Chapter 17
Dawn broke across the sky, bleeding through the wintery clouds in a brilliant display of fiery orange and yellow.
Even as she noticed the vivid display, she pushed her horse to go faster. She needed to put as much distance between her and the palace as possible.
After the dream of the Well, she had quickly dressed in her old clothes, slipping on her shoes and pulling on a thick fur-lined cloak. She had tucked the book under her arm and then turned toward the door, her heart in the throat.
She had lied to the castle guards, telling them the prince asked her to meet him in the stables.
She had stolen a horse—she knew how to saddle one herself—and she had ridden away into the dead of night with nothing but the book in the saddlebags. No food. No water. No other clothes.
As she rode, that phantom voice she’d heard in her dream still haunted her.
Come to me, Serena Windriver.
Now, she was nearly to the village. It would be waking at this early hour. Even in the dead of winter. As she approached, she saw gray smoke curling from chimneys and faint yellow light glowing in windows. But she did not stop.
As much as she wanted to stop and hug Papa and Maris, she did not. She continued, skirting the outer edge of the village to, hopefully, go unnoticed.
At the foot of the mountain, she dismounted.
The horse’s neck had a fine sheen of sweat along it.
She had ridden it far too hard, but she had to get out the palace and return to the village.
She knew, by now, her absence would be discovered.
By now, the king’s guards would be dispatched to find her and bring her back.
She would be branded a witch and a fraud for why else would she run from the prince?
“Godspeed, old girl,” she muttered to the horse.
She pulled the book from the saddlebag, gave the horse one last pat, and then turned toward the mountain.
She climbed, her breath crystalizing in front of her.
She pushed herself to hurry, making her legs burn and her heart race.
Her only thought was getting to the top, was finding him. The stranger.
No.
Caedon. That was his name.
He waited for her when she arrived at the top. The hood of his cloak was down to reveal his face in the early morning light. His eyes, so bright, pierced her the second she halted, trying to catch her breath, clutching the book to her chest.
His expression was one of sorrow, of regret, of pain.
Ah, so the girl has returned, the voice of the Well said. It sounded delighted by her arrival.
“Yes, I returned. As I promised.” But her gaze never left Caedon’s.
“It is time, then,” he said.
“No, wait, please. I have one last request.”
He lifted a brow, curious.
The Well said, agitated, The bargain was struck. The payment is due, girl.
She ignored it. “There is something I must know. Grant me this one last…” She paused, pressed her lips together. Then continued, “…favor.”
The girl wishes for a favor?
Caedon swallowed hard, his throat working.
There is no time—
“I will give you my life,” she snapped and glared at the Well. “You can give me one last moment with the Weaver.”
Silence and then a low, malicious chuckle. Very well, girl.
Her gaze swung back to his. He regarded coolly, looking impressed she dared snap back at the Well.
“I have nothing to offer you,” he said.
She took a deep breath and blew it out. It misted in the air around her as she continued to clutch the book to her chest, hope rising there. “You said once the price is always too high. But you never told me why you’re here. What you did. Who cursed you.”
Faint morning light flickered in this blue-green depths as he glanced away, unable to look at her. He said nothing for a long time. His jaw worked, as though he held back the words that wanted to erupt.
At last, he spoke, his voice low and rough and guarded. “I loved a girl once. Mortal. Not unlike you.”
Serena’s heart lurched.
“She lived in a small village on the edge of the forest,” he continued, his gaze drifting into memory.
“She was kind. Smart. Full of joy. Her laugh was bright. Her smile was infectious. She smelled like wind and sun and everything lovely. Her hair was the color of a copper. But her people were dying. A fever swept through, claiming lives and threatening those she loved. She came to the Well.” He paused here, swallowing hard.
“She begged for help, but had nothing to give.”
She understood then. Because, once, she was that girl. “You gave it to her freely.”
He gave a sharp nod. “I broke the law. Fae magic is never free. Wishes are bargains and there is always a price, Serena. But I loved her. And I could not stand to see her and her family suffer. I gave her what she asked. Freely. Without a price. Her family was saved. I was condemned.”
Her throat tightened. The edge of the book bit into her fingers.
