Page 67

I t was dusk when the group stepped through the door, but even the sun’s low, dying rays forced them all to shield their eyes against the brightness.

Back amongst the towering, ancient pines of the Wild, Aisling felt as though she could breathe—truly breathe—for the first time in a very, very long time.

She filled her lungs again and again with the fresh forest air, tasting the soil and the trees and the dampness of climbing moss.

The clearing before the moon gate was thicker with vegetation now than it had been when they’d left.

The tiny brook that bisected it was buried beneath ferns and undergrowth.

Without Kael’s regular visits to that secret place, the forest had reclaimed it for itself.

The thin layer of snow and ice was gone, too.

It was still cold, but tiny green sprouts poked through the wet dirt in places, some already budding.

It was spring.

Winter had passed in the time they’d spent in Elowas—what had felt like days. Like an eternity. Here in the Wild, mere months.

Before she could descend the broken stone steps, Kael had pulled Aisling roughly into his arms. He held her tight against him and buried his face in her hair, drawing in a deep breath, taking in her scent just as she had the forest’s.

She relaxed into his hold, but regretted it instantly when a burst of pain shot through her wrist. Kael grasped her by the shoulders and pulled back to look down at her. His expression was stern.

“How could you have attempted something so reckless?”

“Because you would have taken his bargain,” she accused.

Kael sighed heavily, his grip on her loosening. “I would have. You were right not to trust me.”

“I’m tired of letting you sacrifice, Kael. It was my turn.” Aisling turned her head and kissed his knuckles, first of his right hand, then his left. He smoothed his thumbs over her shoulders.

“You are a fool, Aisling Morrow, but I am grateful for you,” he acquiesced.

Aisling looked up at him with a half-smile. “Some might even say you love me?”

Kael chuckled and pulled her in once more, gently this time. “They would be correct.”

After their brief pause at the moon gate, watching the silver light fade away to nothing, the group trudged in silence to the Undercastle.

It was just beginning to wake, the sounds of hobs scurrying from chamber to chamber a comfort to Aisling: that backwards Undercastle she’d tunneled her way out of had been deathly silent.

This was real. She was back; this was real.

It was only in that comfort that she allowed herself to begin processing what had happened at the crossroads.

Kael’s loss, and what had been unearthed within him because of it.

A kernel of Seren, hidden long ago in his ancestral line, passed on and on down until it had been buried in him.

There were portions missing, parts of his history that Aisling couldn’t quite piece together.

But she was certain of this, certain of the power Kael now wielded, and certain of its significance.

Her prophecy—every line, every damn word of it, was so deeply layered with meaning, each one as distinct as it was tied to the others.

Every new solution to the riddle of the Red Woman unfolded into the next, unfolded into the next, unfolded into the next.

It was relentless, and daunting, and yet… so incredibly full of possibility.

As for revenant spring—maybe it wasn’t only Kael that Aisling was meant to bring back. Maybe it was Merak’s lost magic, too.

She was, as before, exactly where she was supposed to be, and had done exactly what she was supposed to do. But Rodney was right when he’d lectured her: though the prophecy told her the end of the story, she was the one writing the book, and she was the one turning its pages.

Elasha halted when she came upon the group rounding the corner before the throne room, dropping the basket she carried as her gaze landed on Raif.

She said nothing, but her breath hitched audibly as she dipped her head.

Raif’s eyes fell to her stomach, the slightest crack in his composure.

Elasha nodded. Her voice was barely audible when she whispered, “A little girl.”

Raif faltered only briefly before he stepped forward and stooped to pick up the basket.

When he offered it back to her, he let his hands linger on hers for a beat before returning to Kael’s side.

She stepped out of the way to let them by, but trailed behind when he gave a subtle nod in passing.

Aisling tried not to let the apothecarist notice the way she cradled her aching wrist and winced with every swallow.

The throne room was bare, the cavernous space hollow and vast without the swaths of hanging velvet or the greenery or even Merak’s light.

