âYes, this is a war zone. Yes, blood has been spilled here. A warning: It has never been mine.â
â Salma Deera, Medea Dares You (via writingwillows)
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@iambecomcdeath
âYes, this is a war zone. Yes, blood has been spilled here. A warning: It has never been mine.â
â Salma Deera, Medea Dares You (via writingwillows)

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Adrienne Rich, Planetarium
asterfairbank¡:
âI think if a stuffed bird could bring me luck Iâd have a lot more of them.â He said, but he knew he wouldnât get rid of it. It was, at the very least, a funny story, getting it from Rowan. And he knew he wasnât likely to get anything like this from her again, either, so even if it didnât necessarily bring luck, it was still special. He noticed his grip on the bird tightening a little unintentionally, and he allowed it to loosen, hoping that she hadnât noticed. It was stupid, to actually look like you gave a shit about things like that, he thought, especially in front of someone who was so cool. Or intimidating. Or both. âRight, well, Iâve got this, and thatâs good enough, I think.â He nodded at the bird. âWho needs more than one of these anyway?â He looked around, and shook his head. âIâm pretty shit at all of them, really. I like the rides better.â
âWell, if youâve never had a stuffed bird before, how would you know?â Rowan asked, the corner of her mouth hitching up in an amused smirk. âThis might be the start of a whole new thing for you, you know. Are you ready? Are you prepared? Can you handle the bird?â she continued playfully taunting him. Itâs true, it would be a funny story to say that the death fairy gave you an Angry Bird as a gift, especially if the details were left out. Rowan was pleased with the amusement it conjured in her head. She noticed that he tightened his grip on the birdâever so slightlyâbut didnât give him shit for it. It was, actually, a little endearing. She didnât mention that, either. âThe One True Angry Bird,â Ro nodded sagely. âToo bad, I would have taught you how to cheat one. Any ride you havenât been on yet that you want to?â

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Real magic can never be made by offering up someone elseâs liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.
The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle
heartlines on your hand
herownwildwhisperâ:
Her hand was still for a beat â and then Ivy drew it back, not wanting Rowan to feel uncomfortable. âNo, Iââ still feel it, she wanted to say, but her thoughts were interrupted with a notion she hadnât felt the shape of in a long time: sheâd been this way, once. No magic. No second skin, no shadowsong to accompany her heartbeat, no steady hum singing through her bones, connecting her to something bigger, grander, than the sum of her own parts.
It had to be terrifying for Rowan, who had never known anything else.
âI still feel it,â she said, but she kept pity out of her voice.
âIt wouldnât surprise me if it has â itâs not really a patch, anymore, itâs.. a field. Like it targeted the arena. Like itâs sentient, orâ controlled by something else.â They were fey, but sentient fucking grass still felt ridiculous, even by their standards.
But⌠If Rowan stayed near the grass, would it take more than just her magic? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, ice-cold and traitorous â Rowan would live, sheâd make fucking sure of it. Anything else wasnât an option.
âLetâs get you out of here. I donât want it to do anything worse to you.â
Rowan was too distracted to pay too close attention to the pause in Ivyâs words when she said she still felt it; normally, that was something sheâd pick up on and pry about, but in this moment, it was just welcome news. Not everyone was affected. The depth and trouble of the issue wasnât fully seeping in, not just yet; right now, the news that Ivy still had magic came only as a relief. That relief waned, however, the longer Rowan sat there, feeling like she was choking on air, unable to feel her own body. Like all the light in it had gone out and she was a ghost town.
âSentient fucking grass,â Ro said the words for her, thinking the same ridiculous thing. âOf course. Why not.â
Ivy was kindly tugging at Rowan, trying to help her to her feet and get her out of there. If Ivy was giving away too much of herself, Ro didnât notice that, either. Then again, in that particular department, Ro was pretty much headblind. She could notice a change in attitude thirty yards out by the shift of a stance, but when it came to flirting of any sort, sheâd blocked so much of that out of her life that she didnât even know what it looked like any more. All she knew were one night stands. So if Ivy felt revealed, Ro didnât pick up on it. She shakily got to her feet and leaned into Ivyâs support, letting the other fey take her away.
