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CHAPTER XXVIII

In the dark, the Lady tore a hole in the fabric of the world so Aisling could peer into her father’s mind.

Nemed sat in a dimly lit room, surrounded by candles. Wax spilled down their bent and warped bodies, dripping onto the cherry oak table. And if Aisling looked closely enough, she could see the screaming mouth of the tree he’d cut painfully from the earth and brutally carved without reverence for its life.

The fire hand, on the other hand, was also dripping onto the floorboards. Dark red sap fell from the tip of his nose where his head hung, staring downward. His gaze was vacant, ignoring the stains and burn trails across his leathers, his torn tunic, or the wool of his tartans.

“When the time comes, will you be capable of it?” a familiar voice piped from the dark recesses of the room. Boot by boot they approached, the metal of their belt chinking as they neared.

Starn’s angular face was unveiled by the candlelight.

“When the time comes, will you kill her?” Starn asked again. “Or must I?” Starn lifted his blade from the scabbard at his hip with nothing more than the will of his mind. The sword, eerily, slipped from its sheath and glittered in the firelight.

Nemed considered for a moment. The scar across his face reddened with his concentration.

“It would kill me to take the life of my kin,” Nemed said, his voice more brittle than Aisling remembered it. “I do not fear the grotesque faces of my enemies, the screams of my night terrors, or the unknown of my future,” her father continued. “But I do fear her.”

“She is a spoilt child given a powerful gift and nothing more,” Starn bit, almost jealously.

“I do not fear her strength or her anger,” Nemed countered. “I fear the look in her eyes when I tear my life’s—and the life of every mortal king before me—labor from her chest. It is my duty, my obligation, and my destiny for mankind. Yet, I fear no sorceress, no fae, no warrior. I fear the little girl that might look back at me. And I fear I’ll look back at her and remember.”

The fire hand cleared his throat, clasping his bloody hands together before him. The dark sap and blood pulled at his skin, but he hardly noticed, staring a hole into the floor of the room.

“We are but a few moons from finding her. We are breaths full away from hunting the gateway, from laying siege, from conquering what is rightfully ours,” Starn said, his voice deep and clipped with anger.

“And we will show no mercy,” Nemed replied. “We will not wait.”

“You hesitate even now,” Starn argued. “The softness of your heart makes it easier to strike.”

“She is my weakest child, my most useless girl, and my greatest disappointment,” Nemed explained, seemingly enjoying speaking lifelong thoughts aloud. And even here—in this realm in between—Aisling felt the blow of her suspicions come alive by her father’s voice.

“Because I am human,” Nemed continued. “Do not forget your humanity, Starn, lest you find yourself more fae than man.”

“I could never forget ? —”

“I hope so,” Nemed said, cutting Starn short. “Regardless, the eve of victory is the best moment to reflect. Soon our plane, the Other, and the Sidhe world will bend the knee to me and to you, son. Our harpoons will sink into the gateway, our fiery blades will drive into their chests, and my hand will steal the curse breaker from my daughter’s chest.”

Starn nodded his head.

“And then?” the crown prince asked.

“And then we take everything. We avenge all those she burned at Lofgren’s Rise, every village she let be devoured by beasts after her coronation, every soldier killed in pursuit of our vengeance. We take everything.”

“Soon?” Starn asked, his voice rising.

“Soon,” Nemed agreed.

“Give me a day,” Starn pushed. “Let every day closer renew our efforts, our spirits, our morale.”

The fire hand lifted his head, meeting his eldest son’s eyes. Violet, they shone brightly, lit with the thought of violence and vengeance alike. The look of a father who enjoyed punishing his children.

“On the last moon of the storm season, we strike,” Nemed said.

“Promise it,” Starn said.

Nemed sucked in a breath, his chest rattling after decades of inhaling forest smoke.

“I promise it.”