23. Chapter 23
A fter the creature had crumbled into the earth, Ren remained on her knees in the clearing, her palms pressed into the damp earth.
Talen’s shadow stretched long beside her. Then, he offered his hand and rested it on her shoulder. His touch was warm and steady.
Ren hated that it steadied her. She hadn’t meant for Talen to see her like that.
“I’m fine,” she managed. “It’s over. It’s gone.” But her knees trembled, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. And she couldn’t help but add, “We kicked its ass, though.”
“You mean you kicked its ass. I was just trying to keep you from setting the forest on fire. Still, we make a good team.”
“I don’t know about a good team,” Ren muttered, dragging a hand through her tangled hair. “My head’s all jumbled, like someone took it apart and put it back wrong.”
Talen’s expression softened, the teasing gone. “That’s what magic does,” he said quietly. “Especially illusions. They get inside you and twist what’s real until you can’t tell the difference.”
“Stupid magical bastards. Next time, I’ll shove my boot up its ass. We’ll see what its illusions can do then.”
She turned on her heel before Talen could respond and stalked toward the forest clearing with the storm still thundering in her bones.
She barely remembered the path, barely even registered riding back to the palace, or roaming the corridors of the palace to her room.
She only remembered that when the door closed behind her, she collapsed against it.
That thing had hit too deep.
And she couldn't let Talen, or any of the fae, for that matter, see just how close she was to shattering.
Ren lingered in the spring bath far longer than she meant to, and she was thankfully alone.
The water clung to her skin, but no matter how hot she made it, it couldn’t burn away the ache inside her chest. She sank deeper until the water crept over her shoulders, lapping at her collarbones, her throat.
She hadn’t spoken that name in years.
The realization made her stomach twist. Shame tangled in her throat until she could hardly swallow. She let her head fall back against the edge of the bath, her eyes fluttering shut.
She had taken her first steps not toward their mother or father, but to Eve. Chubby arms outstretched, eyes lit with blind trust, she giggled as she toppled into Eve’s waiting arms. Eve used to swear that she’d protect her.
The night that changed everything, Ren had been dreaming the best dream of her life. She dreamt she was in a field of wildflowers, sunlight warm on her skin, painting while Eve read aloud beside her. The air had smelled of honey and earth, and for once, everything felt whole.
Then, she was wrenched from her bed and dragged down the stairs with ropes binding her wrists.
Her parents were shoved beside her, bound like cattle.
Ren tried to scoot closer to her mother, searching for any sign of comfort.
But her mother looked into Ren’s eyes, and her eyes were wide with terror.
There was a shout, an order given, and rough hands yanked her mother away.
The world fractured into noise – boots, screaming, and the heavy scent of iron thick in the air .
Blood hit Ren’s cheek, and she twisted frantically, only to see Eve descending the staircase, her steps unhurried, face eerily calm.
Ren’s eyes had bulged in terror, refusing to believe what she saw. Eve wasn’t bound. She wasn’t fighting.
No, she was with them.
The intruders muttered what sounded like prayers or chants, their voices too low to make out words. And in that moment, Ren remembered the certainty that sank into her bones. She would die here.
Eve just looked at Ren as their parents died beside them and the flames took everything they ever knew, meager as they were – their beds, books, clothes.
And then, Eve walked away.
Some nights, Ren still saw her shadowy form flickering over the flames.
Ren missed Eve like a phantom limb, aching in the quiet, in the places no physical touch could reach. And yet, part of Ren hoped she was dead. Because if she were alive, if she were still out there, then she chose to kill their parents and leave Ren to suffer their deaths alone.
Ren sighed and opened her eyes. There were days the grief dulled. But tonight, it roared back with a vengeance.
I wish you were here .
The Eve who would kiss Ren’s forehead and rub her back when she was so hungry her stomach ached, and the cabinets were empty no matter how hard they searched for something to fill their bellies.
The Eve who read her stories, her voice soft and steady as war raged below them, screams and shattering glass and their mother’s cries muffled by the turning of pages.
A sob caught in Ren’s throat. The grief continued its slow, consuming journey. She felt it creeping into her lungs, her limbs – a slow drowning.
