The man eyes Nox and Zora with a frank curiosity. “When do you plan to wake them?”

“Why would I tell you that?”

His green eyes sing a taunt. “Are you truly this private, or do you simply not have an answer? No plan, no idea?”

“What would you know about it?”

Speckles of light coming in from the window spatter his nose and cheeks, giving him the appearance of freckles. There’s an innocence about it that’s somewhat disarming. “Well, let’s see. I know that the servants speak of a girl who’s been kept in a slumbered state for years. I know that it seems she’s recently been joined by company. I know when I walked in, you were draped over him like you were mourning the loss of a dear husband. And I also know how to help.”

“Really?” I ask, amused enough now by this man’s arrogance that I withdraw my hand. He cracks his neck in return. “And how do you intend to do that?”

“Well, I assume there’s a reason you’ve put them to sleep. Maybe you’re just a scorned lover who realized your male had eyes for someone else.” He examines my face, tracing the shadows underneath my eyes. “No, that can’t be it. Perhaps he’s dangerous, and you thought to put him to sleep until he can be tamed.”

He must see the truth flash across my face, because he gives me a smug grin.

I withdraw a few paces, crossing my arms. “Nox isn’t the one I’m worried about. He’s possessed with something, someone else.” Sharp surprise punctures my lungs at the vulnerability I allow to slip.

“I’ve been told I have a trustworthy demeanor,” he says, as if reading my mind.

“Yes, I imagine it’ll be difficult to share my secrets once I’ve eaten you,” I say, flashing him a grin.

Again, he doesn’t look as unsettled as I might have hoped.

There’s something about being the predator stalking the prey, only to have the prey smile back at you, that has you wondering what the prey knows that you don’t.

“So how do you intend to free him from whatever’s possessing him?” he asks casually, as if he’s inquiring about my decorating plans.

I sigh. “Lazarus’s Comet.”

He arches a brow. “That doesn’t come around for another century or two.”

“Too bad you won’t be around to see it,” I seethe.

“Hmm,” he says, and I can’t explain why, but when he moves to go past me and toward Nox, I let him.

“And if there was another way?”

“Then I’d be all ears.” It comes out trite, but it’s about as honest and raw as I could be.

When the man reaches for Nox, I tense, and he wisely withdraws his hand to his chest. “Have you ever heard the stories of how the fae first came to this realm?”

I figure it best not to tell him that the being inhabiting the body lying in front of him is the beginning of that story. “Haven’t we all?” Truthful enough.

“And what of the stories about how the fae first consumed the Old Magic?”

Again, I find it prudent not to divulge all that I know. “Isn’t that lost to history?” I ask, and his sage green eyes twinkle.

“Not if you know someone who was once there.”

I let out a huff. “Most of the fae who originally crossed over into our realm were slaughtered. They didn’t exactly endear themselves to the people.”

Colored lights twinkle like stars across his skin. “But not all the Old Magic was consumed. What if someone escaped?”

I narrow my eyes, even as he tramples too close to the truth.

“What if I tell you a secret?” he asks.

“What if you do?”

“A secret in exchange for a bit of trust. A bit of faith in me.”

“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms.

“What if I told you I had a friend once who had a taste of that Old Magic? Who let it possess her until she told the grandest stories?”

I quirk an eyebrow, but he notices me shift on my feet in recognition.

A grin spreads across his face. “You know her too, don’t you?”

“You mean to tell me you’re friends with the Queen of Naenden?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

He shrugs. “She wasn’t always the queen, you know. She didn’t always have those scars, either.”

There’s a distance in his gaze, and I can’t decide if I find it sweet or despicable. On one hand, I imagine him remembering the occasion on which Asha lost her eye.

On the other, he looks as if he’s mourning who Asha was before the accident. Before she was queen.

I quite like her the way she is now.

“So she’s told you then,” he ventures, “about the female whose Magic closed the Rip between this world and the next?”

I frown.

“What, you’re still not convinced?” he asks.

I was. Just not ready to admit it yet. “The magic used the force of closing the Rip to separate itself from its fae host.” Who turned out to be the queen of Mystral, I don’t add.

“Exactly,” he says. “So here’s what I’m thinking. If the Old Magic closing the Rip between the realms was enough power to sever its connection to its fae host, then—”

“Then what if the power from opening the Rip would have the same effect…” I whisper, my voice trailing off as I turn to look at Nox.

And suddenly, there’s hope. As small as a termite in my chest, but burrowing forward all the same, until all my resolve to distrust this man threatens to crumble.

Because it’s not simply hope. At least, not the kind that wishes for the impossible.

It’s the kind that sees the evidence and puts all its trust in it.

It’s the kind that glimpses beyond the fog and leaps, not because it can see past the haze, but because the ledge is crumbling and there’s nowhere else to go.