ravenfairfieldâ:
He glanced down at her, not answering what he assumed was a rhetorical question. If Rowan wanted to keep a woman, she couldâŚsheâd done it before. It wasnât exactly her fault that the relationship ended. Part of him was surprised by how deeply loyal his partner still was to their queen after how all of that played out, but they didnât really talk about it. It was as taboo a topic as his family. They both knew what had happened, it didnât need to be discussed further.Â
Do you ever feel old? Why do you stay a shadow? They were very different questions but had similar answers. Heâd grown up too fast, lost too much too young. He didnât know how to do anything else. âYeahâŚI feel old. But blowing shit up helps me recapture my youth,â he teased. It wasnât the real reason he stayed a shadow, but it was a perk. âWhat else am I gonna do? Iâve got a specific skill set and Iâm good at it. Not as good as you, maybe, but I donât see anyone else lining up to take our places. Even if I wanted to retire, which I donât, I wouldnât leave the court vulnerable. Iâve got your back, Ro. Always. Just like I know you have mine. Iâm gonna trade that in forâŚwhat?âÂ
He sighed, wondering if Rowan was considering retirement now that the magic seemed to have abandoned them. It wasnât that he couldnât do the job alone, but he didnât really want to. Heâd never really admit it to anyone, even the woman beside him, but he didnât want to lose the connection they had. It wasnât his job to fix the magic, he had no idea how to do it, but suddenly it felt as though he had to find a way to do just that if he wanted to keep his life the way he liked it.Â
âFuck. This is a goddamned mess, isnât it? Quit hogging the whiskey.â
âHereâs to blowing shit up,â Ro replied, lifting the whiskey and taking the first swig herself just to fuck with him. He was the explosives expert, not her, but the sentiment remained wholly. There was something in what they did that, for all its horror, was just a product of necessity. And so it was normal. And their skills did still remain, even when the magic was gone. She wasnât able to hear that earlier, but there was a small solace in it. He could still blow shit up. She could still dissect a man while he was still alive. There were small things. It wasnât enough, but it was something. Which was better than nothing the fuck at all.
âYouâre plenty good at making shit go boom, and youâre better at investigation than me, and that definitely counts for something.â It was a compliment. They both needed it. And they both were too devoted to leave the Court in shambles, magic or no. Ro just hoped sheâd feel less empty some day and this had only exacerbated the issue. Having Ravenâs camaraderie, thoughâthat helped. Just enough. Just enough to keep going until tomorrow. âYou know Iâve got yours.â She had to confirm it before passing the whiskey.
Leap of Faith
camelliafairchildâ:
âNot pity.â She replied. Not biting, not fierce, but a solid statement. One that didnât waver, didnât show any signs of hesitation. Camellia hoped Rowan would be proud of that - perhaps later on, once the other was not so very stressed and in distress as she was now - but the glint of optimism that existed for Camellia shown through, even if her face didnât show it. You would and should be proud of me.Â
When she saw Rowan begin to move away, Camellia wanted to take back her hand. Because it was against her nature to invade the privacy of others -
- at least, the privacy of those who she cared about. (Because, of course, she invaded the privacy of those unsuspecting all the time.) But Rowan had asked her to touch her, asked her to experience the emotions she so often kept hidden away from the world. She kept her touch soft, gentle - the least invasive she could be (which was ironic - impossible, when her touch told her everything about the other).
She did her best to steady herself from the incredible onslaught of emotions that flooded her. For someone as good at hiding emotions as Rowan was, the older fey certainly had an incredibly complicated depth of them. But Camellia didnât fall, didnât even so much as waver (years of practice, and emotions ranging from anxiety to anguish affected her, but she was more and more able with each passing year to deal with them). Besides, she had figured that if she showed too much of a reaction, Rowan might pull herself away and then theyâd be back even before square zero, and that was exactly the opposite of what Camellia wanted, and exactly the opposite of what both of them needed.
Whatever had properly begun in May needed to continue, whatever halfway truce they had, whatever bond they were starting to form.
Worry about the Hand going away. Worry about everything she was. Her value to the Court.Â
For a moment, Camellia choked on her own breath, trapped by Rowanâs feelings, but then she found it in herself to steady her body, lest that cause either of them more trouble.
