. “You think this fox is a solitary fae.”
It was not so much a question as a statement, but the kralv obliged her observation.
“Indeed.”
“How can you tell?”
Kralv Oldrich snapped his meaty fingers and the guard who’d led her into the dungeon stepped into the cell. He pulled a length of chains from his pocket and tossed it at the fox.
Everinne clamped one hand over her mouth as the poor little creature spasmed, as it attempted to climb up the wall, its claws not nearly strong enough to support its weight.
“You see, a normal snow fox would have no reaction to cold iron.” Oldrich tapped the brass key against the bars of the cell, and the loud clang caused Everinne to grind her teeth. “But a shifting fae, one of the fabled solitary, would recognize it as dangerous.”
He stepped back then and inclined his head, gesturing for Everinne to enter the cell.
She couldn’t get her feet to work, couldn’t get herself to move. It was like she was rooted in place, torn between right and wrong, knowing her hand was about to be forced. Clenching her fists at her side, she glared up at the kralv.
“What exactly do you want me to do?”
She wished she had never asked.
“Draw it out.” He stroked his beard in contemplation, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the way his lip curled. It couldn’t mask the cruel delight gleaming within the darkness of his eyes. “Make this fae show the truth of its nature, force it into its fair form.”
Everinne paled, all the blood draining from her face.
“What?” Beads of sweat licked the back of her neck, and she scrubbed her damp palms against the leather of her pants. She must have misheard. Surely the kralv wasn’t expecting her to do something so ruthless, so unforgiving. “I…I don’t know how.”
He didn’t even spare her a glance, his predatory gaze was so focused on the cowering snow fox. “Force the fae to shift, Everinne.”
His arm shot out and he grabbed her by the nape of the neck, his fingers digging into her skin.
She shrieked in surprise as she pitched forward, and the kralv shoved her into the cell.
“Now,” he demanded.
“Okay!” She straightened, cautiously taking one step toward the panting snow fox huddled into a grimy corner.
Everinne’s mouth ran dry and a breath wheezed out of her. She attempted to swallow the knot of dread clogging the back of her throat, but it felt as though she was choking on sand and ash. Never before had she forced a faerie to shift, she didn’t even know how such a thing was done, but she could only imagine the ramifications of compelling such a feat would be extreme. Lifting both hands, she carefully approached the snow fox, offering a tight-lipped smile to prove that she meant no harm.
They both knew it was a lie.
Everinne in her heart, where it constricted in agony.
The fox in its eyes, where shadows of fear haunted the brilliant blue.
She funneled her magic out slowly, tentatively, the scent of midnight lilacs permeating the air. The power of pain fell from her fingertips, silent and invisible, as it flowed from her into the fox. There was a yelp, a howl, as her magic pushed deeper. Further. Inky tendrils of violet and stormy black spilled from her open palms, pierced the cerulean blue of the fox’s eyes, absorbing all the color. Everinne winced, squeezing her eyes shut as the touch of death delved into the fae’s soul, moving through blood and bones, seeking the thread of wild, feral magic.
