A glorified castle.

That is what stood before Iliya as she lingered along the gravel path, falling out of step with Mairin to gape.

After traveling for what felt like four to five hours, she was thirsty, exhausted, and overwhelmed by her own looming thoughts. They'd barely spoken in their travels, yet she could tell the spy was still peeking over her shoulder from time to time, observing her.

Just when she thought she couldn't take another moment of their endless trudging through mountainous hills and pine forests, they entered a clearing wrapped in stone walls and iron gates.

Iron.

To keep his own people out.

Iliya gasped at the ancient architecture, marveling at the beautiful estate.

Two stone pyres – one coming to a point and the other with a flat, grooved platform – stretched out of a two story mansion. Even with the property shielded by the Izskavi forest, giant evergreens stretching over the highest point, this massive building felt more like a home than a castle.

Iliya's gaze flickered to the wide exterior corridors skirting the stone walls, sweeping overhangs guarding outdoor hallways like she'd never seen before. The architecture made her smile to herself.

"Let's go."

Her attention snapped back to the disgruntled spy. Mairin's arms were crossed, her hip leaning against one of the many columns fortifying the mansion. Impatience distorted her features.

She was tempted to leave her standing there for another few seconds, until she noticed horses tied to a banister and dipped into her curiosity.

Slinking up the stairs, Iliya followed her inside.

An ornate, antique Foyer gave way to a sitting room on the right. Portraits lined the walls above a fireplace cavity, lodged in the corner with two chairs, an ottoman fixed between them.

"You're welcome to wait here," Mairin mused, smirking over her shoulder. "I can't promise he'll remember to fetch you though."

Irritation prickled through Iliya's skull, but she kept silent, remembering how simple it was to string up the spy in front of her. Surely she could do it again if need be.

As they stalked towards a grand doorway, Mairin pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at the sound of shattered glass.

Iliya blinked.

"This is not right! They are hunting on our land!" a man shouted.

"You've no proof of this," a smooth voice wended through the room like a rolling tide. Deep and powerful. "I would need to delegate resources an—"

"Then delegate! Send surveyors to the land, take witness statements, inventory the–"

That deep tone snorted. "Would you like to be King, Chieftain?"

Silent tension choked the air.

"Please continue to tell me how to do my job," he drawled, a subtle lilt curving his vowels. Bored. This man was certifiably bored. "I thought so. I'll send my Ambassador to the Wildlands for investigation but you'll need to provide a way through the wards."

"And risk the lives of my people?"

"Gods, Ashej," a woman sniped. "How is anyone supposed to believe you if you're so inflexible?"

Ashej – the Chieftain – swore.

The tension warmed Iliya's cheeks as Mairin pressed open the door quietly and ushered them in.

The Head of the table – a man appearing to be no more than thirty-five with short waves of ebony hair – shifted his attention to them. His irises reminded Iliya of living icebergs, glacial blue with piercing strikes of white. Those pillars seemed to glow in recognition as he glared at the gathering before him.

A long, oval table carved from the darkest wood offered a setting for three other members of a dwindling court.

Damien Ravellier stood abruptly, sighing. "You're dismissed."

"We haven't discussed the terms," Ashej argued.

"Father," a younger woman murmured, laying her hand on his fist. "Perhaps we should clear our minds of this for a moment."

The voice snapped something in her and she tore her gaze from the Fae male now sizing her up.

Iliya could've sworn the woman's accent mirrored Qudja's, but her cheeks were rounder, her features full. Her warm brown skin was even darker than the friend she'd come to know. Different, yet the same.

Damien glanced between her and the foreign youth, the edge of his lip quirking up.

"Ifinka, would you mind terribly if I asked you a question?" Her great-grandfather wondered aloud, glancing at the table.

Iliya shook her head, dread and confusion warring in her chest. She didn't mind, but she barely knew this man well enough for his casual tone.

And somehow Mairin was worried about her tone.

"Chiori Faire is still the only continent without wards, yes?"

Of all the questions she could've guessed, this wasn't one of them.

Her head bobbed. "Yes, Chiori stands without wards."

He made an odd chuff of approval before leaning against the table. "And how often would you say Chiori experiences border breaches?"

"Chiori Faire was founded to be home for all," Iliya stated calmly. "But for the sake of argument, our first breach was a month ago, the first in a decade."

Damien observed her, practically dissecting each and every word before smiling back at Ashej.

"And how was it handled?"

"Swiftly," she answered awkwardly. Her fingers pressed tightly against her jewelry. "My Cousin dispatched the trespasser with ease."

The king again nodded, lifting a brow to his council.

