“You would think so.” I gazed across the quiet waters. “Hopefully we’re about to get some answers.”

She gave the murky pond her attention too. “How do we find out if she’s down there?”

“I don’t know.” I slid my hands into my pants pockets to hide their trembling. “Without conclave resources, I can’t just pick up a phone and call in a dive team. Everyone I know works for them, so even if I paid out of pocket, the conclave wouldn’t have to dig deep to find out I was disobeying a direct order from a magistrate.”

No matter how valuable my services were to the Earthen Conclave, I didn’t kid myself that there wasn’t someone else out there—not like me, because that was so unlikely as to be impossible—but an eager soul with similar talents looking for a place to belong.

“What would they do to you?”

The frail quality of her voice made me wonder what Bessemer did to those who disobeyed him. The six wargs who went to Graeson’s aid hadn’t disobeyed their alpha as much as vanished without his consent, knowing he would never grant them permission. The savagery of their punishment lurked in my thoughts as a reminder of the violent nature of wargs, but it was easily banished with the truth that while they had two aspects, mine were infinite. There was no limit to the horrors of what I could become with the right drop of blood and a strong taste of magic.

What separated us—man from monster—was intent. Given these gifts, how would we use them? Bessemer abused his power, and worse was that he forced people like Graeson just as low in order to retain the status quo. Paint Graeson as a villain, and Bessemer appeared less sadistic by comparison.

“Fire me? Lock me up?” Or worse, assign me to Vause as her personal aid to endure unending remedial training. “I’m not sure.”

“That sounds less dire than expected.” Relief breezed through her expression. “Considering you’re privy to sensitive information.”

“The conclave won’t maim or murder me if that’s what you’re worried about. Probably. I’ve made blood oaths to protect the deepest secrets I know, and spilling them would kill me.” I permitted a smile to bend my lips. “They’d sooner sew my lips shut or wipe my mind and leave me an amnesiac. Though if I didn’t remember how to use my powers and killed someone, then, yeah, they’d put me down.”

She swallowed hard. “I think I’d rather get beaten to a pulp than lose my mind.”

“Me too,” I admitted.

Physical wounds healed. Mental ones…not so much. And never when inflicted by the most skilled fae.