Bite Of Winter (Fae's Captive #3)(16)

Answers. She is offering answers, and I’m surprised my mouth isn’t watering at the prospect. I try to play it cool. “Oh, it does?” The words come out in a whoosh, not cool at all.

A few Vundi pass by, their eyes glued to the smoky gryphon that stalks along behind us.

She doesn’t seem to fault me for my eagerness. “Your stone was a gift.”

“To whom?” I feel like I would have remembered a glowing old lady with pointy ears handing me a magical necklace at a birthday party.

“Queen Aurentia.”

I stop, confusion gumming up my works. “What?”

“Given to her upon her ascension to the throne. Yes. A gift of the Vundi, one that should have cemented good relations between us. And I suppose it did for a while.” She nods and pulls me with surprising strength. “Keep up.”

I force myself into motion. “If you gave it to her, how the hell did I wind up with it?”

“That’s a good question.” She laughs again, and her gryphon caws lightly behind us.

Here I was thinking I’d finally get answers. Turns out, I just have more questions. Did Queen Aurentia see the necklace when I was there? Why didn’t she say anything about me wearing one of her jewels?

“Do you know what I am?”

“What are any of us?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Don’t do that. Wrinkles.” She smiles again, and despite her age, she’s still beautiful. Also, mischievous.

“So you aren’t going to tell me?”

“I have suspicions. One such as you was foretold, but how can anyone know the object of a prophecy until the prophecy comes true, eh? No one, that’s who.”

“You remind me of a witch I met.”

Her white brows furrow as we turn again, the underground corridors a maze. “Is that an insult?”

“Not at all. I rather liked her. And she helped me out.”

The air becomes heavier, humid and with an earthy scent. We must be getting close.

“I saw Cenet with an Obsidian blade. Was it the witch who gave it to you?”

“Yes. She also gave me a pea that dimmed my sparkle.”

“Hmmm. I did notice your aura is muffled, like someone threw a black blanket over you.” She sucks on her teeth. “She’s the one you should’ve asked all your questions. She’s danced with the magic of the otherworld even longer than I have, and on top of that, has the devious intelligence bred by the Spires.”

“Well, she went back to her cave and she told me to be scared of TMI—too much information.”

Delantis nods. “She was wise, and I’m impressed you made it out of that encounter with all your skin intact.”

I shudder. “I’m good like that, yeah.”

“Can you tell me about the prophec—”

“Here we are.” She turns into a wide carving in the rock and leads me along a walkway a few stories above a wide, flat cavern. Several football fields worth of dirt and crops expand into the distance, and light shines through shafts from above that hit the rows of plants perfectly.

Vundi workers walk along the rows or group around work stations placed at intervals.

My mouth may be hanging open a bit. “This is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“We can’t survive in the plains anymore. This was working for a while, but now we can’t produce enough to feed ourselves. Not since the plants began to die off.”

“What happened to them?” We ease down a set of stone stairs, and the gryphon takes flight and lands below us, its smoky white tail high in the air.

“We don’t know. Mainly because we aren’t farmers by nature. Centuries ago, we sent spies to the western farmlands who brought back basic farming knowledge as well as seeds and a few plants. From that, we were able to thrive. Until it all went bad.” She frowns at the wilted plants all along the rows we approach. “We keep ourselves hidden, never allowing outsiders to enter our caverns, so there’s no help. Only what we can do. And—” She motions to the failing greenery. “As you can see, we’ve reached the limits of our abilities.”

“You let us in. Surely, you could let the western farmers you mentioned come to help?”

She cocks her head to the side a bit. “The king of the winter realm is a little different than just anyone, especially when his changeling is the one thing that could save our people. You’re an exception. The rule is that we hide our numbers. It’s safer that way. No outsiders.”

The scent of rot is heavy here, the withering green stalks limp and barren.

“May I?” I gesture to the nearest plant. I don’t recognize it, but I assume horticulture works the same way here as on earth. After all, the plants grow in dirt, need sunlight, and have a rough irrigation system via narrow water ducts running in a grid through the fields.

“Go ahead.” She reaches out and strokes her gryphon’s feathers.

“What’s your gryphon’s name?” I kneel next to the nearest plant.

“Delantis.” She runs her finger down its beak.

“Oh.” I try not to sound as confused as I am and focus on the withered yellow leaves.

“She is me. My feral.”

I turn back to her. “That’s your feral fae?”