âI understand.â She said, giving a small nod. No âI thinkâ in front, even though sheâd thought as much. Firmness in what she believed was the very first step to success, after all. âI am here. Not for pity, but I am here.â
Rowan didnât know what she expected. Or what she wanted, either, for that matter. She didnât want pity and she wasnât given any, but the emotions for which Camellia was notoriously known werenât pouring out of her, either. Rowan sat there, hands snaking through her own hair, burying her face away from the younger fey, almost repulsed by how much sheâd shared. She pulled away. Sheâd given up so much of herself and while she knew that Camellia experienced those same emotions she herself felt, she still felt a million miles away.
For once, this wasnât about Camellia. It wasnât about trying to make her a stronger person, a better person, a better ruler. It was about Rowan and for once in her life she wanted someone to move the hair out of her face and commiserate. To give back to her, after all the sacrifices and giving sheâd done, the duties sheâd always fulfill, the promises sheâd always keep. Sheâd given until she was this empty. No one poured anything into her any more. Only Caora was that to Rowan and she was long gone. There was no one left to understand her in the same way. No one left to be proud of her. No one left who knew how to comfort her. To say something to make it all okay enough to go on for another day.Â
And somehow all of those feelings made everything worse.
âIâIâthis was a mistake.â Rowan should have given Camellia something back, some thank you for trying, but she could barely get words out. Her whole life was flashing in front of her and she just had to trust that somehow the magic would take care of itself without her. Camelliaâs firmness was a good thing in a ruler and she felt the smallest tug of awareness of the change, but it was dwarfed by the monumental aching chasm inside of her own chest. âYou mention this to no one.â She tried to get up to go, but her feet werenât yet cooperating beneath her.

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nickclasâ:
Very little about the Shadow didnât evoke the image of a knife. Even her hand seemed to split the air like flesh. Nickel had adopted the feyry habit of waiting just within someoneâs reach, anticipating the moment when they chose to close the distance, to step into the snare that was the world of the fey. To touch a creature like him was to tempt fate, to court disaster or possible death. This was the truth of the world they lived in.
Whatever he was, he was sure that Rowan would be at least one or two thousand times worse. Having her fix his hair was a deeply humbling experience. It took him a blink to make sure that blood wasnât about to rush down into his eyes, and he got the distinct impression that this was kinda shit she liked to do and the reaction she liked to get. Heâd make her as happy as he could, because he was actively opposing everything she stood for and coming to that realization was a trip.
If Lacha found out about the rebellion, he did not know that the hold she had on the Senator through his placement would necessarily save him from whatever might happen to him. If he hadnât already been fairly sober, he would be now.Â
âI donât know about them. If you touch them, itâs like ⌠itâs a good high, bad come down. You donât lose anything, itâs not like the grass. I got weird tired.â Nickel shrugged. He couldnât think of a thing to do with his hands. His thumb and forefinger rubbed together, remembering the specific warm buzz of feeling, shooting straight to the heart better than the exhaustion that came after throwing the thing away. âBut it wasnât anything thirty-two couldnât fix, so ⌠âÂ
Rowan did like the effect she had on him; it was one of her few joys in an otherwise cruel world. But she made the best of it. There were muscles on his face that belied how he and a rabbit could be the same. She knew how to trap rabbits. How to bleed and skin them and what vegetables to add to make a nice stew. This was a very feyry thing to know, at least for those of them that made their own way as children. She knew heâd been made a changeling, whether he willed it or no; but growing up human was... a very much tamer experience.
If she had learned about the rebellion, she would report it without question. To go against what Lacha was doing was to wish for ruination for the Court again, which was something Rowan could not and would not abide. With her last breath she would fight to make the Court strong; those who would be against that were against themselves. Of course someone spoiled by such an upbringing would be so tempted. It was, if sheâd known, disgusting. She would enjoy taking whatever actions she desired on any traitor. Even if it was the boychild before her.
âHuh,â Ro remarked, examining the rocks from a distance. They seemed to glow with an odd inner light that was somehow natural and unnatural. The sort of light that was mostly found in marine life or deep in forested jungles; a bioluminescent quality. âFucking hate that grass,â Rowan muttered, her eyes narrowed into shards. âInteresting. A stone that can get you highish. Fatigueâany other side effects? Tell me about your experience.âÂ
unseeliequeenlachaâ:
Lacha stepped to the door at the knock and let Rowan in. âThank you for coming,â she said on a sigh, closing the door behind them. âEspecially after youâve had a full night.â Rowan and Raven had dealt with the body and the scene as best they could. This was why Lacha worked as hard as she did to have adept people at her hands. So when something went wrong, things could move, more or less, fairly smoothly.
