Chapter 39
Zadriel
Before Dother’s Death
“Did you run from me, brother?” Laughter saturated Cillian’s tone, a joyful lilt in his voice Zadriel hadn’t heard since they were children.
Wind swept over him, tousling his hair and rustling the dried leaves littering the ground, scattering them over a thick mass of roots until they piled at the base of an old, mushroom-laden tree trunk.
A smirk pulled on Zadriel’s lips when Cillian turned toward the sound, the Fae crouching low. Moving carefully along his branch, quiet as can be. An aura of warm red and burnt orange held him in a soft embrace, the trees gracing Berwick with the most breathtaking, autumnal hues.
Thank the Mother they hadn’t all fallen yet.
Something twinged in Zadriel’s chest at the thought of Her, his smile dropping.
How dare he find joy in the trees.
How dare the trees love him back.
Though, sometimes their kindness was all he had, his months-long isolation in the woods near Castle Berwick passing too slowly. Cillian rarely visited, his eyes fixated on the crown.
At least, that’s what Zadriel focused on. There was also the matter of Cillian’s other obsession, and the path to his victory.
Mora.
The heir to the family who’d created the Laws of Confinement, overturning them with no thought for any but themselves.
Whose ancestors had taken what they believed were barren lands and discovered Arcadia’s trees would not fall to their axes without a fight.
Her people powerful in ways no human had witnessed.
Until some came to the Forest to learn, and their children, the Halflings, murdered Zadriel’s father and damned them all.
And, somehow, Mora was also his mate. A woman with more bite than he’d imagined.
Tracing his abdomen, Zadriel thought of the burn of her flames. Of the fierce look in those brilliant amber eyes. Gods, they reminded him of precious gems. Of honey. Of... something he would gladly lose himself in. To drown eternally in that stare was a death he welcomed.
And her voice! It was a song to his heart, a melody he’d never heard yet knew all the same.
A voice that called Cillian’s name.
The muscles in Zadriel’s jaw flexed, images of the two of them flashing too brightly in his memories.
With a sigh, he jumped from his perch, his landing silent. Cillian none the wiser. His brother looked every bit like the Eldennan noble he pretended to be, swathed in a knee-length red velvet coat, its golden embroidery glistening under the delicate touch of the afternoon sun.
How many favors had he called in on his path to the throne?
There were enough families who owed Eden a debt for their aid and discretion; Brennan kept spies in every city, saving Halflings whenever he could.
Even when Cillian wasn’t involved, he kept track of it all in his journal.
Hidden among pages and pages of enchantments and ponderings was a ledger of sorts.
Useful should Eden ever need help in return.
Whoever was providing him with clothing had coin to spare.
“Have you come to tell me you’ve succeeded?” Zadriel asked, swallowing his bitterness before it could twist around his words.
“By the Gods!” Cillian pressed his hand to his chest, bright eyes settling on Zadriel. “I should have known.”
Zadriel huffed out an amused breath, his heart calming when he discovered only stale hints of lavender hiding among a sharp burst of citrus—Mora hadn’t been near him today.
“It’s been ages since you’ve used the trees against me.” Cillian leaned on the maple Zadriel had climbed, his expression turning wistful. “This almost reminds me of when we met.”
Zadriel tensed. “Cill...”
His brother loosed a long breath. “I know you don’t have the same fondness for those early memories, Zade.
After everything my father’s done...” Unable to bear the pain in Zadriel’s obsidian eyes, Cillian looked to the sky instead, watching the geese flee Berwick before winter sank its teeth into her shores.
“But we’ve always had each other. Is that not worth something? ”
Zadriel fiddled with the pendant hanging from his neck, the glass still warm.
Inside, Cillian’s blood chased his, the two streams of sanguine twisting into an endless vortex.
Though, they’d grown slower over recent days, lethargic drops breaking free to pool at the bottom.
Cillian never let it die—at least he’d always made time for that.
They watched one another in silence, but it was Zadriel who looked away first. “You know I appreciate you. You’re the only family I have.”
“And you, brother, are mine.” Pushing away from his perch, Cillian signaled for Zadriel to follow, leaves crunching under his dark brown shoes. “I’ve had a lot of time to reflect over these long months, and I realized something.”
“And what might that be?”
“Suffering forged our bond.”
A sinking feeling brewed in Zadriel’s stomach. He dropped his pendant, the hemp tether scratching his nape. “You can’t possibly mean that.”
“If things had gone differently, would our paths have crossed? Would the Fates have brought you to me?” He shook his head.
“I would be nothing to you, Zadriel, if not for the pain we’ve endured.
You, most of all. What I can’t decide is if our bond was sculpted by agony or in spite of it.
” He stopped near the edge of the thick cluster of trees Zadriel now called home, gazing at Castle Berwick’s northern wall.
Four guards lollygagged in the distance, their royal blue uniforms stark against gray stone. “Does it even matter?”
A burning throb pulsed along Zadriel’s arms, echoes of pain never far from the surface. He bowed his head, sneering at the scars marking him. Ruining him. Staining him for the rest of his days. “I’d rather not talk of such things.”
Red bloomed on Cillian’s cheeks, a fire gleaming in those bright eyes. “Then what would you like to discuss?”
Zadriel’s mouth fell open, but no words found him.
He grumbled, turning away to pace back into the embrace of the woods.
He couldn’t stand the sight of the castle’s facade, its crowning towers glaring down at him.
As if they too ruled over his fate. He couldn’t help but wonder if they did, those gray, stony beasts mocking him as they kept his mate away, weaving her a new path.
“How much longer will we be here?” He closed his eyes, regretting the bite in his tone. Breathing in the earthy, evergreen air and hoping it would soothe him.
