Chapter Nineteen
Saoirse
It was like experiencing the aftermath of a fire without the flames. One minute, the world had been nothing but the echo of cold clashing steel, the suffocating tang of blood and fire, the deafening roar of monsters and Fae.
Now, it was silent and for one painful moment, Saoirse feared she’d died and ultimately failed the female she so desperately wanted to protect. Zylah’s breathing was the only thing that rooted her to the present.
Saoirse waited with bated breath for what might come next. She’d barely had time to process the sea of life racing toward them before instinct had taken over and she’d thrown her body over her mate’s. Zylah didn’t move, either.
Ever so slowly, Saoirse rose, the protective barrier around them moving with her.
She helped Zylah to her feet and only after adjusting the grip on her blade did Saoirse let her battered wall of magic fall.
She blinked, trying to absorb the new area that consisted of greens and browns and grays surrounding her. It looked like a new world.
Her mother’s world.
A lump rose in Saoirse’s throat as she recalled the exact second her mother had spread her arms and the magic had burst from her entire body. It was like she’d internally combusted. Saoirse didn’t want to face the reality of what that could mean.
They were supposed to find answers in Nàdair. She’d already made plans to search for the remaining rebels. They were the ones that would ultimately help her mother learn to use her magic again without resorting to this … extreme. Saoirse had wanted to grant her mother freedom. But not like this.
Saoirse’s chest tightened, the trees and plant life suddenly making the air too dense. Her lips parted, lungs seeking air they couldn’t find. Saoirse’s vision blurred and sharp pain lanced across her torso. She stepped back, stumbled, then a soft hand with callused fingers wrapped around her own.
Saoirse’s entire world zeroed in on that hand. She lifted her gaze to meet sympathy in those beautiful eyes instead of the harshness she’d grown accustomed to. Saoirse’s face grew hot, her throat clenched. She didn’t want sympathy. Sympathy meant—meant—
The slightest sound had Saoirse’s ears perking. Her jaw clenched, ready to spring into action to protect the female at her side. She pulled Zylah close, hands still entwined, and faced the direction of the noise.
It happened again, this time to her left. Then again, just ahead. Saoirse quickly scanned for any glamours, certain those from Pádraigín were at work with their cowardly tricks.
A vine slithered across the ground as if it were a snake.
It drew closer, moving slowly, and touched the edge of Saoirse’s boot before gliding around it.
Saoirse scrunched her brow. She watched the branches above shift without the breeze, each stretching to become longer, as if fighting their way towards the heavens.
The forest was … alive. The magic was alive, which meant—Saoirse’s heart thundered with aching possibility. She turned to face the denser part of the woods. The pulse of energy was stronger there, as if radiating from a central focal point.
Her mother. Was it possible? Saoirse had thought the violent rush of magic had wiped Eimear from existence. But if the greenery was still alive, then someone had to be controlling it. Right?
“Saoirse?” She didn’t respond at first. The faintest blossom of hope had begun to unfurl its petals. She stared at the vines still winding their way up the trees. Saoirse scented the area, breathing in the magic. It crackled through the air, beating with a steady pulse. A heartbeat.
“I’m going in.” She braced for Zylah’s objection, but right as Saoirse was planning how to keep the female safe, a warm hand squeezed hers just a little tighter.
Zylah reached out with her other one, drawing a symbol over the gash in Saoirse’s right arm.
She hadn’t even noticed the blood that had caked itself to her skin.
The area still burned, but Saoirse didn’t care. Especially not with Zylah’s next words.
“I’m going with you.”
Saoirse’s breath hitched and for a moment, she let the dream she craved above all others wash over and through her. Then she jumped down from the small rise in the landscape and began moving toward the power radiating from between the trees.
Saoirse kept hold of Zylah’s hand as they climbed over large trunks and carefully walked over tangled vines. She kept a close eye on the ones still moving, praying they wouldn’t spring to life and create an even bigger problem.
Saoirse attempted to send her own magic out to aid their search, but every time she tried, it was as if the very trees stole her energy. She clenched her jaw. She had no power here. Not of the magical variety, anyway. She could still defend Zylah with her blade and fangs if the need arose.
