When she woke, the sun had risen, and she found herself wrapped tightly in a heavy blanket. She was still on the couch, her head resting on a cushion she did not recall being there when she fell asleep. Across from her on the opposite couch sat the lich, his head bowed over his steepled fingers, his fingertips resting against his forehead and his elbows on his knees.
"I forgot how slow your heart beats," he said almost too quietly for her to hear. "It took a long time for the drug to clear your system." He was not looking at her, instead, he appeared to be watching the floor. She felt confused, groggy, and unable to really focus on him.
"I don't understand," she mumbled, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.
Looking down, she noticed that her skin had dried and tiny cracks had opened in the joints. She must have been out for days if her host was cracking already.
He did not reply; instead, he stood and crossed the room to fetch her a mug of water. She took it from him eagerly, gulping down the liquid. When she finished it, he refilled it.
She did not much like that he seemed to be able to read her mind, but she let it go for the moment, trying to get her sluggish brain to start working again.
"What happened to Sasha?" she asked finally. She kept her eyes lowered as she flexed her fingers to get the cracks to stick back together.
"She was murdered by an unknown entity. Whomever it was appeared to have killed her out of spite," he said dispassionately.
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. She might have been able to save Sasha had she been there, but she had been out socialising and playing around with the grey man.
"Had you been there you would have been lying dead alongside her," he snapped, glaring down at her.
She could only shake her head, sipping the last of her water from the mug. She set it in her lap. She could have protected Sasha. She knew it.
"Whoever this was, they were an assassin. Powerful both magically and physically. The stench of magic was all over that room, and it was not your magic. It was similar but tasted different."
She did not know magic had a taste, the thought almost made her laugh. Perhaps she was delirious.
"Rest for now, you are safe in here. No one can enter these rooms without my presence. Not even my brother or the guards."
Lifting her eyes from the mug, she took in the room. After a moment, she realised that he had brought her to his own suite. It was packed with books, everywhere. On every available surface, in towers and piles, on chairs, and she was alarmed to see that he had even stacked them inside the empty hearth.
His suite was the same as hers though bigger and it did not appear to have a room for a servant. His bedroom door was open, and she shivered at the sight of his bed, not entirely comfortable with that. He had threatened to make her his lich bride. Besides, did lich sleep?
"Whoever is after you knows where you live, so, for now, you will stay here. There is no arguing on that matter. You are too valuable," he said, cutting off her attempted protest.
He did not wait for an answer. He left the room and shut the door firmly behind him. She was left alone in the fire hazard that was his room.
She did not like the idea of someone being after her. Someone had been after her for the last nine centuries, but she hoped it was not him. She really did not want to think he was that close.
How long had she been in Ayathian? She thought it had to be close to a month. That was plenty of time for him to track her down. But would he be bold enough to attack her inside the castle? She did not know, but she did not want to find out.
***
The hours trickled by in Epharis's absence. After she had refilled the mug three more times, she felt somewhat better, enough that she moved slowly around the room, examining the books and picking one of them up. She had it upside-down at first, but she quickly realised that and turned it up the right way, looking over the strange plant on the page. It looked like a waterlily leaf, but the words made no sense to her.
Setting the book down, she continued her examination, but boredom was getting the best of her, so she started to build.
Stacking the books around the couch in piles of matching type, she successfully set the last book down on the roof of her little house and wriggled inside. With a faint smile, she held a large book on her lap.
Epharis finally deemed her worthy of his presence. He came and stood for a long time staring at the book house she had built. He watched her fingers trace over the illustration, but she could not figure out what it was. It was some sort of device with a glass cylinder and a large amount of wood for the frame, but she could not make heads or tails of it.
"What do you think you are doing?" he asked, sounding shocked.
"Reading," she said sheepishly, glancing up only enough to see his legs through the doorway.
He did not speak at first. He crossed the room to her, snatched the book from her lap, and turned it on its head. The device was a tank of some sort. She felt the blush creep up her cheeks, but refused to look up.
"You can't read," he said flatly. No judgement, no condescension, just a statement of fact.
She did not reply, looking down at the page with the hope that if she stared down at the words for long enough, they might simply divulge their secrets. They did not.
With a sigh, the lich picked up a quill and parchment, swept the books off a small table, and placed the paper and quill on the surface.
When she did not hear a crash, she looked at the books and found that they were simply hanging in the air, floating in the exact height of the table he had swept them from.
She stared at them for so long that he coughed to get her attention. She looked back at him, eyes wide. He had written a long string of letters on the page. First, she looked down at the black, spiky looking characters, and then up at him.
"This is the alphabet," he said curtly, taking on a lecturing tone. His hands clasped behind his back and when she looked back down at the letters, he gave a long-suffering sigh and turned the page around so that the letters were at the top of the page. "We will begin with this. Follow after me."
***
And so, began her long and exceptionally painful lessons in reading the common language.
