I walked into the cell holding my brother. No one, besides my brother, seemed even slightly concerned for my safety. I wasn’t either. I was more worried about how to keep myself safe without killing him.
He was sitting stiffly on a bench, back to the hard, stone wall. “Your explanation?” he asked, one eyebrow raised critically.
I sighed, “Right, that.”
I told him the story of the destruction of the Fae.
He pursed his lips, “So your a Fae?”
I nodded, “With all the additional special powers the Fae Magistrates had… well, except for premonition… for some reason I didn’t get that.” I frowned thoughtfully.
“But why do you not change completely? When converted, I mean,” he clarified.
“Well that was the skill of a certain Fae Magistrate named Narif. When he died, he was part Werewolf, part Fae.”
“Ah,” he said shortly, fidgeting for a moment. He looked at me again, a strange light in his eyes, “But you are my sister still, yes?”
I scowled, “Of course, no spell can change that. Your survival is proof.”