Wheeling Gull Isle the mask i wear is the performance in the mirror

Rhysand’s doesn’t understand what the woman is getting at, at first. He takes her words literally: that Arturo is no healer and will not be able to cure his ailing mother. Rhysand takes a breath to assure her that Boadicea was aware of her impending pass into …whatever came after but it’s her following sentence that freezes the breath in Rhys’ throat and causes his brows to furrow. Herbs? Rhysand did not know much of Arturo Fearghal — only what he was told — but he had never heard that the man had a flair for the medicine. He closes his muzzle, realizing that he probably resembles a gaping fish. They were speaking of the same man, right? “Different? Different how?” Rhysand doesn’t understand and her words weigh heavily upon him. What will it mean for him if he cannot deliver Arturo to the warrior queen of the Hollow? Surely it means he will not live to see another day. He is not half as precious to the Hollow wolves as he is the wolves of the Ravine. The Fearghal’s don’t actually need him and his own existence or about to be lack-thereof on this earth is suddenly and unwelcomingly brought to Rhysand’s attention. That is the consequence of his failure …or it will be. “Do you think talking to him will change anything or his answer?” Rhysand asks her seriously, wanting her honest opinion on the matter.

238 words