Chapter 18 #2
"Who is he?" Malek insisted, impatience sharpening his voice.
I ran a trembling hand through Leone's matted hair, feeling the heat of fever radiating from his brow.
"Leone, please," I pleaded, my voice thick with unshed tears. "Open your eyes."
My brother groaned in pain. His blue eyes fluttered open slowly, but his gaze remained vacant, lost in a fog of agony and exhaustion. He stared at me for a heartbeat, yet there was no spark of recognition; I was nothing more than a shadow in his delirium.
"Water," he whispered, his voice raspy and nearly inaudible.
"Bring water and the ingyl leaves," I barked at Malek, never shifting my gaze from my brother. "Quickly!"
He hesitated for an instant, surprise tightening the strong line of his shoulders.
He didn't ask questions, but I felt his doubt pressing against the silence. To my relief, he obeyed. I knew that once I could think rationally again, I would regret barking orders at a Ruk’hai like that—but right now, I didn't have a choice.
Malek vanished and returned minutes later with a bowl of water and the herbs. I took the water and carefully pressed it against Leone’s cracked lips. He drank in small gulps, the liquid spilling over his chin.
His wounds weren’t the scars of a fair battle, but deep gashes and heavy bruising from repeated blows. The enchantment that had bound him had likely compounded the damage, siphoning his strength and life force, leaving his body unable to heal itself.
Malek remained only a few paces from me, silent. The surprise had vanished from his face, replaced by the same impenetrable walls he’d worn when we first met. His attention stayed fixed on Leone, bordering on hostility. He looked ready to intervene at any moment.
"How do you know this High Fae?" Malek questioned again, his voice harsher this time.
I cleaned my brother’s wounds with painstaking care, my thoughts racing to find an answer that wouldn't end in our deaths.
Malek still believed I was an orc from Oguk, and his hatred for the High Fae ran deep.
If he discovered my true identity—and that the male before him was my brother, the heir to Ceilte—the situation would become irreversible.
On the other hand, if the Autumn Court had been transporting my brother as a prisoner and marching toward Ceilte, it meant our alliance no longer existed. If that was the case, I had to choose which side to trust with my life—and Leone’s.
"Fiona?" Malek pressed. His tone no longer allowed for evasion.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think quickly. In the end, I made a decision that I prayed to Danu and Nemain wouldn't be my last mistake.
"I’m not who you think I am."
? ? ?
There was no turning back now. I told Malek everything.
He listened without a flicker of surprise or shock crossing his face.
There was only the cold and focused intensity of a warrior mapping out a battlefield.
I revealed my lineage, the familial ties between Leone and me, and the truth of how I had ended up here.
I spoke of Merith, the curse, my desperate flight, and the constant fear of discovery.
By the time I reached the part about Leone, the words spilled out with the raw urgency of grief.
"This is my brother," I said, my eyes brimming with tears. "Leone, my twin."
I finished the confession exhausted and trembling, bracing myself for fury, disgust, or judgment. Instead, Malek crouched down, maintaining his distance, and examined Leone with eyes that were no longer hostile but analytical.
"What did Alasdair do to make the Autumn Court come for his son in his own home?"
"I don't know what happened. But Alasdair isn't one to break agreements."
Malek shook his head and turned back to me. The weak torchlight played across his eyes, revealing a distrust he made no effort to hide. I knew I had no right to expect otherwise, but that look cut deep.
"What do you expect me to do?"
"Help me save him," I pleaded, moving closer and extending my hand until my fingers brushed his knee. He didn't recoil from my touch. "If the Autumn Court is willing to strike down Ceilte’s heir, the alliance has been broken."
"And why does that matter to me?" His voice was cold as steel. "Ceilte’s our enemy. This war is yours, not ours."
"Because if Grìosach attacks Ceilte, the Winter Court will strike back," I said, trying to appeal to his logic. "Lyraen will become a battlefield, and your people will be caught in the crossfire."
His jaw tightened. He couldn't deny the truth in my words.
"I’m not your enemy, Malek. And as much as I have lied, I’d never do anything to hurt your people. I need your help."
Malek surged to his feet, pacing the cabin. He absorbed the information, weighing risk against reward. The revelation that I was High Fae—a Kerridan, nonetheless—hadn't made him explode in rage, which brought a flicker of relief. But his distrust remained a solid, impenetrable barrier between us.