Aisling had hoped that they’d returned from Anirith and that they would be awaiting the group’s return.

She’d been so eager to explain to the Silver Saints, and to Kael, just what they had brought back with them from Elowas—and that it had been hidden here in the Wild all along.

To see Kael stand before them, a distant, distant descendant of the first Light Bringers, would have seemed a beautiful ending to his painful odyssey.

“My king.” A tall male vaulted off the dais, dropping to one knee at Kael’s feet. His eyes were wide and his face ashen as he gazed up at Kael. Aisling couldn’t tell whether he was glad or frightened by their quiet entry. Stunned, either way.

“Eamon,” Kael greeted him. He gestured for the commander to rise.

“You’re—” he started, but Kael headed him off.

“Yes.” Back. He was back. She’d brought him back; this was real.

“I…we did not think it possible. I wasn’t…

I swear I wasn’t—” Eamon fumbled his words frantically before cutting himself off and glancing back at the dais.

There was a sturdy chair placed beside Kael’s obsidian throne, carved from wood with straight lines and simple shapes.

It was not ornate, nor was it nearly as large, but it stood at the head of the chamber just the same.

Eamon steadied himself, collected his thoughts, then tried again: “I refused to sit on your throne. I swear to you, Highness—no one has touched your seat.”

“You’ve left the Fifth Company?” Raif demanded, once again Kael’s Captain of the Guard.

Eamon barely stifled a grimace. “I delegated command to my second, for the time being, when the Silver Saints named me their emissary and king regent.”

Aisling’s heart leapt, racing now with excitement. “Is Merak here?”

“They’ve not been here in a long while,” Eamon provided. “They sit in Anirith at the head of a peace council.”

“How long?” The muscles in Kael’s hand twitched, his fingers almost imperceptibly tightening over hers.

Eamon understood the subtext of the question and was reticent to answer. He lowered his gaze. “Over two years, Highness. Just.”

Over two years. Aisling exhaled sharply as the air was forced from her lungs. Over two years in the Wild would have been close to six months on Brook Isle. Six months for Briar to miss her, to wonder whether she’d abandoned him for good. She turned to Rodney, unable to conceal her panic.

“We have to go home.”

“Ash…” He bit his lip.

Eamon cut him off. “The Thin Places remain closed under decree by the Silver Saints. The Veil is yet too weak to risk reopening them.”

Aisling shook her head slowly, back and forth. Back and forth. She had to get back—she had to. Kael moved closer and stilled her motion with one hand on her cheek.

“We will repair it,” he said firmly. “We will find a way, I promise.”

Before Aisling could argue, Rodney took her elbow gently. “Come with me a minute, Ash. I need to talk to you about something.”

Kael reluctantly released her, but kept a wary eye on the pair as Rodney led her away.

They stopped on the far side of the chamber beside a towering column.

It might have been the same one they’d lingered beside on Nocturne, waiting and watching for the perfect moment for Aisling to approach the king.

“We have to go home, Rodney,” Aisling said again.

“I know you do, Ash.”

You. Rodney was never careless with his words; every one he used, he chose for a reason. Aisling fell back a step.

“We,” she emphasized. “We’ll come back here—we don’t have to stay, but we—”

“Aisling.” Rodney stopped her, shaking his head.

She backed away a step further, as though a few more inches of distance might protect her from what he was about to say.

She’d been so happy, so hopeful when they’d emerged back into Wyldraíocht.

Now, she felt as though everything was unraveling around her.

“Don’t,” she warned when he reached for her.

“Just listen, alright?” he pled. His voice was thick with tears as he explained, “It’s like Fenian said: I no longer exist where you’re going. Rodney is gone, Ash; I can’t go back with you.”

“But you’re Rodney—you’re still here! I don’t understand.” Hot tears spilled from her eyes, and Rodney wasn’t far behind with his own. They caught in his fur, darkening the russet red where they pooled.