She jumped from another ledge and a vine shot out, rapidly wrapping around her wrist. Saoirse tugged on instinct and the vine tightened, nearly pulling Saoirse from her feet.
She froze, heart leaping into her throat, but just as suddenly as it had grabbed her, the tendril fell away, sagging back to the forest floor.
The two females exchanged uneasy glances, then Saoirse helped Zylah down, pointedly avoiding that particular piece.
Saoirse kept an eye on the sea of living plants after that.
The movements became more frenzied the deeper they moved inside.
Where trees had previously been mostly dormant, they now reached toward her, brushing across her skin as if in greeting.
Saoirse ran one hand over said branches, returning the gesture.
She never released Zylah’s hand. The half-breed’s heart was racing and Saoirse could starkly feel her level of uncertainty trickling down their fragile bond.
She kept her footing careful in the ever-moving underbrush. It was like climbing through mounds of slithering creatures. She would have given anything for a break in the canopy, a bit of light to let her know this wasn’t just some illusion.
It seemed like hours passed before Saoirse finally found a break in the trees.
She squinted, her heart hammering as she scanned the thick brush for—Saoirse broke into a sprint, releasing Zylah’s hand as she jumped over the vines and a fallen tree.
She desperately tried to summon her magic again, hoping to use it to propel her faster, but it was swallowed by the life surrounding her.
Tears stung Saoirse’s eyes as she glimpsed Eimear, the High Lady of Brónach, standing inside the hollow crevice of a tree.
The thick trunk had grown around her mother’s body, cocooning her in a protective embrace. Only her head and shoulders could be seen from the top, along with a web of branches cradling Eimear’s head like a mother with her newborn infant.
Eimear’s hands were still raised to either side of her body, each one reaching as if she were the wall that would keep the sinister creatures on the other side at bay.
Thin vines had wrapped around everything, beautiful flowers on full display. Saoirse stopped mid-run at the sight of the violet one with yellow stems emerging from its center.
She held up one hand to stop Zylah, too. “Stay far away from the purple ones.”
Zylah glanced over the landscape. She didn’t have to tell Saoirse that would be impossible if she wanted to pull Eimear out. Those very flowers coated the entire forest floor. They’d even wrapped themselves around the trunk that held her mother upright.
Decades ago, there’d been a poison created from these very flowers.
It had spread across their country like wildfire, all thanks to a faction that had wanted to eliminate her family and make their own claim for the throne.
But the crafted poison didn’t compare to the real thing.
A single scrape would have the neurotoxin entering the bloodstream in minutes.
It wouldn’t take long for the heart to stop, and Saoirse certainly didn’t have any sort of antidote on her at the moment.
Despite the danger, she stepped forward. Those very vines rose, blocking her path and Saoirse paused again. She glanced between the woven vines, focus still on her mother and inclined her ear to listen. Saoirse’s eyes misted at the beautiful sound of her mother’s heartbeat.
Alive.
Her mother was alive.
Slowly, so as to not disturb the plants further, Saoirse knelt and placed her palm flat on the ground. Everything surrounding her beat with a familiar pulse of magic.
Her mother’s magic. The power and control within it was unmistakable.
“Let me go to her,” Saoirse whispered, letting her own power trickle into the ground, bleeding into the roots surrounding her. The plant life drank her magic greedily. The world stilled. Saoirse stood and dared a step forward. Vines shot out, woody stems clamping around her wrist and waist.
“Saoirse.” Zylah was starting to panic.
“Stay there,” Saoirse commanded as calmly as she could manage. She didn’t resist her restraints even as those purple flowers crawled dangerously closer.
“It’s me,” Saoirse whispered again, speaking to the power extending from Eimear. “It’s Saoirse.”
Her mother may not have been in her right mind most nights, but she’d always recognized her children. Even in her delirium, she’d never harmed them—well, aside from Rion when he’d been freeing her, but their mother hadn’t known who he was yet.
Then again, Eimear hadn’t possessed her magic then, either.
She hadn’t had it for decades. Saoirse had witnessed firsthand the way her mother’s magic had always seeped out, as if it couldn’t be contained.
Rion’s power had been the same. Could suppressing it for so long cause a Fae to lose their minds entirely? Was her mother already too far gone?