I can only shake my head. I pull out my phone and call my contact line for the Cast’s envoy, leaving a message about the hunt, hoping they can stop it before too many people are butchered.
When I get off the phone, Sage picks up Aelia, moving her out of the way, and scoots closer to me. “Why would they do that, Faelan? What were they trying to prove?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.” I just wish I knew if Kieran wanted Sage or if he wanted her dead. It would make this so much easier. I’ll just have to keep her away until after the Emergence.
We drop off Victoria and make it back to the Cottages around midnight. I carry Aelia through the yard, into the back of the main house, and up to her bedroom. I lay her out on the pink blankets, and Sage pulls down her hiked skirt and takes off her shoes, then sits on the other side of the bed.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” she asks.
“It’ll wear off with sleep, I’m sure. Druids have pretty solid metabolisms.”
We sit for a while, both just watching Aelia sleep, not sure what to say. Eventually Sage stands and we leave the room, heading down the stairs and out through the backyard. When we come to our cottages, she pauses and turns to me, like she wants to say something but she’s unsure. Her eyes search my face for a couple of tense seconds. I know I should turn away, but I can’t manage it.
“Thank you,” she finally says quietly.
But I can’t accept her gratitude. “I’m sorry I let you go in the first place. Anything could’ve happened.”
She shakes her head. “You were being supportive.” She shifts her feet, and then asks, “How many more days until this Emergence thing?”
“Seven.”
“So we’ll lay low,” she says, determination in her voice, like we’re making a plan.
“That’s what I was thinking.” I let myself step a little closer, wanting her to know I mean what I say. “But I don’t want to keep you shut in if it’s going to make you feel overwhelmed.”
She surprises me, resting her palm on my chest. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to see this through. I need to know.” A thin ache blossoms where her fingers graze my sternum, and I realize she’s taking from me, unaware, even through the torque. It’s not enough to harm me, though. And a part of me is strangely comforted by it. As if it’s what I was meant to do.
My heartbeat picks up, and I wonder if she can feel it in her skin as my energy slinks into her.
She rises to her toes and brushes her lips against my cheek.
I stay still as she kisses me, and I let her pull away, rooting my feet to the spot, holding myself back from touching her.
Because I know that if I allow myself to reach out in this moment . . .
I won’t stop.
FORTY
SAGE
I close my cottage door and sigh, feeling lighter than I have in forever. In spite of everything, he was there. Again. He had my back. I think I’ve totally let myself fall for the guy.
It’s so dumb.
I peel off my dress, wash my face, and pull on a pair of stretch pants with skulls on them and a baggy Nirvana shirt. I smile to myself, thinking of how I felt his breath catch when I kissed his cheek. I climb into bed, curling onto my side, hugging my pillow, and marvel at his steadfastness.
Then my fingers touch something cold.
And I remember.
I pull the glass owl out from under my pillow, and all thoughts of Faelan slip away as I roll onto my back, holding it up, studying it in the bright moonlight that’s coming through the window. My little Fionn.
Thoughts of the evening float away as I run my fingers over the bird’s face, tracing its features, its speckled feathers. And then I grip it in my hand, pressing it to my chest. Thinking of the comfort of a cold mountain keep, the comfort of a king. Knowing I’ll be with him soon.
Very soon.
I would say that our world on this icy mountain has returned to how it was before my surrender, but that would be said only to comfort myself. Because I . . .
I am not the same.
However much he is.
Every evening after supper, he still walks me to my bedroom door, telling me that I am his, and then he leaves me without protest when I push his advances away. As before, he doesn’t force his will. He never touches me without invitation. And I still don’t know if I should give such a thing again.
However much my body longs for it.
Every night after I crawl into bed, I lie wide awake for hours, arguing with myself, contemplating sneaking through the back passage to his room and climbing into his arms where this hunger can be satiated.
I have wished many times that I was another girl, one who could embrace this cage. Then I could settle into the cold in the arms of this beast. But the child of fire in me resists; it yearns for green life and struggles with the idea of giving itself over.
Still, the strangest thoughts come to me now, about him, about the two of us together. As if this were more than a physical hunger I’m feeling. Like how I miss the sound of his whistling when he doesn’t come out with me on my daily ride, or how comforting it is to smell his leathers when he arrives home after a long day in the village.
And how I miss the feel of his arms gripping me tight . . . even though it happened only that one magical time.
The thought has come to me that I could be happy in this life.
I cast it away and remain in between. Forcing my hopes into submission.
Because I will be free of this one day. I will. I’ll return to the green of my wood with Lailoken, and I’ll be home again.
And this will be nothing but an icy memory.
My eyes open slowly as I surface from the dream, the emotions in me still raw, the chill of the snow still lingering in my bones. The sun is shining in soft beams across the bed, the morning light filtering through the gauzy yellow curtains.
I stare at the dust motes in the air and sift through the dream as I emerge from it. So much turmoil and resistance. Fighting the hunger, the yearning. Yearning not to be alone. And I wonder why.
Why am I pushing the king away?
My nerves spark, realizing my mistake.
No—it’s Lily. Not me. I’m not doing anything.
A shiver works through me as I realize how deep I’m getting. The dreams are too vivid right now, lingering in the morning air, lingering inside me.
Even as I try to bury it, it sticks to my bones.
I have to focus on the present. Only the present. I can’t let the dreams, the emotions, sink in too deep and mess with me. No matter how much I want to cling to it. It’s not real.
It’s dreams. Dreams of the dead.
The next few days roll by in a steady rhythm of late-morning “power practice,” as I call it, with Faelan, then afternoon laziness by the pool with Aelia and whichever friend she’s let tag along, ending with dinner with Marius and ditzy Barb.
But in the night, I shift. I become another soul, living in the cold, my best friend a monk, my lover my enemy.