Reflexively, my hand jerks back from his, but he holds tight. “No way,” I gasp. “I’m not dark.”
“Whatever boiled inside of you just now was very dark,” he says in a low voice. His gaze lifts and moves left to right to make sure no one is around before returning to me. “Did it come from your feather?”
“Yes,” I admit. “It burned badly, and I could feel it inside of me, and yeah… it did feel dark. Made me nauseous.”
Carrick straightens, pulling me across the bailey, over the moat bridge, and to the narrow path that leads away from the castle in the direction I know Arwen lives.
When we’re away from all other potentially prying eyes and ears, Carrick drops my hand but stays close. “If I had to guess, I think your twin either sent you power or you pulled on hers.”
My eyes bug out of my head. “You mean she still has power?”
Carrick shrugs. “I think it could be entirely possible that she retained some when it was being funneled from her to Kymaris, and we know that power was dark and twisted. It’s really the only thing that makes sense because we know you have angel light inside of you.”
I feel icky. “Is it still inside of me?”
Carrick shakes his head. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. I can’t feel the light Sarvel gave you, but I sure could feel whatever it was that you were getting ready to unleash on Deandra.”
Feeling a little wobbly, I give a tremulous smile. “Well, maybe Arwen can tell us something about it.”
“Let’s hope,” Carrick says, but he regards me with no small amount of concern.
“Then let’s bend distance, baby,” I tease, and it does what I intend. It makes him laugh.
He takes me by the hand, preparing to pull Arwen’s home to us. But then he stops, turning to me. “Before we go, you were saying you had figured out something back when we were talking to Nimeyah.”
My smile broadens as I nod. “Yeah… and actually, you sort of proved my theory with Deandra.”
“Which was?”
“I realized while you were dealing with Nimeyah that you’re the one with the power. I had thought it was her because you were so deferential to her the last time, but I realize you were playing a part. Today, you were being the real you, and she didn’t challenge you. Just as I know that you would have followed through on your threat to Deandra and her entire family if necessary.”
Carrick’s gaze holds mine.
“You’re the one who is most dangerous here in Faere. I suspect you’d give Kymaris a run for her money, too, but it’s my fight, not yours, because the gods would just command you to take her out.”
“I’ll be by your side. It’s both our fight.”
I give him another smile, and, to my surprise, he bends and kisses me.
An incredibly tender kiss, including a brush of my hair back to tuck behind my ear.
“Let’s go see Arwen,” he says, then holds his hand out once again.
I take it, and we move across Faere in the blink of an eye as Carrick pulls Arwen’s home toward us.
We step out onto a grassy area about twenty-five yards from Arwen’s domed hut. Her tripod cooking stand has a pot hanging from it, but there’s no fire underneath.
As we walk that way, I ask Carrick, “By the way… back at the castle, you asked Nimeyah not to say anything about what you told her, and she agreed to a binding. What does that mean?”
“It’s a spell only the gods and demi-gods can perform,” he advises me. “But when we have information to impart that we don’t want to be told to anyone else, we ask for a binding promise.”
“And it’s unbreakable?” I ask.
Carrick shoots me a sly look. “Oh, it’s totally breakable. But if Nimeyah tells anyone, then she’ll lose her tongue.”
I stop dead in my tracks, turning to Carrick. “You’re kidding?”
“Not kidding. Her tongue is mine if she breaks the promise and tells anyone.”
“Then why didn’t you do the same with Ozigeor?” I ask.
“Because it’s not for humans?”
“Why not?”
Carrick sighs with slight exasperation. “I don’t know the reasoning for everything. The gods created the spell. It was handed to the demi-gods. It’s only to be used on gods, demi-gods, fae, and daemons. While Ozigeor is immortal, he is still a human through and through.”
“Huh,” I huff, finding that fascinating.
“Although,” Carrick continues with an ominous tone but teasing in his eyes. “I have no qualms about cutting out a human’s tongue on my own if he divulged something I had asked him not to. In Ozigeor’s instance, it would be his head and balls.”
“You’re scary sometimes,” I say. “But it’s also effective and kind of hot.”
Carrick smirks and nods toward Arwen’s hut. “Let’s go visit Arwen and then get the hell out of here.”