Page 28 of Anwen of Primewood


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Chapter 6

Iblink. “I don’t understand the question.”

“A fairy would only give the gift of a changeling stone if a person were cursed. So, who is it? Before you misplaced it, who wore the stone?”

I shake my head, my lips parting as I try to understand. Brug runs a finger down my cheek, but I am so stunned, I don’t pull away.

“Who wore it?” Brug asks again.

I look down at my lap, focusing on my clasped hands. “My father.”

“Did he wear it all the time? Only at night?”

I meet his dark eyes. “During the day. He kept it on his bedside table at night.”

“A daylight curse, then,” Brug says.

“No, you don’t understand.” My throat feels tight, and I try to clear it. “It was a fantastic bauble. You could change shape with it, that’s all. Father never used it—”

Brug brushes a finger over my lips, silencing me. “Itwill also keep a person from changing form, should they be cursed.”

I lean away from his touch and take a shaky breath. Around me, the party begins to blur.

“Anwen,” Brug whispers, my name soft on his lips. “Drink a little more.”

He offers me the goblet, but this time I take it from him and gulp down the sweet, bubbly liquid.

“You should slow down.” He chuckles and takes the goblet back.

The liquid soothes me. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What exactly are you saying my father will turn into without the stone?”

Brug shrugs. “It depends on the caster; it depends on the curse. He could be a mouse, a griffin, an ogre, a troll—”

“All right.” I hold up my hand. “I understand.”

Brug runs his fingers through my hair. “I am sorry.”

I eye his hand. They’re very touchy, these fairies.

To put more distance between us, I tilt away from him. “Do you have another stone? Please, ask anything of me.”

He brushes a curl behind my ear and leans forward. “You are so trusting, Anwen. Never offer anything to a fairy.”

I shiver with apprehension.

“Don’t be alarmed.” He smiles. “I won’t do anything to you.”

It’s too much to take in all at once. I glance at Irving and Galinor to see what they think. Irving’s attention ison a petite blonde fairy who has draped herself across his lap. She giggles and feeds him cut slices of berry.

Galinor steals glances at me, concerned, but the brunette fairy sets her hand on his cheek and repeatedly draws his attention back to her. He looks uncomfortable, and under different circumstances, I might laugh. Tonight, the scene makes me feel ill.

I turn back to Brug. “Do you have a changeling stone I may have?”

He shakes his head. “I do not. They are rare—even for fairies.”

I wring my hands. “Do you know where I may find one?”

“Nowhere I would send you. It would be best to retrieve the one you’ve given away.”