Urgency fills me at the tormented sound of his voice. “Faelan . . . that’s not true.”
But he doesn’t seem to hear me. “After I learned the truth, I was overwhelmed by the lie my life had become. So I abandoned my House—I broke the vow I’d made at my Emergence. I couldn’t be loyal to a father who would be so vile. I couldn’t stay under my brother’s rule—I’d quickly realized that his nature was as debased as our father’s. And I was terrified I would become just like them.”
I can only shake my head, disgusted, words failing me.
He stares at the ground, like he’s ashamed. I want to touch him, to comfort him, but I know he’ll push me away.
So instead I say, “You’re nothing like that, Faelan.”
“I made sure I never would be,” he says, his voice tight. “In order to leave, there was a payment to be made. A demi doesn’t just break a vow on a whim. I had to give things up, to sacrifice. So I severed the link to my father, allowing for a majority of my power to return to the gods, keeping only my secondary gift and locking away my healing ability in my blood so that I wouldn’t have immortality anymore.” His brow pinches. “But I also forged a soul vow with the Cast to remain celibate, to sever that part of my life. And if I break my vow, I’ll be forced to return to my brother. It was the easiest choice in the world when I made it. Until . . .” He turns to me, searching my face. “I find myself regretting my choice now.”
His words settle in the air between us like a question.
The forest around us creaks, waiting.
“I find myself wishing for another man’s life when I’m near you,” he says. “I feel a hundred things for you that I can’t feel.”
I let his words sink in. And I understand, finally. He hasn’t been keeping his distance for the reasons I assumed. He’s been tormented, broken, in ways I could never imagine. He’s had to face more sorrow than I could ever carry. And yet he still sees me as I am, and cares about me, cares for me. It feels like it’s too much.
I move in front of him, unable to hold back from comforting him now. I want to take away that haunted look in his eyes. I want to say a million things, anything to help him carry the burden of those horrors, let him know that I’ll never think of him as a monster, that it doesn’t matter what he can give me; I’ll take it.
Instead I reach out and slide my fingers through his, then ask under my breath, “What about this? Is this against the rules?”
He studies me, his features softening. “No,” he says.
I could tell him that I feel sorrow for him, that I want to relieve him of his pain—but I’d rather just push the darkness back. I need him to understand that I don’t see him like his nightmare. Not even a little.
So I step closer. “Because this is nice,” I say, “standing with you in the trees.” He seems relieved at my words. The scent of his energy envelops me, fresh mint tingling in my throat like he’s seeking me out. I feel my power stir in response, but I hold it steady—easily, the control second nature now. And I let myself whisper, “I think I’d like to kiss you. Is that all right?”
He nods slowly, brushing his fingers over my jaw as the space between us shrinks. “You’re an amazing one, fiery Sage,” he says.
“Too true.”
I smile, rising as he bends, and our lips touch, gentle and delicate. I take in the smell of his skin, the taste of his breath, fresh and alive, then we pull away and continue walking, his fingers still woven through mine, as we listen to the life in the trees, the song of the birds and the rustle of the leaves. Leaving behind the weight of what came before.
After a while I say, “Astrid was right about one thing, you know.”
He frowns, giving me a sideways look.
I grin at him. “You were my first kiss.”
I find my king in a small thicket, resting under a rowan tree. His head leans on the dark, twisted trunk, eyes closed, the limbs above him heavy with red berries. His raven, Bran, announces my arrival with a screech as I come through the ferns. He hushes the bird with a cluck of his tongue.
“Why did you draw me here, my love?” I ask, kneeling beside him in the clover. “I thought you were in Constantinople.”
He reaches out, brushing his calloused fingers along my jaw. “I wanted you here in this moment, to be home where you feel safe.”
The pained look in his eyes stills me. Something’s wrong. “What’s happened?”
“My sister.”
“Mara again? What of her?” His sister is always a nuisance, trying to pull his strings, to manipulate me as well. But what could she have done to create that torment in his eyes? There’s never been any true danger from her.
“She’s done the unthinkable, Lilybird.” He takes my hand, weaving our fingers together. “She’s set to destroy you, to steal your heart, your soul if need be. And I’m afraid she’s come too close this time. We weren’t wary enough of her.”
“What do you mean?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls something free. “I am poisoned.”
I go cold, the warm summer air of the wood no longer soothing my skin. “Poison? But you . . . what are you saying?” It doesn’t make sense.
“I had to be sure,” he says. “I felt the effects of something, but I didn’t realize what it was. I discovered her trickery last night.” His palm opens, and I see my torque cradled in his fingers.
I look at it, trying to understand why he’s showing it to me. “I haven’t worn that in centuries.”
“I tucked it away long ago, when you first came to me, and now I carry it with me when I’m away from you, so that it’s always near my heart.” I reach out to take it, but he closes his fingers, hiding it in his fist again. “She somehow had it soaked in an insidious poison. It’s very powerful. I’ve never felt anything like this. I’ll be lost to it soon.”
A sharp pain pierces my chest. “No,” I say, very sure, “you can’t be seeing this right. It can’t be true.” My love cannot be lost from me. Not my king. He is death. He is forever.
“I’ve asked your monk, and he’s revealed the truth for me,” he says. “It appears to be a poison from a Chaldean sect. I have little time before it eats away at my mind. I’ll be useless within a fortnight, and there’s no antidote. Not even your monk knows of one.”
“No,” I say again. His words won’t settle in me. This can’t be real. I saw him last moon before he left on his journey to the east; he was well, strong.
“It’s why I called you to this wood,” he says, ignoring my protest, “where my sister’s eyes can’t penetrate. We must act now or it’ll be too late. I won’t be able to instruct you on how to destroy me.”
“Stop,” I say, rising to my feet. “Enough. You’re talking nonsense. I’ll speak to Lailoken, he’ll know what we can do. We should have your younger sister call on your mother—”