“Go nowhere?” I ask.

“They are not received. Whatever evoker is there at court with my brother will not receive my messages.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” His mouth crooks into a half-smile. “No one knows of the lusty princess I’ve mated yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then there’s no reason for them to ignore you?”

“None. That’s what worries me.” His expression grows more dire by the moment. “Either the evoker is sick—or dead—or my brother is choosing to ignore our plight. My plight.”

Right. Because no one knows we’re a team yet. “That doesn’t explain why no one would come from my people, either. There must be something going on that’s preventing both groups from bringing supplies to us. A problem with crossing the water, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Nemeth agrees, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Can you pray to the Gray God to answer you? To intercept?”

He shakes his head. “The Fellians are the children of the Gray God and he gave us his magic, but he will not interfere with mortal trifles.”

It doesn’t feel like a mortal trifle. It feels like a big deal for us to be forgotten by everyone. But I know what he means. Mortals lost the goodwill of the gods when we lost the ability to call them by their names. I’m surprised Fellians yet have magic. Stories say that humans had it once, but it was stolen from us when the gods abandoned our kind.

And yet…I do have magic, of a sort.

The secret of my knife gnaws at me. Do I confess it now? Do I yet keep it a secret and hope Nemeth never finds out my sister’s plans? It seems unfair given that he’s shared a Fellian secret with me. “I need to tell you something, Nemeth.”

He arches a brow at me. “Oh?”

I fuss with the folds of my gown. I’ve been sleeping in my clothes for days now, just in case someone would arrive with our supplies. “Humans don’t have magic. Not really. But we do have a few magic objects.”

He grunts. “Because you’ve stolen them from Fellian owners.”

I wince. He’s not wrong. Humans are the children of the Absent God, who made us from simple clay. It is the Fellians who are the children of magic, the offspring of the Gray God and his benevolent shadows. The only way we acquire magic is if it’s gifted to us, or we steal it. And since we’re sworn enemies with the Fellian people…it’s almost always stolen. I decide to avoid the sticky accusation part of things and go right for the meat of the topic. “I have an enchanted blade. It’s the one you stole from me, actually. It has magic.”

“I see.”

I can’t tell what he’s thinking from his neutral tone, so I continue on. Best to get it all out in the open quickly, like pulling a thorn from my foot. “She wanted me to be able to have some sort of connection to the outside world, so she gave it to me just before I came here. If you ask the knife a question, it can answer with a yes or a no.”

“I see,” he says again.

Hmm, that’s not a good sign. “I’ve been using the knife to check on my sister and my friends at court. When I left, my sister was very pregnant and I was worried over her. She had a baby boy and it seems she’s pregnant again.”

Nemeth thinks for a moment. “Kind of her to send you a gift so you can keep in touch with her. Strange that it is a knife.”

“Isn’t it?” I say brightly, determined not to take the bait. No matter what happens, I am absolutely not going to tell Nemeth that my sister wants him dead. “Strange indeed, but I suppose if it’s a stolen item, she didn’t get to choose what was ensorcelled and what wasn’t. I imagine if there would have been enchanted hairbrushes lying around, she would have sent me one of those, but alas.”

My mate gives me a look that tells me he doesn’t quite believe me. That’s all right. I suspect I’d be more than a little anxious if I found out that his people were giving him special knives, too. “I don’t bring it up to worry you about something new. I bring it up because, well, I asked the knife about our situation. I asked if anyone was coming, and it said no.”

“It said no?” he asks again.

I nod. “Well, sort of. The knife pulses if the answer to my question is yes. If it’s not, it doesn’t do anything.”

He furrows his brows. “May I see it?”

I fight back my unease. How ironic that I trust Nemeth with my body, both in bed and out of it, and yet the thought of handing him my knife makes me pause? Is it because the knife reminds me that he’s supposed to be my enemy? That I’m supposed to use it to kill him? Why is it that I’ll let him give me a dose of my life-saving medicine every night and let him knot me, and yet this makes me hesitate?

It’s stupidity. It’s Erynne’s actions poisoning my mind against my mate. Nemeth has been trustworthy and reliable ever since I arrived. He’s saved my life twice now—once when I was sick, and once when the men broke in and attacked us. I love him. I hate that I hesitate. I hate that I’ve been so poisoned against the Fellians all my life that even now it affects me. I nod and get to my feet. “I keep it upstairs. Let me get it.”

By the time I return with my knife, I’m calm again, all worry gone. It’s only that I’ve kept this secret for so long that it makes me fret to reveal it. I hand the knife to Nemeth, who’s now seated on his stool, and then I settle myself in his lap. He puts one arm around me, nuzzling at my ear, and I feel a little better. “Thank you, milettahn. Show me how it works?”

I pull it out of the decorative sheath and lay it flat in his big palm. Really, it’s ridiculously small compared to Nemeth’s size, and I wonder what Erynne expected me to do with this knife. Poke him to death? “You ask it a yes or no question aloud. Sometimes it picks up my thoughts, but I prefer to ask aloud. It helps me focus.” I lean forward, addressing the knife. “Is my sister alive?”

There’s no answer.

My heart thuds for a terrifying moment.

“Which sister?” Nemeth gently reminds me. “You had two of them.”

I exhale with relief. Oh gods, he’s right. “Is Erynne alive?”

The knife shivers in his palm, visibly trembling.

He grunts, wrapping his fingers around it. “Let me try.” He thinks for a moment and then asks, “Am I mated to Candra?”

The knife shivers again.

“Are we going to have a dozen children?”

I prickle uncomfortably at the question, and I’m not surprised when the knife doesn’t move.

“Am I in love with Candra?”

Shiver.

“Do we have enough food to last for the next five years?”

Nothing.

“How can we make it last for five more years?”

Nothing.

“Do you know what I am?”

Nothing.

“Do I have wings?”

Shiver.

Nemeth grunts. He takes the knife by the tip and holds it back out to me. “I know this sort of spell. It’s not a yes and no question as you say it is.”

I frown, holding the knife tightly in my grip by the small, gleaming blade. “It isn’t?”

“The spell is more specific than that. Or rather, it is not as powerful. It is enchanted to only reply if you ask a very specific sort of question that can be answered with a ‘yes.’ It does not have a setting for a ‘no’ because that would involve a second spell to give it the ability to answer ‘no,’ and then a third spell to force the knife to decide between the two answers. So in this case, a lack of response is perceived as a ‘no’ but that is not always the truth. It’s simply not a yes. Does that make sense?”

“I guess so.” I never thought of it as more than one spell…or any spell, really. Just that it could answer me. “I asked it if someone was coming to bring us food supplies, and it didn’t answer me.”

“Ask it again.” There’s a desperate look in his gaze. “Just in case.”

I hold the knife flat in my hand, extending it between us. “Is Lios sending food to me?”

No response.

“Is Darkfell sending food to Nemeth?”