“Who are you?” He asked.
She set a woven tray that held earthenware cups and murky glass bottles down on the floor.
“You should put your sword away and rest, Hadjar,” she whispered. Her voice wasn’t human. “That was what she called you, wasn’t it? Hadjar... A beautiful, ancient name.”
“Who are you?”
His wounds were deep, which meant that even holding the sword that was a part of his soul was incredibly difficult.
“It’s been three days since you killed the Guardian. I still remember him as a little lump of sand that we breathed life into. It’s a pity to see him... like this.”
He shouldn’t listen to a Fae. He shouldn’t ask her questions. He shouldn’t give in to the temptation. After all, the Fae knew how to use the pure truth in a way that even the most sophisticated of liars wou
