“A good heart,” her soft voice flowed from behind the veil. I was certain now, she was young. “Interesting.” “Excuse me?” I’d heard rumors of Zyben’s interest in seers and witches. Not exactly Night Folk, but if books were to be believed, more than fae carried fury in their blood. “Your heart does not live here,” she whispered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “There isn’t much time.” A desperate plea was buried underneath the soft hum of her voice. Pulse racing, palms sweaty, I bent closer. “Don’t fear the past, trust those undeserving of it—”