Leading the Shadow into the spacious sitting room, Lacha gestured for Rowan to take a seat. She herself settled at the end of the large sectional and leaned against the arm rest. âNow, though, we need to decide what we do next. Iâm going to meet with Adare tomorrow, as long as heâs amenable. I donât want us workingâŚagainst one another, when it comes to this.â Yes, the truce between Courts was shaky at best, but this was quite the extenuating circumstance.Â
Lacha sighed, then, and looked to Rowan. âIâd like for you and Raven to do the investigating, of course. I imagine thatâs where youâll be most useful. Hyacinth, too, might come in handy.â Leveling her chin, Lacha took a moment to just watch Rowan, to just see her. This woman that would have been her daughter. âIs there anything else I need to know? Anything you noticed about tonight?â It wasnât often that Lacha let someone speak so freely and openly but Rowan was different. She was wholly loyal, that much Lacha was sure of, and something closer to family than Court, anyway.
Ro accepted the Queenâs cordiality but couldnât yet relax, so she stepped inside and nodded her thanks to Lacha as the door was closed. Ro leaned against a wall, her usual sort of stance because she didnât know of any fey who could teleport through stone yet and she preferred to have her back protected, especially when her attention would be wholly on the Queen and her safety. âItâs my pleasure,â Ro said simply, because her life was to serve the Court and this Queen who had put it all back together from the rubble and blood of their history.
When the Queen gestured for Ro to take a seat, she hesitated, weighing the options of danger. While tonight might seem a night more prone to danger than any other, given the loss of the other fey, each moment was its own coin-toss. One attack might be a distraction. Or it could be the completion. It mattered little either way; she had to choose. Denying her Queen was the worse option of the two in that moment, and Ro knew two of the Sentry were posted outside the door regardless, and Ro had many ways to fight. So she took a seat.
Rowan didnât comment on meeting with Adare. She didnât trust him as far as she could throw him, and she could throw a body half across a room. Yet, she knew Lacha didnât trust him fully either, so voicing the matter was moot. âIâm more the stab stab sort, Raven might be your best bet, but Iâm happy to assist him in any way he needs. Once weâve a culprit thoughâdibs.â A cruel smile flickered over her mouth and she didnât bother to remove it. âLark identified the body and sheâs a fair bit shaken up. You might want to check in on her, if you feel so moved.â Might, if. Rowan would never command her Queen.
There were times where there was overt kinship between them, and that bondâhow she was almost âmotherâânever went away. But in matters like these, there was little and less time to braid hair and talk of the past and mourn what might have been. In their hearts, the two women shared a lot in common: an iron soldier heart, a will to live, and the utmost desire for the Court to flourish. In an instance of such a meeting as this, Rowan didnât know how else to behave other than to be the Shadow she was molded and raised to be.
fuisecgâ:
      âI knew them.â Or rather that she knew of them. Death was hanging around, getting ever closer as it crept around and would strike out once more as she felt her entire being shake with no end in sight. It wasnât her fingers. Or her skin. It wasnât the itch that couldnât be scratched when it came to feeding her own demons, but new ones that were swiftly arising to replace them as the fear was palpable from those who were still around to the ones that had already left.
Lark shook her head then. She hadnât seen anything, not when her head was in the clouds and not seeing a single thing that wasnât in the haze of a mixture of elixirs to enjoy the night with. A cocktail of sorts, but it left her frigid and lonely as the hallowed out feeling in her chest was aching to know how to protect herself from it. Rowan had offered her a way out of the despair as she gazed at the other, eyes avoiding to meet one on one as the panic was widespread. âI need to know how to fight it. The fear. The painâŚ. all of it. I need you to teach me how to have a fighting chance.â Rather than be defeated by it.
