My gut twists at another example of the complete lack of respect for life the fae have. I’m pretty much close to hating their race.
Although I’m sure I know the answer and have for a long time, I do need to ask it again to this sorcerer who seems to know everything about changelings. “What happened to the changeling when Kymaris entered it?”
“She died that very minute, and Kymaris was re-born,” Ozigeor says.
Sorrow wells up in me, even though he told me something I already knew deep in my gut. Carrick must sense it because he reaches out, takes my hand in his, and briefly squeezes to acknowledge he knows it still hurts to hear how Fallon died.
Carrick turns back to the sorcerer, who is now leaning forward, arms crossed on his desk. He seems completely engaged in the conversation now, and I suspect he’s experiencing an overwhelming sense of pride that his ritual worked so well.
“What happened to the stolen human?” Carrick asks, which is the only question I genuinely care about.
Ozigeor narrows his eyes, clearly not expecting us to care for the human child, because it was no more than a vessel to him. “Why? What’s it to you?”
“Because she’s my sister,” I hiss. “And I want her back.”
His head whips my way, expression confused. “I’m not following.”
“The human baby was my fraternal twin. She was born first, and she was stolen before I was born.”
“So, your twin is in the Underworld?” Ozigeor muses, then grins slyly. “How very tragic.”
Fury burns within me at his dismissal of my pain… my sister’s pain… and I fly across the desk. I’m able to draw my hand back and slap him hard against the cheek before Carrick pulls me away.
In my ear, he murmurs, “Easy, slugger.”
Ordinarily, when I’m this spitting mad, I’d be trying to escape the bonds and expel my anger some more, but Carrick’s voice easily calms me, so I don’t struggle at all as he sets me back on my feet.
Ozigeor glares, hatred shining from his eyes as he holds a hand to what I hope is a burning cheek.
“Show him your feather,” Carrick tells me.
I whirl to face him. “What?”
“Show him your feather,” he repeats.
“What feather?” Ozigeor asks, eyes again alight with curiosity.
I give Carrick a huff of disapproval, mainly for ordering me around, but I walk around the desk and pull up the long side of the gown covering my right leg.
The sorcerer leans sideways in his chair to peer at my white feather. He even starts to reach a hand out to touch it, but before I can kick him in the face, Carrick makes a growling sound, and the sorcerer snatches his hand back.
I drop my gown and return to Carrick’s side.
“That appeared on her twenty-eighth birthday,” Carrick tells Ozigeor. “At the moment Kymaris took over the changeling’s body.”
“That’s… that’s… incredible. I’ve never heard of anything like that before.” He glances between Carrick and me before saying in a supplicating tone. “If you let me perform a ritual, take a tiny scraping from her leg, I can—”
“Absolutely not,” Carrick snarls. “But I am interested in your theory on its appearance.”
Ozigeor looks disappointed, but it doesn’t last long as he’s too intrigued by something that could have been triggered by his ritual. He leans back, stroking his jaw.
His gaze comes to me. “You said you and your twin are fraternal?”
“That’s right,” I say slowly, wondering where his train of thought is going.
The sorcerer shakes his head. “I’d guess you are identical twins and when the magic she held was released, it somehow touched you through that identical bond. Possibly even tethered you two together.”
“No,” I say adamantly. “My dad said we were fraternal. He even had the ultrasound pictures showing two amniotic sacs.”
“Actually,” Carrick says, and our eyes go to him. “About twenty-five percent of twins are misidentified as fraternal. If the egg splits early, they can grow within two amniotic sacs and look fraternal.”
My jaw drops as I stare at this man who has just now shocked me more than at any other time since our crazy journey together started.
He shrugs. “What? I read a lot. I’ve had centuries with nothing to do on my hands. But clearly, this twin is important.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, not willing to quite believe in this theory, but if my twin is an identical in the Underworld and we are somehow tethered, could I communicate with her? Could I reach her somehow?
She has immense magic within her, and I have light magic from Sarvel within me. Could we have made a connection through the Veil?
Carrick moves, catching my attention. He bends and picks the necklace up from the floor once again. I must have dropped it when I flew across the desk to smack Ozigeor.
Tossing it to the sorcerer, who deftly catches it, Carrick says, “This visit stays between us.”