63. Brighid
Brighid
In the tattered remains of my wedding gown, I looked down over the kingdom to which I could never return.
The thick jungles of Lavaire climbed up the rocky slope, a layer of green to conceal me from the world.
I heard a faint click behind me. Vaf joined me by the cliffside, curly black hair tousled in the breeze.
“Quite the finale,” he mused. “Did you intend for it to end like that?”
No. I’d lost control of myself, of my mind. All had become fire and rage.
It had been intoxicating.
“You could have avoided this.” Vaf lifted his chin. “Had you taken my deal.”
“Deals with fae promise a fleeting reward for eternal suffering,” I said. “I was never stupid enough to make a pact with you.”
Turning away, I strode across the cliff, pressing my fingers into my temples.
How did I feel? Satisfied?
My father, my mother. Lord Sorley. Countless others, those I had no quarrel with . . .
Burnt to cinders. Their final moments had been agony.
Even now, I could not muster joy or relief. I felt empty.
My father, Sorley . . . they had taken and taken of me, until nothing remained but a hollow shell.
Breathing out, I lowered my hands.
“The Diath of flame has always been a remarkable creature.” Vaf pulled something from his pocket and circled me. “You are no exception.” He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “They will chase you to the ends of the earth, seeking blood. I’ll help you, if only you ask.”
“Ha.” I jerked my chin away. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”
“Have I done aught but aid you? What have I asked for in return?”
I studied his face—what parts of it were visible. What did he want? I still had no idea.
‘What I want comes far from today.’ He’d said back then. ‘It needn't concern you. But fate spins along your path, and I want to be a part of it’
A presence washed over me, powerful, violent. Dread shook through my bones and sank deep into my soul.
A low, resounding voice followed. “Vaf can offer you nothing of worth.”
Vines shot down from the black sky and rose from the cliff face, twining into an arch. A man stepped from its threshold—another fae.
An enveloping black cape shrouded him in darkness, and red waves brushed against its high collar. A black mask, cracked with red like blood, concealed half his face. From the other peered a silver eye, its pupil a dark slit.
I staggered back, putting space between the fae lords and me. Shadows clung to the newcomer’s body—I couldn’t make out anything but a silhouette.
“Ril,” Vaf said, an edge to his voice. “Surely the fae king has better things to do than stalk me.”
“Oh, but you’re dangerously close to meddling.” Ril smiled wickedly.
“I haven’t broken a single rule of the pact.”
“Yet,” Ril articulated. He focused on me. “You’ve spent your life powerless. Even now, as you stand in the triumph of your victory, of the immolation of your foes, you remain a shell. Impotent. The Empire will come for you. And what will you have accomplished?”
I bit the inside of my lip. All I’d wanted from this life was to . . .
To find the unknown. To learn something new. To uncover ancient history. Bláth had teased me relentlessly about my passions.
I was a Diath, yet I knew not what it meant. Why had it been buried, what lay beyond the wall?
Sorley had broken me. Stolen away my childhood, my chance to believe in a better world. To go forth and grasp what I wanted.
In the end, he’d won.
“I can give you power.” Ril stalked toward me. “The kind that will set you free. What do you have to lose?”
Nothing. I’d never had anything to lose.
Vaf lunged forward. “Brighid, don’t—”
“Fine,” I spat. “Give me power. What more could you possibly take from me?”
A smirk tore across the fae king’s face. He reached forward, plunging his hand through my chest. Vines snaked down his arm and wrapped around me, constricting my heart.
Ril yanked back his hand, and I grasped at my chest, expecting to see a bloody hole. But I was whole, intact.
A tearing pain ripped through my breast, nonetheless.
Ril unfurled his fingers, revealing a soft white glow, locked in his vine’s embrace. It beat steadily, like a heart.
“As for the price.” Ril admired the strange white orb. "I give you a countdown.”
“To what?” I choked.
His smirk deepened, and he turned away.
Vaf ran to my side and grabbed my arm. “What were you thinking?”
“Ha.” I grinned deliriously. “Perhaps I just wanted to spite you.”
His golden eye narrowed. “What will it take for you to realize I am on your side—that I might well be your only ally in this wretched world?”
“Take a lethal blow in my place, and I might consider it.”
A frustrated sigh escaped Vaf’s lips, but they curled into a smile.
Ril snapped his fingers, and the vines sank back into the shadows beneath his cloak. The light he’d stolen from my chest fled with them.
“All eyes turn to the south now,” he said. “In the roiling mist, where death herself lurks.” His arms slipped beneath his cloak, and he became shadow itself. “Does it pain you, Vaf? To see it all unfurl again, powerless to stop it?”
Vaf set his jaw, but didn’t respond.
“No, I think you haven’t suffered enough.” Ril closed his eye. “Let the world fall before its new goddess. Let it wake the Lady of Sighs.”
To be continued in The Paragon of Night . . .