“That’s why I’m here.” Cillian came to stand at Zadriel’s side, swatting at twigs reaching for the Fae. “I’ve made you a new pendant.” He unbuckled his pouch and rifled through it, pulling out a string of braided hemp.
Zadriel tore it from Cillian’s grip. “I take it this means I won’t be returning to Arcadia any time soon?” He made quick work of swapping the pendants, shoving the old one in his cloak’s pocket.
Cillian’s upper lip twitched. “I’m afraid not.”
A glittering black night met a sea of azure as they stared each other down. The silence heavy. Too many words left unsaid. When had things grown so strange between them?
“Have you heard from your father?” Zadriel finally asked, hating the words the moment they slipped free. Curse the Mother, why was he asking about Brennan?
Cillian’s laugh was bitter. “Judging by his letters, he wishes he had more children so he could disown me,” he spat, tapping his ringed finger on his pouch’s golden buckle. The dark void inside stared up at them, a black iris marking the pearly white orb.
Zadriel suppressed his shiver. “I don’t imagine he’ll be pleased, unless you place the crown on his head.”
“Brennan’s never happy.” His brother chewed on his left cheek, and Zadriel’s heart sank. “He’ll come to understand, eventually.”
Would he? Cillian was an extension of Brennan’s pride, certainly.
A son he’d raised to be strong enough to stand by his side, to help him build a world where Halflings ruled, with a Dother as their king.
But Zadriel knew Cillian was a favored tool; something Brennan cherished, yes, but also something to use.
The means to his pursuit of power, not the end.
That didn’t mean Cillian never tried to impress the man, working tirelessly to pursue whatever pieces Brennan shared of his plans. Had something broken within him at the last Council meeting? Was this all a desperate attempt to prove to his father—to himself—that he could be more?
Zadriel offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “There is more to life than pleasing your father.”
Cillian’s gaze narrowed. “How would you know?”
The words punched through Zadriel’s chest, a visceral pain burrowing into his marrow. “You know where to find me when you’re ready,” he seethed, turning away to wander deeper into the thicket.
“Wait!” Cillian rushed after him, but Zadriel refused to stop. Dead leaves crunched under his brother’s heavy footfalls, twigs whipping his face and snapping against his arms, but no sound came from Zadriel’s careful steps. He’d lose him the moment the trees grew thicker.
Cillian was all too aware.
Slipping in front of Zadriel, he held his hands up. “I spoke out of turn. I have too much on my mind, and it’s made me thoughtless. Forgive me.”
A dome of braided roots and branches waited in the distance, Zadriel’s camp not far.
He stared longingly at the deep red leaves decorating the roof, eager to return.
To be on his own, away from Cillian and the burgeoning rift looming between them.
Instead, he crossed his arms, muscles flexing in his jaw, teeth clamped so tight he didn’t think he could speak if he wanted.
Cillian frowned. “This crown could change everything, Zade. You know that. For Eden. For us. You would be free. Is that not what you want? I intend to keep my promise, but things have been... more difficult than I anticipated.”
“Why?” The word slipped through clenched teeth.
“Mora.” Her name slid from Cillian’s lips on an exhale, reverence and exasperation clashing in his breath.
The longing in that tone made Zadriel’s skin crawl. The beast in his chest stirred, pressing against his ribs as if it too longed to tackle this man to the ground for coveting what was his.
Though, she wasn’t his.
She never would be.
“And what has the Little Witch done?”
Cillian lifted a brow, his focus drifting to Zadriel’s black cloak. To where flames once caught on old material, burning through cotton until it bit into flesh. “She has no interest in Halflings.”
“What?”
That was unexpected. Once her power was revealed, Zadriel had wondered if she was like the rest of them.
Another Halfling hiding herself for fear of what may happen if she were discovered.
The reason for the Laws being overturned was clear, but that didn’t mean Mora was safe. None of them were safe.
To not care, however... that he couldn’t understand.
“Does she only care for herself?”
Cillian shrugged, his face grim. “I’ve shared as much as I can, but she refuses to help.”
“So, what now?”
“All is not lost. She has some interest in power, hers and mine, which could prove useful. I intend to follow that path and see where it leads.”
Something stilled within Zadriel, the same warm feeling he’d felt in Mora’s presence coiling around his heart—it wasn’t a comfort. “And if it doesn’t lead to Mora standing with you in this?”
“It will. For once, I may need to heed my father’s advice and be patient. It’s not my virtue, but I’ll get what I want in the end.”
“You may. You may not. The Fates could have other plans for you, Cillian.” Zadriel hesitated, then said softly, “And for her.”
Cillian’s eyes narrowed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you want me to fail.”
Blood rushed through Zadriel’s veins, his pulse pounding while he thought of an answer. Did he want Cillian to fail? He couldn’t say no. Couldn’t let the word spill free. “Then know better.” It was all he could muster.
If Cillian questioned the meaning behind Zadriel’s words, it didn’t show on his face. “You aren’t wrong in being cautious. While I refuse to let the Fates dictate my path, I may need to change my approach. And I’d like your help.”
“What would you have me do?” Zadriel asked with a heavy sigh.
A triumphant smile rose slowly on Cillian’s lips. Zadriel should have known what he intended before he pulled the gilded daisies from his pouch, charred strips of the Mother’s wood cuddled beneath their golden stems.
Soft petals tickled Zadriel’s fingers when he picked up one of the daisies, careful not to harm the delicate flower further. “What are you up to?” he asked, an uneasy feeling crawling in his gut.
“I need you to help me infuse these with sap before I bind them to a bottle, and...” Cillian offered an apologetic look. “I’ll need some of your blood as well.”
Bile burned in his throat, his stomach twisting. “What for?”
Cillian merely chuckled. “Enchanter’s secret, brother.”