A Court of Truths and Revival

The Exiles

SEREN

"Wait," Seren gasped, struggling to breathe when they appeared in a new location for the fourth time in a row.

To his credit, Lucien merely offered her the leather strap binding his hair so that she could heave without the nuisance of strands falling in her face.

"Just one or two more," he said, guilt evident in his tone. "I've never been good at covering long distances, but I've got enough stamina—"

Seren waved him off. Before her capture, she'd been perfecting the art of winnowing, but she'd been young enough that distance had also been a problem, not to mention the more prevalent issue of arriving in her intended location. She'd gotten lost on more than one occasion and her father had never been thrilled when having to pull her from the dark in-between space. To teach her a lesson, he'd once left her there. Rhys had eventually retrieved her with the advice she not push too far too soon. After, she'd refused to try for months, only willing to be taken through the shadows or fly.

This probably went against Rhys's advice, though it was Lucien expelling his warm magic.

"Ready?" Lucien asked when she straightened and took his hand. A moment after nodding, the ground was ripped from beneath her feet.

The moment Seren opened her clenched eyes, she knew they were no longer in the Fae Courts. Remnants of magic didn't hang in the air and blow with the breeze. There were a set of wards, but that was all.

Lucien led her to the nearby manor that was nestled atop one of the rolling hills that stretched as far as she could see. Despite the stone construction and decent size, Seren was surprised to find its interior well decorated when she crossed the threshold. She hadn't been aware humans were so progressive with art and homebuilding. Actually, she didn't know much of humans at all and suspected anything she'd been told was outdated or an outright lie.

Lucien discarded his boots in the entryway so she stepped out of her slippers, careful to avoid getting mud on the plush rug. The exterior wooden door had been unassuming, but hints of wealth could be spotted in the art and fixtures. Creaky floorboards seemed to be the only threat to luxury.

When the long hall opened into a fancy parlor, Seren froze at the sight of the man lounging in a leather chair. His head turned casually and a single brow quirked up, drawing attention to his defining brown eyes.

If she were a ghost then he was a walking, grinning corpse given a second life by the Cauldron.

Jurian ran a hand through his mess of brown hair, musing it further. "Sent you out for Faerie wine and you've come back with a stray."

"Hilarious," Lucien deadpanned. "Jurian, this is—"

"Melody," she hastily lied. Lucien hadn't actually asked her name before bringing her along and there was no way she'd underestimate Jurian's ability to piece her identity together. He'd been the leader of the human army once so she didn't doubt his intelligence.

"You're a far cry from any song I'd like to hear," Jurian said as he gave Lucien a pointed stare, "But by all means, join us in exile."

He should have stayed in Amarantha's fucking ring.

After five centuries as nothing more than an eye and nothing to do but observe, he should have recognized her, but there was no telling what memories Dagdan and Brannagh relieved him of on the return of his body. Evidently not enough of them since he still had the piss poor attitude her father complained about in all his war stories.

The twins could be sly if they chose the approach to quietly remove people's memories. To her knowledge, they'd never done it to her, having preferred her to remember all their visits, but based on their skills, she honestly would know if they had.