Page 47 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

THE POINT OF NO TANGIBLE RETURN

ENORA

The teachings of my departed father were all I could cling to that night after I sat on the unforgivingly hard floor and cried until my ass ached, then hauled myself to bed to do much the same.

Know when to pause, when to yield, and when to raise hell.

The King of Odessa never raised me to be someone who would roll over in the face of adversity, but he also didn’t raise me to be one to walk willingly to my death. It was time to yield, and I loathed that with every fiber of my exhausted being.

Even though I spent all night curled up in the vast and empty bed, weighed down by everything I’d spent days fighting, I didn’t get a minute of restful sleep. I looked like it too.

Dark circles still painted my puffy, red eyes, and I was certain I was paler than I had been the evening before, despite not feeling as ill. But I was up, and I was dressed, and I’d even tamed my hair back into somewhat presentable Odessan rows.

In the face of a monumental decision, taking everything else one little step at a time was the only thing that kept me together.

And when I was confident in my ability to keep down the breakfast I’d done nothing but pick at since a stoic dark fae man had dropped it off, I grabbed Eilir’s bell.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Stomach acid licked at the back of my throat, and I stared at the bell in my now-sweating palms

Shit.

Could I un-ring it?

I remembered Eilir said six rings for life or death, but what about nine? Or twelve? Was another increment of three a way to let them know I’d made a mistake? I didn’t need them. I needed to think more, plenty more. This was my life after all, my⁠—

“You called for me?”

I let out a startled yelp, and the bell hit the rug with a pissed-off tink.

Eilir was just a few feet behind me, watching with an expression somewhere between concerned and amused.

I glanced between them and the very much closed door. Twice, for good measure.

“How did you…?”

I knew the answer, even if I didn’t want to give it credence.

They were a fucking sprite, after all. If there were ever to be a being blessed with bountiful magic my people were no longer gifted with, it would be the ones born of a dark goddess’s hand. The little fucking twig could probably kill me from a different room.

Eilir grinned and zipped over, picking up the bell. “I stepped from another place to this place, just like that.”

They snapped their tiny fingers for emphasis, plunking onto the dressing table.

Stepped.

Of course.

While Odessans weren’t the most impressive denizens of the continent of Irica with magic practice, seeing as it had been so long since our descent from the original offsprings of man and the gods, it didn’t mean we lacked education in magical practices.

No, my father had an extensive council of mages, many of whom had slivers of fae ancestry, or anomaly Odessans, who could amplify elements in extraordinary ways. Not only did they advise him in multitudes and stand by, ready to serve in our military, they also taught our lessons.

I still remembered learning about plane stepping and how particularly skilled fae wielders could simply step through small folds or tears in our plane of existence, allowing them to traverse sometimes immense distances as quick as a blink. We’d had no demonstration, of course, in my small classroom, seeing as my father did not have a stepper on his staff, but the old mage who taught us gave such an animated lesson that it stuck with me all these years.