Speaker 1: A Forest of Earth and mind an Arcane Heart Studio production,
created and written by Ainsley Bay. Chapter fifteen, The Confession.
The house feels different now. It's subtle, but the change
is there. The air is thinner, sweeter. The shadows in
the corners of the Great Hall aren't just dark, They're deep.
They feel like they go on forever, like if you
reached into one, your hand wouldn't come back. I find
here in the library. He's not reading. He's standing by
the winder, staring out at the timberline. The noon night
sky is sparkling with stars, and the moon paints his
skin in bruised hues. He looks exhausted, not just tired, drained.
His shoulders, usually so square, are slumped under invisible weight. Here.
I say, softy. He doesn't turn, viv You should be resting.
I can't rest, I say, stepping into the room, the
house is vibrating. Can you feel it? Yes, it's the magic.
It's everywhere. He finally turns. His eyes are dark, the gold,
dull and heavy. It's because they're getting closer, he says them,
but he means the fae. I walk over to him.
The bond hums between us, A warm, steady thrum against
the cold anxiety in the room. I reach out and
take his hand. His fingers are ice cold. Malcolm said, debt.
I say, he said you have to pay the debt?
What does that mean? Keir laughs, But there's no humor
in it. It's a gallows laugh of resignation. You want
to know the truth, the real truth always. He pulls
his hand away and paces to the fireplace. The pact
is simple. We protect the phase lands from prying eyes
in the lumber industry, and they help us maintain our secrecy.
Sorchaw helped with that. He wiped the minds of your relatives,
of people who know what they've stumbled upon. But here pauses,
as if preparing to deliver a painful truth. What I
walk over to him. The Fee don't trust us, They
don't trust anyone. I don't even think they really like us.
Sorchaw wasn't just an attache helping us. He was our keeper,
making sure we didn't do anything the Faye didn't like.
Kere laughs again, not that we'd ever do anything to
threaten the pact. But like I said, the Fey aren't
the trusting type, so they need a new observer. I
don't think they know Sorcha is dead, or they would
have been here days ago. This is all so new
and overwhelming to me. I can't help but keep asking
dumb questions. So what happens when they find out Sorchia
is dead? The Fay have an odd sense of justice.
Innocent mistakes like wandering on to their land can have
catastrophic consequences. And when Malcolm mentioned the debt, he meant
the Fey want justice for Sorch's death. Yes, Kir looks
at me, and the fear in his eyes is naked.
Now the debt for a Fay life isn't gold viv
it's balance. I freeze. Wait, what does that even mean?
The price for a life? I don't know, he whispers,
But foul Father, he feels like he can negotiate, find
something to return the balance that won't hurt us or
cost us too dearly. And you don't I think the
Fay don't negotiate, Keer says, I think they take. So
what do we do? He turns back to me and
the steel is back in his spine. The exhausted prince
is gone, the dangerous wolf is back. I'm going to
meet them, He says, what. I'm going to meet them,
and I'm going to talk to them before they get here.
I'm going to find out what they really want, why
they're coming. If I can, I'll send them back without knowing.
Sorta is gone, so we can plan for when they
do find out. So you're buying time, Cure sighs. More
or less. First, I need to find out what they
actually want. It may simply be something minor. And they
do what Fay do and send a delegation of ten
to talk about the Sentinels planting crops too close to
their border. I don't know, but we have no other option.
They may not find out about Sorcha for decades. They're Fae,
and Sorcha didn't exactly tell us how he reported back.
I make my decisions. I'm coming with you. No here,
no viv. He grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. You
stay here, You stay safe. If I'm wrong, if they
want something else, something dangerous, to know you're safe. I
am not a damsel a snap pulling away. I'm the
one who shot the agent. You need me, I need
you alive, He shouts, the roar echoing slightly in the
big room. We stare at each other, chest to chest,
breathing hard. The bond flares hot, anger and desire, mixing
into a potent cocktail. I'm going, he says, quieter, Now alone,
He turns and walks toward the door. Here. He stops
in the doorway, but doesn't look back. If you don't
come back, I whisper, my voice trembling, I will burn
this entire forest down. He pauses for a second, just
a heartbeat, and then he's gone. I'm left standing in
the library, the silence rushing back in to fill the
space he left. But this time the silence isn't empty.
It's waiting. The shadow moves where the light one stood.
So then whispers in the ut the wind did cry.
It calls mind a fleeting ancles signal. Marxsen FA