These Twisted Bonds (These Hollow Vows, #2)(63)

“Like the bond?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I can’t track you or sense your emotions so directly. But it’s almost as if your power’s connected to me.”

“Your power’s stronger when I’m around, like mine is when you are?”

“No. Not stronger, but linked somehow.” He shrugs. “I don’t have any answers, but I won’t deny that I take a bit smug satisfaction knowing you feel it too. Even if it’s a bit different on your end.”

I study the stars. “I’m sorry if I delayed your trip to visit the High Priestess.”

“You didn’t. Lunastal hasn’t begun, so we have time.”

“I should be fine to go by morning.”

“Brie . . .” His silver eyes find mine. “I’ve changed my mind about you coming with us into the mountains.”

I sit up in bed, and the room spins a little. “What? No. Finn, you can’t go without me. You said yourself that she’ll only meet with someone who has the power of the crown.” I press a hand to my chest. “That’s me.”

“I won’t risk them snatching you while we ride through the forest, and neither Sebastian nor Jalek can come with us because of their Seelie blood.”

I shake my head. “I don’t need Sebastian. I’ll have you.” The words make me feel more vulnerable than I like, so I duck my head and add, “And the others.”

Finn studies the dark bedsheets. “There’s something else I need to talk to the priestess about,” he says, worry hanging on every word. “Another reason I’m hesitant to take you with us.”

I grab a pillow from beside me and clutch it to my chest. It’s soft and smells like pine and leather.

Like Finn. “What is it?”

He closes his eyes, and I take advantage of the moment to study his face in the moonlight—the sharp line of his jaw, the high cheekbones, his thick, elegant brows, and those dark curls that beg for my fingers. He’s always beautiful, but somehow more so in the starlight. When he finally opens his eyes again, he holds my gaze for a long moment before speaking. “Something’s wrong with me, Abriella. I don’t know if it’s connected to the disease that’s affecting the children or if it has something to do with the crown being tied to another heir.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

He studies me with such intensity I can practically feel his eyes pass over my neck, my jaw, my cheeks, and settle on the bow of my lips.

A warm shiver passes over me at the intensity in those silver eyes.

“I’ve become weak,” he whispers. “Not always. Sometimes I feel fine—most of the time, even.

But I’ve been having these spells where I feel like the very life has been sucked from me. I have no magic to draw on and very little strength.”

“Like when you were cursed?” I ask.

“No. It’s different.” His brow wrinkles as he considers. “With the curse, the magic was still here, just finite, scarce at times. What I’ve been feeling since Sebastian took the crown—it’s more like having the valve on my magic opened. As if it’s leaving me too fast, and for no reason.”

Life is magic. Magic is life. My chest aches as I imagine Finn’s power—his life being ripped from him. “Have you told anyone else?”

“Pretha and Kane know. I tried to hide it, but they’ve known me too long and too well. The days following a spell, my strength rebuilds, and I feel okay again.” His gaze drops to the blankets. “But I was powerless to help while those fire fae attacked. I couldn’t defend the city or get to you. I couldn’t do anything. If you were endangered in the mountains while I was having another spell, if you were hurt or captured because my magic failed me?” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to risk that.”

“Will the priestess be able to fix it—whatever’s wrong with you?”

“She’s not a healer, but I hope she’ll be able to identify what’s happening. If we know that, perhaps we can find a solution.”

“You don’t sound confident.”

“Each time I’ve had one of these episodes, I’m surprised to wake up the next morning. I keep expecting . . .”

My stomach twists painfully. “You think you’re going to fall into sleep, like the children.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

I wish he’d look at me. I suddenly need the reassurance of those silver eyes on mine. “Is it happening to anyone else?”

“No one has spoken of it, but I can’t exactly go around letting everyone know that their prince is —”

“Dying,” I whisper. “You think you’re dying.”

“Maybe.” The word is rough, like it’s jammed in his throat and he has to force it out. “In an ideal situation, the rulers of our lands will never die. They will simply choose to pass on to the Twilight.

When rulers approach the time to pass their power to their heir, there are signs that force their hand.

It’s believed that the gods do this so the courts don’t grow stagnant, so that no one ruler has power for too long. My father was nearing his time when he passed his power to you, and everything I remember, everything I’ve read about it sounds uncomfortably similar to what I’m experiencing.”