"What guarantee do I have that, as soon as he recovers, the two of you won't turn against us?"
I lifted my chin, forcing my legs to hold steady, and met his gaze head-on.
"None," I answered without hesitation. "Only my word."
Malek’s eyes narrowed to slits.
"And what’s the word of a kir’shakur worth?"
The word struck like a physical blow. The bitter weight of the resentment it carried—ancient and deep-rooted—pressed against my chest, and I recoiled at my own insignificance.
"It’s worth the lives of your people," I whispered. "Alasdair’s my father. If I ask, he’ll help."
Malek stopped and spun to face me. His eyes were cold and unyielding, but they betrayed a quiet conflict simmering beneath.
He hated my people, but he loved his own. Centuries of war and bloodshed could end in the blink of an eye. All it took was for him to accept my offer.
"I trusted you, and you deceived me," he accused. "Why should I trust you now?"
He wasn't asking for an answer; he was demanding a guarantee he knew I couldn't provide. No words could erase centuries of ingrained distrust and hatred between our peoples.
Even so, I took a step forward, closing the distance between us. He stood so much taller than I did that I had to tilt my head back just to meet his eyes.
"Because I’m one of you now," I countered, my fingers brushing his face in a gentle, lingering touch. "And I want to help you."
Malek’s amber eyes shimmered in the cabin's gloom, sweeping over my features in search of a lie. The silence stretched thin while he decided whether I was an unlikely ally or the most dangerous liar ever to cross his path.
"What do you propose?" he asked at last.
"A trade," I said, a knot tightening in my throat. "You help me heal and protect Leone, and I’ll use my influence to ensure Alasdair accepts a peace treaty with you. Not a temporary truce, but a real, lasting peace. Beyond that… I can help your people with my magic."
Malek crossed his arms, the movement causing the muscles of his shoulders and chest to flex.
"You think Alasdair, the most arrogant High Fae in all of Tir na Sí, would sign away his war for you?"
The mockery in his tone stung, but I refused to let it shake me. I took a deep breath, grounding myself in the memory of my father—the unwavering love he held for Leone and me, a love I had never doubted.
"He’s my father," I replied, my voice steady. "He loves us above all else, even his throne. Alasdair will do anything to protect us. If I tell him that peace with Oksha is the only way to ensure our safety, he'll do it."
Malek closed his eyes, caught between instinct and rational thought. His hatred for Ceilte and the primal need to protect his people clashed with the possibility of peace they had never dared to imagine.
"What guarantee do I have that this isn't a trap? That instead of peace, you'll bring death to Oksha?"
"There are no guarantees, Malek," I replied, raw sincerity threading through every word. "But… I can give you my word. Strike a bargain with me."
I opened my hands, showing him my palms.
"What kind of bargain?" he asked, his attention fixed on my outstretched hands.
"One that binds us beyond mere words," I answered, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "A blood oath from the Princess of Ceilte, Fionnuala Kerridan."
Malek froze. A bargain sealed in blood was the most sacred and unbreakable promise among the fae. Once struck, it bound their fates together, forcing both parties to act in their mutual interest. To break it meant a slow and agonizing death for the traitor.
"Do you have any idea what you're asking?" His tone turned dangerous.
"I do. I swear by my name and by the laws of Oksha that I'll seek peace for your people. And in exchange, you swear that you'll protect both Leone and me, and that you'll see me as one of your own."
His hand rose slowly and settled over mine. His rough skin, etched with scars, contrasted sharply against the softness of my own.
His eyes drifted shut as he murmured something in Okshakai. Then he drew the knife from his waist and, without hesitation, sliced a diagonal cut across his palm. He held the blade out to me.
His energy wove into the current of An Talamh pulsing through my veins. The two forces met, shifted… and became something more. A subtle thread formed between us—an unseen tether anchoring us in a way neither of us fully understood, yet both of us could feel thrumming beneath the surface.
"I accept the bargain, krash’uk," he declared, his voice resonating like distant thunder. "May the oath bind us, and may the traitor perish beneath the claws of the forest."
An intense heat erupted from the point of contact and surged through my entire body, sealing our fates with a mark that was invisible yet permanent.
The moment was shattered when Malek abruptly released my hand and turned toward Leone’s still form.
"We need Uruha," he said, his commanding tone returning.