âOh yeah?â Rowan asked, not yet fully understanding the gravitas it might have held for Lark; she was still in officer-mode, in gruff-work mode, and didnât have the wherewithal as of yet to switch modes. Lark looked ready to crawl out of her skin, but it was the sort of look that many people had on around them: people tended to get on about that when they saw a dead body with a less than favourable arrangement of iron in their skin. Reminded everyone of their inevitable mortality and one of the few threats to their beings. âWho are they?â
Lark shook her head, indicating she hadnât seen what had happened. That would have been too easy, wouldnât it? Ro mused; no such thing as a simple dayâs work. Luckily, most of this would fall to Raven, since the body was well and dead already and therefore there was no need for torture until a culprit could be appropriately pinned. Then it was time for some fun. When Lark spoke again, it made Rowan look at her more acutely: there was panic in her voice. Something was up. âYouâre not evading me, are you? You donât know anything about this death?â
Thatâs when the silence broke and Lark tried to fold herself out just a little bit, reach out just a little bit, out of her luminescence, out of the path of a falling star, and into the void in front of her where Rowan lived. âShit, Lark, Iâshit.â The tone wasnât cruel at all; it had softened considerably as she realized Lark was asking for help of a different kind, a sort she could all too easily relate to. She just didnât know where to start. âIâm not the best person to ask about healing, which sounds like what you need... all I do is fight it and bottle it up and bury it. Iâm fucking stunted inside, you know...â Ro searched Larkâs face. âBut you can stay with me tonight, if itâll help you feel safe?â
camelliafairchildâ:
I ache with hope, Rowan. Camellia replied, though only in her mind. The words that she spoke aloud had to be with far greater care - because complaining about hope was both childish and far too Seelie, no matter how much Camellia believed in it. She could believe in it silently, if she wanted. Just as she needed. âI should never wish to be a liar.â Yet wasnât she, at least in part? Keeping her knowledge of the rebellion a secret from her mother - and from the woman in front of her - the woman whoâd been everything and more to her sister? âI will not allow harm to come to the Court - at least not if I can do anything about it.âÂ
She scrunched her nose, then. âI cannot say I would ever picture myself as a knight, but I understand your point.â Why can I not have both snow and hope? Hope for a new life, hope for our Court? There was so much left unspoken as Camellia did her best to focus on being direct - something not entirely in her nature, but worth an attempt at least. If she wanted Rowanâs help, she had to help her as well. Do as she wanted. âCurbing, as through the Tithe?â Her breath caught for a half-second, and she found herself wishing that she could cough, but her breath returned before that was necessary.  âMy mother is a valued teacher - and I hope that perhaps you can be, too. A Queen, be she future or current, needs advisors, after all.â
Her own thoughts plagued her mind again at Rowanâs comments. I need to make them love me. Fear is not my way, ought there to be a way to rule a Court without it? âI am acutely aware of a range of emotions,â my fingertips can literally give me the entire spectrum, should I choose to use them, âI promise.â
She sucked in her lower lip as Rowan began to speak about her grandmother. Love and emotions. The words sounded more than a bit too familiar. She watched Rowanâs expression change just slightly at the mention of Camelliaâs grandfather. She did not speak with Tierney too often, but she enjoyed the moments she had spent with him, and understood how important he was to her mother. Was Ceila as soft as I am? How were we different? âI promise I will be a good Queen when the time comes. I am only glad I am not alone.â She brushed strands of her hair from her face, the wind having blown them back. Please tell me about Caora now. âI like to hope that I have guidance through all of those who came before me, even if they are unable to be here to advise me.âÂ
I will not allow harm to come to the Court, she said. Rowan couldnât help it: she laughed out loud. It was curt and it was callous, but someone had to help this once and future Queen, should she live to claim her birthright. Oh, Caora, if only you could see me now: teaching your little sister all the backbone you had along with your graces, Rowan thought, making fun of herself in her head. She was far from the best person to be doing this. The downtrodden look that eventually would claim Camelliaâs faceâwhether that be now, or laterâwhen talking to Rowan would eventually emerge. She was a series of difficulties; thatâs what she was. âSweetheart, youâd best learn more than one definition of harm,â Rowan said after her bark of laughter. âThere is a difference between good intentions and right actions.â
Rowan raised a brow when Camellia mentioned the Tithe. âNo, thatâs not what Iâd been thinking, but that, too. You will have to decide which of us dies. What makes us worthy of a death to the Horde. You cannot not do that. Just as you canât not enforce rules. The rules keep all of us safeâall of usâeven if it is at the expense of a few who chafe against them.â Rowan exhaled sharply and tried to think of a way to phrase it better. âOkay, you fear for your life, as your sister did. There is no way you have not. Butâthatâs a lesson itself, a lesson all royals have to learn because it is part of your blood. It is who you are. You are a sacral princess. Aâconduit, like me. All power, in order to not be corrupted, requires responsibility, death, and sacrifice. You have to learn your own death, your own risk, to ever understand the mantle of power.â She searched Camelliaâs face for understanding.
