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“When the Silver Saints closed the door between realms, the lesser gods became trapped here in Elowas with him. And it was not long before they fell prey to Yalde’s darkness.

He weakened them, stealing their worship for himself until, to protect Orist from his reach, they gave all that was left of their power to create Antiata and brought what remained of the realm down around themselves.

” Sudryl’s voice dropped, and her eyes glazed over.

She remembered this part of the history for herself, Aisling understood.

She’d lived it. It took the slight faerie several beats before she was able to speak again.

“Except even the collapse of Elowas was not strong enough to keep Yalde imprisoned. Though he could no longer traverse freely between here and Wyldraíocht, he learned to send manifestations of his power through his footholds, as many of the lesser gods had before. As Orist still does.” She gestured towards the roots overhead.

“The continued worship he received kept him fed, and his ability to give seeds of his own magic to those Fae who would be court royals—who then maintained their connection to him through that magic—kept him alive.”

Sudryl twisted around to face Kael then and said, “ You kept him alive.” The statement wasn’t one of accusation, but of fact.

Even still, Aisling noticed the way Raif bristled.

Kael didn’t react; he just stood, shoulders rounded, gazing at the mural.

His icy expression had melted into one of defeat, of despair.

Aisling considered going to him, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

Instead, she watched quietly the look of painful understanding deepening in his eyes until she had to avert her own.

“How is it that this was not known?” Raif demanded. “In every book, in every library across our realm—surely it is written somewhere.”

“The story of Wyldraíocht was not recorded until long after Yalde was banished to Elowas. History is written by believers; truth is too often lost to time.”

It was Rodney who finally cleared his throat and broke the heavy silence. “Ash…what did he say to you?”

Aisling kept her eyes trained on the dirt floor, on the mud that caked her boots.

She couldn’t stand to look at any of them.

When she spoke, her voice wavered around the lump that had formed in her throat at the knowledge of how much more it would hurt Kael to hear the rest. “Having Kael here changed something. I don’t fully understand it—he said that he’d collapse Elowas and Wyldraíocht into each other, and he’ll do to the Fae what he did to Kael. He said they’d serve him.”

“They’ll be Shadowbound,” Kael said flatly. His hand flexed at his side as though he still felt the remnants of Yalde’s possession there. Aisling could have reached out to take it in her own. She didn’t.

The weight of the revelation seemed to suck the remaining air out of the room as they privately contemplated what it all meant, each one of them undoubtedly evaluating the personal implications.

Raif would be picturing Elasha, her bright eyes turned black.

Aisling thought Rodney would fear the same fate for himself, losing the freedom he so valued as a Solitary Fae.

Kael…she wasn’t sure what he was thinking of now.

He might have been considering the fall of the kingdom he’d given his life for, or a return to the darkness she’d pulled him from with his name.

Aisling saw beings slithering out of the old mine, slipping into human skins like whatever had inhabited Cole. Yalde would bring a return to the old ways of worship, and the Shadowbound would use those stolen, familiar faces to lure in humans to sacrifice.

“How do we stop it?” Rodney asked no one in particular.

“You don’t,” Sudryl said simply.

Though the torches still burned bright, the chamber felt suddenly dimmer. Smaller. Too small. One by one, they filtered back into the larger space. Aisling moved again to her spot near the fire. This time, she couldn’t feel its heat at all.

“Ash,” Kael said quietly. The truncated version of her name sounded foreign on his lips. Rodney noticed.

“Only her friends call her Ash,” he said pointedly.

Aisling gave him a warning look. “Rodney.”

“Well, I’m right, anyway,” he grumbled.

Kael was watching her from where he stood across the chamber.

He looked like he was searching for something—comfort, maybe, or some sort of acknowledgement.

She had neither the energy nor the willingness to give it.

But when he said her name again and nodded to the cairn’s entrance, she followed him anyway.

It was darker outside, no longer that perpetual twilight it had been since they’d arrived.

The stars were gone now, and a cold wind blew noisily through the wood.

Aisling eyed the rowan trees apprehensively, unconvinced that such slight, twisted things could truly keep them safe and out of Yalde’s Sight.

“I should thank you,” Kael said at last. When Aisling glanced up at him, his gaze was on the trees, as well. His expression was impassive again, and his tone emotionless. She recognized this side of him: the Unseelie King, guarded and cold. This wasn’t the Kael she’d come to Elowas to find.

It made her heart ache, that realization, and so the only response she could manage was a noncommittal hum.

“For bringing me back—I should thank you.” Kael turned to her then, and Aisling mirrored his movement. He pushed a hand back roughly through his hair and added, “But you must know this was not my intention. I never meant for you to put yourself at risk on my behalf. If I’d known—”

“None of us knew,” Aisling cut him off, her words clipped. “None of us knew— I didn’t know—anything.” She hadn’t known Kael’s plan, nor the price of calling the Silver Saints. Hadn’t known that he would end up in Elowas, trapped, or just how all of it— all of it —would break her.

It wasn’t until that moment that Aisling realized the true depth of her anger, and it took standing before the male she loved, and had been forced to kill, for all of it to come flooding to the surface.

But she hid it, too, behind a similarly blank stare.

Letting him see everything she was feeling now would be to bare herself to him, and she didn’t trust him enough to do so yet.

He reached out and brushed the back of his hand over hers. Gently, tentatively. “I would see my death a hundred times over if it ensured your safety.”

Aisling froze at his admission, paralyzed by the wave of hurt that washed over her. He would do it again—he would break her heart again. He would force her a hundred times over to give up her hope, her innocence, to drag that dagger across his throat. The one that now hung at her hip.

With shaking hands she tore at the belt around her waist, fumbling with the buckle until it came undone. She ripped it from her body and threw the whole bundle to the ground at Kael’s feet.

“And yet you would mourn the loss of a god that ordered you to kill me.” She spat the words like acid—they burned just as sharply on her tongue.

She searched for something more, something profound and biting to say, but her mind had gone utterly silent with rage.

His brows lowered in confusion when she took one step back, then another, then finally turned on her heel and stalked angrily back into the cairn.

And she realized that they weren’t going to have their moment: that beautiful reunion she’d wished for. Perhaps they never would.