Chapter Eight
Things with Caol didn’t return to normal and after a month, the lack of normalcy was . . . grating.
Caol refused to train him. He always offered an excuse and was gone more often than Rion was accustomed. When Rion had questioned him on the matter, Caol had simply said he was dealing with a few personal matters. Rion had asked Saoirse about it, but she didn’t know anything about Caol’s personal life. Caol seemed to be avoiding her as well.
Saoirse was gone more often, too. She and the council were busy dealing with rogue factions that had risen up against their brother. According to the elders, it was normal to challenge a new High Lord’s authority. To test him, whatever that meant.
Rion never left the mountain side. He cleaned, tended to the gardens, and trained almost every hour of the day.
It wasn’t enough.
His mind was restless, and living alone was far more difficult than Rion had previously imagined. Saoirse brought him stacks of books once a week. He flew through them, learning an assortment of new things from building to chiseling characters from wood, an activity that quickly grew into a hobby.
Rion sighed and let his hands fall lax. Maybe this was part of his punishment from Caol. That and cleaning the cabin from top to bottom. Perhaps this was Caol’s way of teaching him exactly what complete isolation would feel like.
Saoirse visited Liam for questioning a few more times, but the male never talked, whether from fear or some other motivation, none knew.
Using a knife, Rion chipped another small piece off the block of wood. He’d already fashioned the base of what he hoped would be a small body. The Fairy Folk. Caol would appreciate their likeness in his garden. Or maybe Rion would give it to the little creatures just to see how they’d react. A smile crept to his face at the thought.
He was sitting beneath one of the apple trees, listening to the bees buzzing between the rotted bits of fruit when Caol appeared. Rion lifted his gaze, then shot to his feet at the scent of Caol’s magic. The male hadn’t even bothered to go inside first. Had something happened? His mind immediately went to Saoirse. Caol drew his sword and Rion’s throat went dry as he stepped back.
“You’re unarmed?” Rion nodded slowly. Caol tsked . “Get your weapons and be quick about it.”
Rion’s heart jolted, but he didn’t argue. The two hadn’t had a sparring session since his return, but Caol seemed . . . different today. Agitated. Maybe something had happened in Nàdair.
He returned quickly and followed Caol deeper into the forest.
They never sparred next to the male’s home, just in case their magic got out of hand. Rion would hate to have to rebuild the entire cabin from the ground up.
Caol stopped then spun. Rion stepped back again. Something in his face was . . . off. His heart beat too fast and Rion swore the male’s eyes were rimmed with red. Surely he couldn’t have been crying. Rion scented the air, searching for any signs of alcohol. The male rarely indulged. Perhaps he just hadn’t slept well.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Rion hedged, feeling more than a little awkward at prying.
“No.” Caol’s face turned to stone then. Indifferent. He dropped into a stance and Rion mirrored the movement. “We haven’t spared in a while. Show me you haven’t gotten lazy.”
Rion rolled his neck and grinned. He could still smell Caol’s magic. If he used it, then Rion would do the same.
Caol moved. He was as fast as lighting and struck harder than a battering ram. Rion gritted his teeth and barely held his ground. All right then, no holding back.
He pivoted, but Caol was there to thwart the movement, knocking Rion off balance. Rion grunted and spun away before repositioning himself. Caol allowed it, then the two lunged for one another again.
Fast. Caol was so fast. Faster than the males Rion had killed a month ago. More skilled too, or maybe the adrenaline in the moment had just helped him focus. Instinct had kicked in and those very instincts were usually the thing that kept Fae alive on the battlefield.
He could do it again, let his instincts take over and finally beat the male that had taught him everything. Maybe then Caol would show some pride—a blade flashed and Rion faltered. He barely had time to register it as the knife’s tip sliced across his right cheek.
Rion scrambled back and touched the stinging wound only for it to come away bloody. His eyes widened.
Never once in all their training sessions had Caol drawn blood. Not deliberately. Not like this.
Rion looked up at him. The male wasn’t even sorry for it. “What’s wrong?” Caol taunted. “I thought you were ready to be out in the real world?”