“The Seelie Court called it treason. To give freely was to upset the balance, to unravel all bargains. And so, they bound me to the Well to become the Weaver of Wishes. To claim the price and deposit it there.” He jabbed a finger to the Well.
Serena’s mouth went dry. “What happened to her?”
“The magic had been too strong. It destroyed her. And I remained.”
“I-I—”
When she started to speak, he moved toward her, taking her by the upper arms, and pulling her close.
“I swore I would never love again. But then you came with too much courage and too much kindness. You foolish, beautiful girl. You look at me—like that—and I remember.” His voice cracked.
He paused, swallowed. “I remember what it’s like to feel alive. ”
Silence fell between them. He dropped his hands and stepped back, turning away from her, toward the Well.
His gloved hands leaned on the edge of the stone as he stared down into the darkness.
She moved next to him and reached for him, her hand shaking.
She placed it on his arm to gain his attention.
When he looked at her with those blue-green eyes, she saw the torture, the regret, the sorrow.
“Then let me be the one who frees you. Not by forgetting. But by remembering your name.”
His eyes went wide as he stiffened, his back straight. “Serena—”
“I know who you are. You are Caedon Lyserian, Fae Prince of the Seelie Court.”
As she said it, frost cracked along the Well’s rim. It rumbled as a wicked scream ripped from its depths. The ground shook their feet.
No! It shouted. NO! NO! NO! He’s mine!
Caedon sucked in a deep breath, the cold air burning his lungs as he glanced at the Well, the glittering gold magic swirling up from the depths. It had been delighted to take his life, but she had foiled that.
“Not anymore,” she said with such vehemence it shocked him. His eyes swung back to her. Defiance lit her face. “Shall I say it again? Caedon Lyserian.”
His name rolled off her tongue. And it was such a sweet sound.
Something he had not heard in more than an age.
His heart swelled then thudded against his chest, echoing in the hollow chambers of his soul.
His name. For so long he had been only Weaver, only shadow, only servitude. Now he was himself.
Awe cracked him open, sharp and sweet. In his bones, he felt the chains snap. Each link exploding outward, centuries of magic unwinding from his veins in molten rivers. He staggered, breath tearing free as if he’d been drowning all this time and only now found air.
She had done it. And for one glorious moment, he was free.
He stripped off the gloves, flinging them to the ground, and watched as the golden runes etched in his skin faded to nothing, disappearing as though it had never happened. He held them up, gaping at them in wonder.
His eyes met her bright blue ones shimmering with tears. Her face creased with elation. She took a step toward him, reaching for him.
Then she gasped, her body seizing and bowing backward.
A cry ripped from her as the golden light shot from the Well.
Gold tendrils wrapped her like the chains that had once bound him.
Then, the same runes that branded him were etched into her delicate skin, glowing and burning brightly as it had the day he paid his due.
And now she had paid.
Terror licked at the edges of his joy. The Well would not release so easily. The horror nearly broke him. To free him was to doom her.
The Well laughed, a deep dark laugh full of malice and hate and revenge.
She will take your sentence, Weaver. She will pay YOUR price since she robbed me of the one pleasure I had in a millennium—the thought of your death.
“No! Serena!”
The book she held tumbled from her arms, landing with a muffled thud at her feet.
She pitched forward, falling in the snow.
He wasn’t fast enough to catch her. She writhed in agony, the light searing through her veins and lighting her up from the inside.
He knew that pain. He could not let her bear it.
He scooped her into his arms. Her teeth chattered as she looked at him, the brightness fading from her eyes. She lifted a hand as if to touch his cheek, then saw the burning, glowing fire in her hands and her face crumpled.
“I-I saved you. You’re free. Caedon.”
Oh, gods, but he would give anything to reverse what was done to her. What was taken from him.
“Yes, I’m free.”
She dies, you fool. I will have my due, the Well insisted.
He ignored it. It had taunted him for centuries and he was done with it. Caedon brushed his hand over her cold cheek.
“No more bargains, Serena Windriver,” he murmured. “Only this.”
And then he kissed her. Not as the cursed Weaver, but as the prince he had once been. And for the first time in centuries, the Well fell silent.