"Should you really require my assistance, you would be safe for a moon while we complete our investigation. If Chiori Faire can stand without infiltration for centuries, I know you will last a night or two. Think it over, send a missive if you must."

Ashej went to argue, but the young woman with him practically tore him from the room.

Damien turned to the final guest.

"Leave us, Isla."

A curvy woman strapped into riding leathers rose from her seat, knee-high boots laced over sleek black pants with several hidden sheaths on her thighs. Her corset smoothed the wrinkles from a pleated dress shirt, accentuating her body until she tugged her overcoat on.

Armed and lethal.

Isla nodded at Iliya and made a hasty exit.

Damien's attention flickered between her and the spy at Iliya's side.

He seemed to note the dirt crusted clothes, analyzing the red knick Iliya had left on Mairin's neck. His smirk only grew.

"Caught, were you?"

Mairin growled and shot her a glare. "She heard me in the woods."

"No," Iliya corrected, lifting a brow. "I knew you'd been following me since Chiori's dock. I simply tired of being stalked like prey."

The spy paled.

Damien chuckled and flicked his wrist at her. The final dismissal.

Mairin didn't seem pressed to comply, crossing her arms again as if she planned to defy him. Her stance tightened, her body stiff and rigid as he forced her to take one step.

Then another.

With magic.

Iliya watched as the young woman walked mechanically, her body trembling until the door slammed shut behind her. Her gaze shifted back to her great grandfather.

His dark brows drew together, confusion tightening a strong jawline. He looked much like Ezre, but yet not at all. Their piercing stares, while of different colors, could rival one another, their faces well defined. However, Damien's cheekbones were higher, more prominent, and the waves in his hair couldn't be farther from Ezres shoulder-length brown.

She continued to study him as she would any person, which side he favored, his posture, his facial expressions.

Iliya drank in all the information she could. Noticing how his right hand would drift for the weapon, his lips pressed together tighter when he didn't know what to say. Perhaps even to contain himself.

She would find every single tell until every lie had been exposed.

Seeming to read the thought, Damien sighed and let his shoulders drop, marking the corridors and hallways before sitting himself down on a short staircase at the back of the room.

Iliya's eyes widened as she realized a simple, ivory throne sat at the top of a small dias.

The platform was rounded with floor to ceiling windows, shining light across the room.

Their silence became uncomfortable and she shifted on her feet, self-conscious. After sailing for a week and a half, her clothing was disgusting and soaked with sea brine. It was a wonder he didn't throw her in the river immediately.

"You're awfully quiet," Damien mused. "I should let you rest."

She frowned, taking a few steps closer. "You seem like you expected me..."

"Oh, that," he said, lifting his gaze to her. "Likely because I did. I knew the second you boarded one of my ships. Who do you think offered it?"

Iliya's thumb clenched around the newly forged obsidian rings, spinning them nervously. Every ounce of courage drained back into the earth. He knew. He knew she was coming and he knew what she'd done then.

"Ifinka, let's get one thing straight. I do not think less of you for running, nor should you. Perhaps I would've reconsidered the damage to the Aphyre, but..."

Her heart pounded.

Damien knew everything.

"Why... Why do you keep calling me that? What does it mean?"

His smile soothed some tension. "In our tongue, it means grand-daughter."

He might be a few generations off in that regard.

"How...?"

"You have lots of questions, I have many answers, but you'll need your rest to navigate them, Iliya."

She was stunned.

Her words abandoned her as the man in front of her, the King of Toskapel, braced his elbows behind him on the stairs and nodded to their left.

A spiral staircase.

"The loft is yours."

"I don't understand..."

"Unlike my son, who'd prefer you were kept in the dark, I very much believe that knowledge is power. Anything you wish to know, I will tell you. But I'd like to make a deal with you."

Iliya could hear her heart thundering within her skull now, the dread creeping back in.

"A deal?"

Damien smiled. "You allow me to teach you how to use that knowledge. I hate to say it, Ifinka, but your choices need– some improvement."

It barely seemed a fair price at all. Both to her benefit, both offering truth and light.

"Thank you," she murmured.

A dark look crossed his face, but the anger wasn't for her as he spoke. "Never thank me for simple kindness," he replied softly.

More bellied those words, but she didn't think she wanted to know why.

"This situation is anything but simple."

"Taking you in, caring for your wellbeing, that is simple," Damien said. "The rest? Well, I suppose we'll figure that out. Now go, rest."

She couldn't argue with him, not with the seriousness dredging his words.

Iliya followed his gaze to the swirling staircase and began her ascent.