It clicked then. Rion had been right. He was being punished and this was an extension of that punishment. An extreme extension. Caol intended to show Rion exactly what he’d be up against if he tried to leave again. Caol was probably getting his anger out, too. Anger for the younglings who’d died and anger for whatever personal matters he’d faced recently.
This wasn’t a sparring match. It was a test.
Rion swallowed and summoned his own magic, letting it rise up and around his body. He watched Caol’s magic crawl from beneath the forest’s underbrush, snaking across the ground as if alive.
Alive and furious.
Vines, small plants, bushes, and trees all answered Caol’s call.
Uncertainty flooded Rion’s body and warning bells kept echoing in his head. Something wasn’t right. Caol was too angry. Too . . . something. They shouldn’t be sparing. Saoirse should be here to monitor at the very least, just to ensure the male didn’t push things too far.
But how many times had Rion resented them for treating him like a child? Isn’t this what he’d been asking for? The chance to be treated like an adult? Like an equal?
Rion had witnessed the brutality of Saoirse and Alec’s sparing sessions beneath their father’s watchful gaze. They’d often left the ring with bruises, scrapes, and the occasional broken bone.
This was Brónach. They weren’t a weak nation and it was time for Rion to stop acting like a youngling and begin the transition of becoming a full-fledged warrior.
“Finished day dreaming?” Caol asked, impatience in his tone.
Rion drew in a steadying breath and calmed the pulse in his veins. He let the magic flow through him like the current of a river. Strong and unyielding.
Rion locked eyes with Caol, then lunged.
The two males’ weapons sang through the trees as metal bit against metal. Sand and dirt and greenery collided and exploded on impact, decorating the forest in bits of rock and debris.
Caol moved impossibly faster. Rion tried to pivot around another strike but found himself tumbling to the ground instead.
Caol didn’t hesitate. Vines shot out of the soft earth and forced Rion to roll away as they struck the ground with lethal force.
He looked to his teacher, willing the male to afford him a moment of reprieve, but Caol struck out at him again.
And again.
And again.
Rion kept rolling out of the magic’s path and had barely stumbled back to his feet when sharp pain pierced through his lower back. Rion gasped from the sudden heat and the impact propelled him forward. He grimaced and reached for his lower abdomen only to find four thin vines protruding from his flesh. The bloody leaves unfurled and reached for the high noon sun above.
Rion looked to Caol for . . . for . . .
Anguish covered the male’s face. “I’m sorry.” Rion’s head swam. “It’s for the best. I—I’ll make sure your sister knows. I won’t bury you to be forgotten.”
Rion stumbled then fell to his knees, the jarring of the four vines eliciting another round of blinding pain.
His body trembled, then the vines withdrew and blood rushed from the wounds, soaking his tunic. He clenched his fists and ground his teeth so hard Rion was sure they’d crack. “You promised,” he gasped.
“I know,” Caol replied. “I’m sorry.”
More vines rose, ready to finish what Caol had started.
“You’re sorry,” Rion mocked then snapped his head up to meet Caol’s forlorn expression. “You’re—” Rion gasped when another shock of pain rolled through his system.
Caol approached slowly. “I won’t drag this out.” Rion must have imagined the break in his voice. “I’ll make it quick so you don’t have to suffer. Is there anything you want me to tell Saoirse?”
Rion scoffed. Caol wanted him to say his final words? He wanted—the male kneeled at Rion’s side. A hand reached for his shoulder.
Then Rion exploded.
No. His magic exploded.
He hadn’t even realized he’d raised his hand to swat Caol’s away before the male was on the ground across from him with a dozen jagged holes punched straight through his torso.
He only moved once before falling still. Red soaked through his cream-colored tunic. The vines fell limp.
No.
Another wave of blinding pain. Another strike to his already battered heart.
His mother.
His father.
Liam. And now . . . now . . . Rion doubled over and roared into the earth. It cracked beneath him and fissures spider-webbed their way across the ground, splitting the very rocks beneath his crumpled body.