“When a púca’s glamour is taken—shredded, as mine was—it…it’s like a death, in a way. I can’t just go back to my life as Rodney.”

“No,” she cried. He was her best friend—she couldn’t lose her best friend. Not now. Not after everything. Finally, she let him take her hands in his, unable to turn away his comfort any longer.

“I’ve lived a lot of lives, Ash,” he said through his own strangled sobs. “I need you to know that this one has been my favorite by a mile.”

Aisling threw her arms around him and cried into his chest, feeling her world breaking apart as Elowas had.

She’d been so far adrift when she returned to Brook Isle to care for her father before his passing, and Rodney had been right there by her side.

For all his machinations, he’d been her guide to the Wild when she dumped her prophecy unceremoniously in his lap.

He’d taken care of her when she refused to take care of herself.

She could hardly imagine what her life on Brook Isle might look like after all this; she couldn’t fathom it at all if Rodney wasn’t in it.

He rested his pointed chin atop her head gently as his own cries slowed. “It isn’t all as bad as it sounds, truly. I’m still me; I’m still your best friend. I still know all your embarrassing secrets, and you know a great deal of mine.”

Still, her lungs ached and the tears kept coming in a torrent.

She wasn’t only mourning Rodney now, but her old life.

Her life before the trauma and fear and heartache and sacrifice.

She had a foot in both realms, just as her mother had, and she didn’t know how to balance on the tightrope in between.

Maeve had never gotten it quite right; Aisling was afraid she wouldn’t either.

Rodney let her cry herself out and for once, she was grateful Kael kept his distance. She needed that time with her friend. Finally, she settled enough to pull back and wiped her face with her sleeve.

“Can’t you come back as someone else?” she tried. “We’ll make you a good backstory.”

Rodney chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve considered that, believe me. But I think…I think I’d like to try being myself for a little while.”

Aisling wrapped her arms around her waist and nodded.

“So—hi Aisling. It’s nice to meet you.” A lopsided grin spread across Rodney’s face, lighting up those vulpine features as he stuck out his hand. “My name is Cimbir.”

She laughed; she couldn’t help herself. She shook his hand. “Cimbir?”

“It’ll grow on you,” he teased.

With one arm draped over her shoulders, Rodney— Cimbir —led her back to rejoin the others. Kael had slipped once more into his royal countenance, but relaxed once Aisling was back at his side.

“What do we do now?” She was tired of making decisions; she wanted someone else to take the lead and tell her what to do.

Kael pressed a reverent kiss to the crown of her head. “Now, we bathe, and we eat, and we rest. And then we can make a plan.”

Raif departed first with Elasha. His face was drawn and pale, and he gripped her hand like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

His child—his little girl—had grown up two years without her father.

Aisling tried hard not to ruminate on it; her heart felt raw enough as it was.

Instead, as she walked between Cimbir and Kael, she considered those first three tasks.

Bathe. Eat. Rest. She repeated the words with each step, letting the rest of her mind fall silent in focus.

One thing at a time—and then they would figure out all the rest.

Halfway down the corridor, a spasm seized Aisling’s throat and she doubled over.

She coughed violently, tears returning to sting her eyes at the intense burning that forced her breath to come in wheezing gasps.

Kael and Cimbir both lunged to catch her before her knees buckled and she hit the floor.

Despite having momentarily gripped a fistful of Kael’s robe for support, Aisling waved them off once she regained her balance and the hacking subsided.

“Aisling?” Kael stroked her hair, rubbed her back, his hands moving over her as if searching for some invisible injury.

“I’m okay,” she rasped. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

Kael made to protest, but silenced quickly. He shifted fluidly into a defensive stance in front of Aisling when something moved ahead, barely noticeable in the dim light.

And then a familiar voice snaked out of a shadowy alcove, smooth as velvet and cutting as a blade when it said lavishly, “Might I have an audience with the Revenant King?”