It was a lot harder than she had realised and she found it was easier to speak it than it was to read it, especially given the words seemed to change meaning when coupled with other words. She had never realised that the two were spelt the same way, though spoken entirely differently. Not only that, but each new generation of humans seemed to add to the collection, and that made it even harder to keep up with.
But the lessons did help her with her grief, and that seemed to be his main purpose for teaching her. Not to educate her but to distract her, and if he caught her with tears in her eyes, he shoved a book at her and demanded that she read the first chapter by a predetermined time or he would use the book to hit her on the head.
For weeks they remained in the room. He drilled her on how to spell words, and when he was satisfied, he graduated her to full texts. The weeks turned into months, and then into even more of them.
He seemed quite pleased with her progress, and she was glad for her newfound ability, perhaps even a little grateful for his efforts, though she was not going to tell him that.
Whenever she grew hungry, he had food brought in. He would watch her clinically as she killed the men and women. The one time he brought in a child, his eyes watched her, wide in fascination.
She reacted violently when she saw the little boy, perhaps nine or ten, and very dirty. One glance at the boy was all it took for her to launch herself backwards as though she had been bitten. She crammed her body in between the hearth and a bookshelf to ensure the boy could not so much as see her.
Her reaction had Epharis scrambling to kick the boy back out of the room. He had said nothing about the incident. It was the one and only time he had brought in a child, and she never offered him an explanation for her behaviour.
It was an unspoken law for her people, not to kill children. It was taboo in the extreme. It was not done, ever. If you were found to have killed a child, then you would be immediately executed by the first mythical to get their hands on you. It did not matter how dire the circumstances or how close to death you were. You did not kill an innocent child. There were supposed to be no side effects to killing a child; it was like any other soul. But the mythicals were weird when it came to children. They revered them and they all knew why, though no one mentioned it. It did not matter the species of the child, they were never, ever to be touched.
After Epharis decided she was competent enough, he moved her on to experimenting by following the instructions in the books. That was when she started to get nervous.
He had given her a large supply of tools and ingredients, all of them stored in the spare room that had been empty up until that point.
She skimmed through the pages to find one that she thought looked interesting. It was the same potion he had given her to help her sleep. She set to work.
It was not hard, though she occasionally had to ask him for clarification on a word she did not recognise. In the end, she felt the potion had turned out quite well. So much so that Epharis offered to consume it himself, and when she offered it to him, he drank it without question.
It was two days before he woke up. When she saw him jerk upright from where she had dragged him into the sitting room, she laughed at his confused, angry expression.
"A bit strong for you, lich?" she taunted.
She ducked as he pelted a book at her, something he had done to her on many occasions. He had a tendency to throw things at her if she made a mistake. It was a very effective means of stopping her from making the mistake again, especially after the first time a book had smacked into the side of her head causing her to drop acid on her legs.
It had taken over an hour for the muscles, tissue, and part of her kneecap to regrow. She had not spoken to him for a week after that.
***
By the time he allowed her to leave, she had lost track of time passing. She was at first confused by the people in the castle who were wrapped up in thick furs and heavy coats. That struck her as odd, but it was not until she passed a window and saw that the world had turned white that she made the connection. It was winter, and that meant at least three months had passed since Sasha had died. She was entranced by the little spots of white that fell from the heavy clouds above.
She had never seen anything like it, though she had heard that the world turned white with winters in the south. She was so captivated by it that the low voice took her by surprise.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said gently, standing a good foot back from her in case he startled her, and she attacked him. She could not tear her eyes off the moving world outside the window, but she had caught the scent of drow and she recognised the voice.
"What is it?" she asked, leaning so close to the glass that her nose nearly touched it.
"Come and see," he said evasively.
Turning away from the window, she followed him out of the castle. The world was surprisingly cold and yet it was not unpleasant. Stepping out of the castle doors, the air was starkly different, and she had to wonder if the castle had been enchanted to keep the interior warm.
Lifting her hands, she watched the tiny spots landing on her skin and melting away, leaving a tinted spot of moisture on her skin. It was ice, falling from the sky.
"They call it snow. It happens when it starts to get cold," Izziah said gently.
She could feel his eyes on her, watching her as she stretched out her arms and smiled at the little pats on her skin. "Have you never been this far south before?"
Shaking her head slightly, she blinked as a shower of white flakes fell from her hair, dusting her skin and clothing in white that quickly turned to water.
"We did not have this in Faerie, nor in the north where I lived." She had spoken without really thinking of the words, but he was not surprised. Most of her kind were born in Faerie or had at least lived there for a time.
"You were born in Faerie?" he asked casually, but she thought it sounded forced.
"I was. My family were outcasts," she said to cover up her slip. The snow felt like kisses on her skin and the chill was delightful, waking up her senses and her body at the same time.
"Etani, I know who you are. You do not need to lie to me."
His words hit her like a physical blow and she dropped her hands, turning to look at him slowly.
"Who I am?" she asked. "I am nobody Izziah." It was mostly the truth; she had been a nobody for her entire life. At least, she was nobody important to a man like him. To her people, she was simply a problem that needed to be dealt with. To the prince, she was a valuable tool, and she was just another half-breed to the Winter Court. To Alaric, she was a valuable collectable that had slipped through his fingers, but she could not fathom what value she might have to Izziah.
