Chapter 39
LEON
Iam overwhelmed by the ancient magic that swirls around us in this cave.
The large door opens on its own and crystal lights slowly glow to life, illuminating a long hallway.
Rose quartz stairs lead to a large circular door of carved emerald surrounded by diamonds and it’s twice as tall as me. The short hallway is dark but the carvings on the wall are distinctly fae.
The walls are covered with delicate carvings of fae embracing, of animals in pairs running and jumping, of stars and moons, of births and deaths. The end of the hallway leads to another circular door similar to the one outside. The floor of the cave is covered in small, shining river rocks.
Izadella has stopped shaking, curling herself into me and occasionally releasing a soft moan of relief.
I step into the hall.
The walls of the massive cave are made of sharp, pointed crystals that glitter and glow from within.
In the center of the room on a large dais is a sanctuary of some kind with stairs leading up to it from all sides. Four onyx pillars hold up the roof where gossamer white curtains flow down. A bed sits at the center.
The warmth of a bubbling hot spring off to the side catches my attention. As tempting as it is to take Izadella straight to the bed, where she can rest, the dried blood that mars her skin is a gut-wrenching reminder I nearly lost her forever. The spring lures me to wash these memories away.
I carry Izadella into warm waters, gently laying her on its edge.
Relieved at this opportunity, I dunk myself, running my fingers through my hair, and stay under for a moment, letting the magic cleanse me, as if it could erase all the ways I failed Izadella as easily as it washes the grime on my skin. When I break the surface, my once-filthy clothing is pristine.
My hands no longer hurt, and when I hold them up, the blisters from the iron collar are healing. Interesting.
I pull down my collar, and my scars still gleam on my chest. I did not expect a small pool of water with some healing properties to cure me, but I am disappointed just the same.
If I had been honest from the start, she would have never fled, never given Everett a chance to take her from me. That is guilt that will never leave me.
I reach for Izadella, holding her to my chest. I carefully dip her in, swirling us in the center, erasing the evidence of her capture and brief departure from this world.
Her dress is no longer a rust color, stiff with her blood and dried mud. The fabric flows gently in the water, returning to white but still torn apart.
The crystal-clear water pools in my hand and I pour it over her forehead, the rivulets washing away the blood there, too.
I had hoped the water would wake her, but I know healing magic takes time, and sleep is best, but I’m desperate for the sound of her voice. Even if she is angry with me, even if she repeats the words she spoke to me in her bathing room, I just need to hear her.
I never want to see you again.
What if she wakes and her wishes haven't changed? My stomach twists at the wretched thought. I will respect that choice, but it might break my heart in the way I broke hers. I would deserve it.
No man, mortal or otherwise, deserves it more.
Oils and soaps line the edge, and I am thankful for whoever supplied them.
With one hand, I pour some into her hair, using my fingers like a comb to brush through her tangled locks, tilting her head back into the water to rinse the lather away.
Finally, she is outwardly cleansed of tonight.
I settle on the built-in seating around the hot spring and prop Izadella up, letting her lean forward, her cheek pressed against my chest while I wring out her hair ’til it is damp.
I twist it into a bun on the top of her head before I pick her up, carrying her like I would a sleeping dewling, her head resting in the crook of my neck.
I treasure every breath that flutters against my skin.
I walk her up the stairs and through the curtains, guided by the glowing lights in each corner illuminating the space.
The floor glitters with polished crushed crystal and in the center is a hollowed-out square filled with pillows and blankets.
Surely someone is caring for the temple; the pillows are free of dust and the air smells sweet and clean.
It’s probably sacred to the Ellovian fae, but it’s warm and dry and soft for her to sleep on, so I can hardly bring myself to care.
I would be lost without her. I never wish to leave her side again. If she chooses to live in Ellova without me, I'll sit waiting at the forest gates forever.
I lie down next to her but give her enough space that if she wakes and still hates me, she won’t find me crowding her.
I desperately want to pull her into me and hold her, feel her breath on my cheeks as she sleeps. I resist though, pulling back my hand each time I reach for her, fighting the urge to curl up next to her and beg for forgiveness.