Was that the switch? Ro wondered, having never entertained it before. Is that what made an heir worthy of receiving their ruling Hand: their understanding of this concept? She didnât know. She only knew that it was true: that to rule justly, you had to know you could die. That your very survival to the crown was a risk with a reward, not a promise, not an entitlement. That in order to pass such judgements, choose such deaths, in others required that you understand the gravity of the gift of your own life. âI trust your mother with my life; I am sure she will teach you well. As for me, Iâm an advisor you inherit whether I will it or no, should I live to see your reign.â Beyond that, Rowan couldnât promise much at this point. This slip of a girl whoâd barely seen the world wanting to assume an iron crown already almost missed the mark: Rowan ached for the days she never saw, where she could be free to enjoy, before her mantle.
When Camellia sucked in her lower lip, Rowan hitched up a corner of her mouth into a half-grimace. âListen, thereâs a difference between causing fear and creating it. No one is asking you to be a monster like me. You donât have to create fear. But as a ruler, you will cause it. It is inevitable and trying to escape it will only weaken you to those who would take advantage.â Rowan paused for a long while. âI think this is the longest Iâve ever gone without cursing. Itâsâwild, honestly.â It was also the longest time sheâd strung as many words together, but something in her wanted to help save this girl from herself and help her become a shadow of the woman her sister had been. A different person, but with some of those echoes, some of what Rowan had ached to see on the throne.Â
i love you violently in the privacy of my own heart

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asterfairbank¡:
It only took him a second to notice the plush bird in her arms, and he had to stifle a laugh. It was funny, but also, Rowan didnât seem like the kind of person to be laughed at. Instead, he tooked the stuffed animal, not arguing (she also didnât seem like the kind of person who you wanted to argue with), although he really had no idea what he was going to end up doing with it. âUh, you sure you wanna give up your hard earned prize?â
He shook his head. âNah. I mean, at this point, I donât even bother trying - Itâs all rigged, and I apparently I can just get you to win prizes for me.â
Aster relieved her of the overstuffed nonsense in her arms and for that she was thankful enough; otherwise she would have had to look kind or considerate pawning it off on some passing child. âFor fuckinâ sure I want to relieve myself of it. Itâs better if you have it, I think; perhaps it will bring you luck.â Or perhaps it would collect dust, but magic was odd like that: belief could travel you decently far alone. âCareful, I donât do much of anything for anyone without a price. Getting me to do something can prove quite tricky.â Despite that being true, she was joking with him, though there was nothing in the deadpan to give her away. âThereâs way to work around the rigging, in time, like most aspects of life. Whatâs your favourite fairway game?â
malaicit¡:
Mystery was half of what his Runners sold. Mystery and satisfactionâthe knowledge that oneâs problems will be fixed, but not the specifics behind how. That was what his customers needed: answers without raising more questions. Roâs service to the Queen earned her at least one favor from him, but answering questions wasnât part of that favor.
âAlways a rhyme but never a reason,â came his idle non-answer, accepting her refill of his wine glass while mulling over the situation sheâd presented him with. âAs much as I love a new project, playing neuroscientist on a Seelie has its repercussions.â From Lacha and Adare both. âWho is behind this? We both know you arenât requesting this from the bottom of your bleeding heart.â She knew how to tempt him well enoughâa Seelie lure as his test subject, an opportunity to test his powers on literal brain damage. But Malachite had learned his lesson. He couldnât break his oath to Lacha, even for Roâs sake.
âFair enough,â she replied; they were friends, the two of them, so she thought sheâd earned more of an answer than thatâbut in truth, she understood not getting into the details of oneâs magic and could respect that. It didnât serve Ro to pry further, so she didnât; the elixirs were amusements to her more than anything and she appreciated his ability to make something from nothing. âOne of their Archfey sought me out on our territory,â Ro replied, which was all truth. âDidnât ask why it was important; didnât need to, for me. If it goes sour, itâs on her for even daring to tread here.â Ro winked as she drank some of the wine; fixing a Seelie problem was all that was being done. It would work, or it wouldnât. The repercussions werenât theirs to own. She kept the bottle-gift Ollie had given her, so far left undrunk, as proof.