"Etani, you're a Princess of the Winter Court," he said.
It took her several long seconds simply to take in his words.
"What?" she said, her manners forgotten, and she almost laughed, that was utterly absurd. All of the Princesses of Winter were in Winter, they did not leave the place.
She half-smiled, but at his flat expression, the smile melted away like the snow on her skin.
"Your father Lutheral, he was the Prince of the Winter Court, the only child born to the queen. He could not rule because he's male, but you are his child and you're female. You're in line for the throne." Her head was beginning to spin, and she shook it slowly. He picked every word carefully, making sure she did not miss a single one. "The court doesn't know you exist, he never told them. But if they find out who you are, they will take you back."
How did he know her father's name? How could he possibly know any of that?
"How do you know his name?" she demanded, defensive and growing angry at this horrible, cruel game he was playing with her life.
"It was not all that hard to find if you knew what you were looking for. A fae lord who decided to dilute the species without permission? No, that was so rare as to be almost laughable, the fae don't procreate outside the species unless it's to ensure there is no loss of magic or risk of inbreeding. There had been a rumour though, the prince who was said to leave the palace for long periods at a time without leaving Faerie. It was assumed he had fallen for a Summer woman and was off with her. But he made a mistake and had made an enquiry as to the validity of a half-breed daughter taking the throne. How he could protect her from being eaten alive by the court. How he could protect her from his mother. The queen never believed the rumours, she believes all men to be liars and inconsequential outside their ability to bring more female fae into the world. She did not ever believe or even acknowledge that he would be so stupid as to displease her by breeding with another species." Izziah could see her anger and disbelief. Her cheeks flushing as she considered the consequences of ripping him apart. He swallowed hard. "There was a portrait found in his rooms. A white-haired woman with grey eyes, and two girls with midnight black hair. Twins, one with vivid green eyes, and the other with blue."
Her legs gave out, and she plopped down into the snow on her backside, her head spinning. He rushed to her, but she shoved him away when he attempted to comfort her. This was impossible. It was a lie. How could he possibly know? How could he know any of that? Her father's name? What her mother looked like? That Letari had green eyes?
She felt like she was going to vomit as she tried to process it all. How was it possible that she…? The princesses were the most valuable, precious commodities to the courts. They were beyond valuable. They were the survival of the court. If there was no queen, the court would die, and the human world would die with it. Everything would simply end. There had to be a queen in all four courts, there was no question about it. So how was it possible that they would allow a single one of those precious creatures to escape? They wouldn't. There was no way the queen would ignore the rumours that her only son had produced a female child. There was no way she would ignore the possibility of a direct descendant. Would she?
She was breathing hard, hyperventilating. Her fingers had gone numb, her mind reeling as she recalled a memory of her father.
He was so handsome and strong, with vivid blue eyes and a huge smile that showed off tiny little sharp canines. Pale with a shock of black hair that was wild around him.
"Now Etani, you need to remember who you are, my little princess. You're everything to me, you're everything to all of us." He had told her, but she had only been five and had not understood. He had told her what she was. She had just thought he was being playful, being the adoring man that he was.
Izziah pulled her to her feet and helped her back inside. Her body trembled as she tried to come to terms with this information, tried to come to terms with how much danger she was in.
"You can't tell anyone, Izziah," she said as the shock began to wear off and the realisation of the threat sank in. Reaching for him, she grasped the front of his jacket, staring up into his bright silver eyes. "Not your brother, not anyone. No one can know this; you must destroy all of the information you have. They can never know of me; the king must never find out."
He nodded quickly, seeing the panic in her eyes.
Should she kill him? That seemed like the best option. But no, it would draw too much attention to him and then to her. She could not have more eyes on her. Besides, she liked him, he seemed to like her, and she thought that he would likely be useful in the future.
"I will say nothing to anyone," he breathed, his face close to hers.
"Thrice," she said as her fingers slipped into his hand, her gaze a challenge.
He knew she was demanding his silence, that if he promised it three times that he would be physically incapable of sharing the information, and she refused to let go of him.
He met her eyes, and she saw the fear. He knew what it meant. Even if he was not a member of the fae, she could bind him just as effectively as if he was one. His wrist twisted as he clenched his fingers around her hand in a grip that was almost painful.
"I will not speak of this," he whispered three times, his eyes locked on hers.
A warmth spread through her, starting where their hands touched and creeping up her arm until it filled her body. The promise was there. It was sealed, and he would never be able to break it. She could release him from it, but she wouldn't, and they both knew it. Letting go of him, her fingers tingled, but she ignored it.
"Thank you, Izziah," she breathed, confused for a moment when he did not let go of her. Instead, he shifted his grip until their fingers were linked together.
"Anything for you," he murmured.
She saw his desire to give her the title she deserved, but his tongue refused to form the word. His smile turned wistful, but then he released her.