Page 68 of Their Rejected Queen

I hand him back the paper. He pockets it. “And is there a reason you’re using a pad of paper to talk to me rather than just using your voice?” I tilt my head. “If you’re waiting for me to give back that potion that lets you talk inside my head, you’re going to be waiting forever.” That was a Rinhold tonic. It always belonged to me, but he doesn’t have to understand the history. He could simply use his voice.

We’re certainly far enough away from the encampment by now that it’s safe to talk, especially with the noise from the water.

He motions for me to sit on a mossy stretch of rock. I do, finding it surprisingly comfortable, and he settles across from me on the other side.

The tonic isn’t supposed to let me talk to anyone, but it lets me talk to you, he writes. It’s a weather-alteration tonic.

“I gathered as much,” I tell him. I know how tonics work, and the telepathy side effect must have some other explanation. “Where did you get it?” Knowing more about where it came from might help me piece it together.

He scratches out another quick note, then scraps it. I frown and sigh. “Can’t you just talk? This is taking forever.”

He shakes his head, then holds up a piece of paper that reads, I’m mute.

I frown at the message. “Why?”

The conversation continues back and forth. Ze’ev isn’t too forthcoming, but I learn that he’s the last remaining survivor of the Shadow Pack, now referred to as the Lost Pack. He doesn’t say how he lost his voice, or who attacked his pack, but he does mention Monster Isle’s castle, which captures my interest.

I hand back his latest note. “I want to know how to get to the castle.” I pull on his pad of paper. “Can you draw me a map?”

He frowns, then shakes his head.

I practically growl. “Why not? I can handle myself.”

I have no doubt about that, his next note reads. But you won’t make it two miles. The only way to the castle is through the king’s guarded lands.

This time I tear up the paper. “Then teach me. Train me. I don’t care. I’m getting to that castle.”

Why do you care so much? Wouldn’t you prefer a ship to escape off the isle?

I debate how much I’m going to tell Ze’ev. But he’s brought me to a pleasant creek and hasn’t killed me, and he’s also shared secrets of his own.

That might be because he’s been out on his own for too long and just needs someone to talk to, even if it is through scribbled notes on old paper.

Or he’s part of the mystery that connects me to this isle, along with Godric and Arwan. I can’t remember my dreams too well, but every time Ze’ev matches my gaze, I seem to remember a flicker of something forbidden.

“Why did you help me escape the pack that first day?” I ask him instead of answering his question. “How did you get inside my head?”

His gaze falls to the invisible vials strapped on my thigh. They might be cloaked, but he knows exactly where they are.

He scribes another note that reads: Have you ever died before? Not on the isle, but in childhood.

It seems like a random question, but the accuracy of it takes me off guard.

“Yes,” I whisper, recalling the traumatic event. “I was climbing the railing as a young child. No one was watching me. The nanny who was supposed to have been in charge was supposedly my father’s mistress. That’s when…” My words drift off as I vaguely remember the truth behind the lie.

This was a story I always told everyone. I had fallen off a railing as a child and hurt myself, but my near-death experience had been a different one.

My brother had almost drowned me.

The terror.

Then the silence.

My eyes widen when the faint hum of an obsidian tower invades my memories.

Have I been to Arwan’s tower before?

“Are you saying that a near-death experience is what has done all this?” I ask.