His voice didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not as his heart raced and bled out right there over the damp mossy ground. He’d told himself he didn’t care. That Caol was just another male, but . . . but . . . gods, why, why, why?
Rion slammed his fist into the ground and it caved in from the force of the impact. Or maybe that was his cursed magic. He didn’t care. Not as he did it over and over again, letting the physical pain radiate up his arm.
He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He didn’t care.
Hot tears rolled down his face. Small rivers that would never cease.
Rion cursed the warm sun overhead, damning it for its brightness when color had faded from his life. He cursed the ground where Caol’s vines lay unmoving. He cursed the particles rising up, circling as if they might protect him from the pain lancing through his heart.
Nothing could help him now.
Not with this.
His chest rose and fell and sobs tore through him until Rion’s body shivered from the cold.
Not the cold, a rational part of him said. Something else. Something dangerous.
Reluctantly, Rion lifted his head from the earth and touched a hand to his abdomen.
It came away bloody. Soaked. A spike of adrenaline raced through his veins. Too much. There was too much. Rion forced himself to stand, then stumbled back until his body collided hard with the rough bark of a tree. He sucked in breath after breath, willing the dizziness to pass.
He’d waited too long. Rion clenched his teeth and glanced down at his abdomen again before looking away. Caol had struck true, but Rion had no way of knowing if the wounds were fatal.
He needed to get back to the cabin. Caol had supplies there, but . . . Rion doubled over again, the pain almost forcing him back to his knees.
No. It wouldn’t be enough. He needed—gods, was he actually going to die?
Rion glanced down the path that led to Nàdair.
Saoirse would help him, but was she even at the palace or was she off on another mission? Could he even make the journey?
Rion tried to breathe through the pain. It would be so much easier to succumb to it. To tilt his head back and enjoy the warm sun one last time before darkness pulled him under.
But—Rion clenched his jaw. He had to try. For Saoirse, he had to try.
Rion pushed off from the solid maple, still bracing with one hand for balance. The dizziness wasn’t fading. What were his chances?
With gritted teeth, Rion stepped, then stepped again. One foot at a time.
His pace was slow as he made his way down the trail, leaving the male who’d promised to protect him behind to be swallowed by the forest.
Caol. Caol had tried to kill him. Might have succeeded.
Maybe he’d personally known one of the younglings that had died. Maybe he’d been consoling the family all this time and that’s why he’d returned angry. Caol blamed him, just like he blamed Rion for the High Lord’s death.
Maybe he really was a curse.
He wished he’d been born normal. He wished he had friends. That his mother was still around to give him advice. He wished he’d never gotten magic at all.
As a child, he’d often feared being left magicless. He’d thought it the worst fate imaginable.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
Rion stumbled and his knees barked when they hit the ground. Blood trickled down his thighs now. He was going to die right here in this forest and be forgotten by the world. Maybe Saoirse would find his rotted corpse, if the animals left anything behind. Fear jolted through him. Or maybe she’d only find a trace of his scent and his sister would be left searching for another member of their family.
Rion balled his fists. He couldn’t let that happen. Even if it took his last breath to get there, Rion would make it to the edge of Nàdair. For Saoirse.
He fought to rise. Fought against the pain and numbness settling over his body. Time warped around him. Speeding and slowing all at once. The forest faded in and out. Shadows crept through the trees.
Rion slipped through the hole in the giant redwoods. Night had fallen, or maybe he just couldn’t see anymore.
He found the marble steps of the palace. Or what looked like steps? Was this home or just another residence? An illusion? He trudged down white halls. The pain was receding. Not a good sign, but a pleasant one. His mind was clearing, too. Saoirse. He just needed to find Saoirse.
Faint voices echoed when he rounded another corner, his feet carrying him to places unknown. Then a figure emerged. And maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he could have sworn their mother’s eyes greeted him.
Rion tried to smile, just so it would be the last thing she saw.
Then he gave in. His body fell.
Darkness caught him in its warm embrace.
Darkness whispered his name, begging him to hold on.