Pull your shit together , a voice seethed in her mind. A whisper she had heard many times over the years, usually when she hit rock bottom.
So Ren shut her eyes, pressing her forehead to her knees, and whispered, “Five things I can see…” Her voice cracked, but she inhaled deeply before she opened her eyes.
“The way the spring’s surface ripples with each movement,” she began. “The runes carved into the stone walls, glowing. Stray petals floating across the water. My bruised knees beneath the water…” Her gaze fell to her trembling fingers just below the water. “My own hand.”
She swallowed hard. “Four things I can touch… the smooth stone edge of the spring. My calloused fingertips. The warm water brushing against my skin. The braid in my hair.”
Her breath began steadying. “Three things I can hear… the trickle of the spring as it feeds the pool. The hum of the runes carved into the walls. My own breathing in the chamber.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Two things I can smell,” she whispered. “The bite of the spring water… and herbs, steeping at the edge of the pool.”
Her voice dropped to barely a breath.
“One thing I can taste.” Her lips parted. “Salt. From my own damn tears.”
The silence after was almost reverent. The kind that lingered like a hand pressed to a wound. And yet, somehow, she was still breathing.
Still here.
Her grip on her knees loosened. Though the ache in her chest remained, it was bearable.
Ren leaned her head back, blinking up at the dark ceiling. “Where did you go, Eve?”
Talen didn’t know what hour it was when he finally pushed open his chamber door. He expected blessed, empty silence after the night they’d had.
Instead, Kaelin was perched on the edge of his desk, one long leg crossed over the other, a half-empty glass of wine dangling from her fingers. “You survived.”
“Clearly,” he muttered, unfastening his cloak and hanging it on the wall peg. “We had one hell of a fight. The thing had strong illusion magic. It makes you see something you miss, maybe someone you’ve lost, and uses it against you.”
“How’d the human do? ”
“ Ren burned it to ash. Hell, the thing turned in on itself. You should’ve seen its true form; it was hideous.”
Her brows rose slightly. “Did she fall under its magic?”
“Yes.” He leaned against the wall. “When I charged, she nearly came after me. I think it made her see someone she’d lost and she tried to protect them.”
Kaelin scowled. “You know, if you’d hired a trained fae warrior, they might have had the sense and the mental wards to resist an illusion.”
“Maybe. But where’s the fun in that?”
“Not all things are fun and games,” she snapped. “You’re putting your life in her hands. Do you really trust her to have your back?”
He began unbuttoning his shirt. “I trust that she won’t go down without a fight.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
Talen smirked faintly. “Didn’t it?”
Kaelin pushed off the desk, finishing her wine in one long swallow. “She hates our kind, that much is obvious,” she said, pacing toward him. “I say we get rid of her now before she becomes a liability – ”
“No.”
Her head snapped toward him. “But – ”
“We made a contract,” Talen cut in. “I’m not breaking it.”
They stared at each other, the silence between them tense. The low fire in the hearth popped, breaking the stillness.
Kaelin’s eyes narrowed. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“How do you know?”
She crossed her arms, the faintest smirk ghosting across her lips. “Because I know you better than anyone. Now talk.”
Talen exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening in resignation. “The day of the ogre attack—when she first used her fire—something about it was… different.”
Kaelin gestured impatiently. “Different how? We’ve seen elemental wielders before. How is the human’s fire any different?”
He hesitated, searching for the words. “The human has a name,” he said finally, his tone low. “And Ren’s fire didn’t seem elemental. It wasn’t drawn from the air or the ground. It was like it came from within her, not from the world around her.”
“So you’re also keeping her close to watch her. ”
Talen met her gaze, the faintest flicker of conflict behind his eyes. “I’m keeping her close,” he said quietly, “because something tells me her magic isn’t done with us yet.”
Kaelin studied him for a long moment, the firelight flickering across her face. “Careful, brother. Curiosity can burn hotter than any flame.”
Talen’s mouth quirked in a grim half-smile. “Then let it burn.”
The next morning, Ren went to the market.
There weren’t throngs of people out, likely due to the Witherblight. Thankful for not having to swerve in between crowds, Ren sauntered with purpose, with one destination in mind.