He didn’t sigh as she might have expected. The matrons had never attempted to conceal disappointment if Amaris hadn’t been ready with answers. This fae had the unruffled feathers of one who’d weathered lifetimes.

“Yes, persuasion,” he continued. “You could tell a human man to leave his wife and marry you. You could tell a queen to hand over her crown. You could tell a mother to drown her newborn babe.”

Amaris flinched. Her brows lowered. She shook her head against the absurdity of his words, but his face remained smooth. His conviction was both impassive and unrelenting. The men had shifted like the ocean’s tide, their decision whirring with her outburst. Had she truly done that? Horror seeped into her features. What kind of monster did he think she was? What kind of witch would have such a horrible power? She shook her head more violently.

“What are you saying?” she asked. Amaris’s voice escaped as a scratchy rasp.

“This can’t be your first instance of exercising your gift, Amaris. Perhaps it’s the first time you’ve been made aware of your ability, but think of a time—any time—when you’ve influenced those around you. Think of a time when you made a demand and your will was adhered to. Does anything come to mind?”

Even as her heart pushed against the information, a door in her mind opened to a memory. Something did come to mind. That day in the pantry, when the wretched, freckle-faced Achard and his friends had pushed through Nox and tried to drag her to see the bishop, she had told the boys to leave. They had. They had left the pantry. They had left the kitchen. They had left Farleigh, never to be heard from again. Had that been because of her? Because of one command ordering them to go? A gross, sickening understanding hit her, twisting her stomach into a pained knot.

He asked with a careful, quiet voice, “Did you ask Odrin to take you with him, or did you tell him to bring you?”

Repugnance filled her.

Samael seemed to understand her recognition as she worked through her past.