17. Release
“ Y ou were meant to remain in the library,” Kael growled at the girl now standing before him in the corridor, feet bare and eyes blazing. Already his blood seared with magic, so provoked that he could hardly contain it, and now he had to face down yet another challenger. He ground his teeth together so hard his jaw ached, but it paled in comparison to the pain coursing through the rest of his body.
“I didn’t,” she said. Then, “So this is what you’ve been trying to learn? How to use me, like you did during the ritual?”
Kael gave a tight nod; he couldn’t lie. She was no longer blind to the truth, though she understood precious little of it. The Prelates had spun her survival as his tether into something of an obsession within his court. As much as he wanted to deny it, the temptation of what Werryn suggested was a siren’s call that he couldn’t completely ignore. And like the Prelates, Aisling couldn’t fathom the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders. That had rested there for centuries.
When he didn’t respond, she advanced toward him. “You would kill me—for what? To forge yourself into an even greater weapon? Are you not already capable of enough destruction on your own that you have to pull me into it, too?”
The tension in the space was palpable, crackling between the two as they faced each other down. Aisling’s words were like arrows that struck Kael’s embattled walls again and again. He clenched his fists at his sides as surges of power pulsed through him.
“You think you know about my magic.” The bitterness of his retort felt sharp on his tongue. “You’re nothing more than a na?ve little girl.”
Her humorless laugh was a cold, stinging melody. “And here I thought you found it endearing.”
He did. Kael’s eyes flickered to her lips, pursed in an expression of stubborn defiance, and he found himself wondering for one fleeting moment what they would feel like pressed against his neck. The thought at once both soothed and frightened him, which only incensed him further.
“You may possess the ability to change the fate of my court, to tip the scales back in our favor. Why should I waste such an opportunity?” Kael demanded. Though the question was directed at the girl, it was his own mind that shot back an answer: you shouldn’t .
The insistent murmur was a reminder of the relentless ambition that had been instilled in him since boyhood. It was a crown of thorns that he wore willingly, but it was not without its painful punctures. Aisling’s presence, and whatever power she held over his magic, seemed a beacon in the darkness.
Yet even as he rationalized the practicality of his intentions, another voice stirred within him—a voice that he had suppressed for too long. It whispered of desires beyond strategy, of a longing for something that defied calculations and tactics. Kael had grown accustomed to viewing his court and its inhabitants as pieces on a vast war table. But Aisling was beyond all of that; she had managed to insinuate herself into the uncharted territory within him. The dissonance was stark in the clash between the role he was expected to uphold and the ache for something raw, untamed, and utterly uncertain.
Aisling didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. Instead, she continued to hold his gaze with unwavering resolve. “I won’t be used to kill,” she declared. “You can’t control me.”
“I must consider what is best for my court,” Kael said, his voice tinged with regret he couldn’t conceal. His words were a declaration to himself as much as they were to her. “But it is not you who would be controlled.”
Aisling’s glare softened, just, before she blinked that softness quickly away. “You can be better.”
The challenge hung in the air between them, a gauntlet thrown down that Kael couldn’t ignore. It was a provocation. Or, perhaps, an invitation. It was his breaking point. And his restraint finally shattered.
Kael didn’t think as he stepped forward until there was nothing but a breath of air between their bodies. He didn’t think when he reached out for her, either, and cupped her cheek, or when he brought his lips crashing down onto hers in a fierce and fiery collision.
It was a kiss borne of frustration, of anger, of a passion that had long simmered beneath the surface. His feelings for Aisling had grown stronger with each passing night, with each stubborn exchange and silent walk through the Undercastle. They had defied all of his attempts to rein them in.
Aisling responded with equal fervor, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as she pulled him in tighter, closing the distance between defiance and desire. The searing kiss flooded his lungs with air; when she inhaled, he did too. And the world around them faded into absolute insignificance.
This time felt different from the lustful, honey wine-fueled kisses he’d shared with her when she’d been glamoured. This kiss reached out to something deeper inside of Kael, something he’d thought unreachable. She was warm, so warm, at the points where she pressed against him, and that warmth seeped through his skin to settle in his bones. He smothered the hot flare of desire that rose in him when he felt her body so close to his and swallowed back the words he wished he could say.
But Kael could tell by the way she looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes that she felt it, too .
“Where are your shoes?” he murmured against her soft lips before capturing them again with his own. His hands on her waist itched to move, to explore her body, but he held them still.
She gestured blindly toward the library without breaking their contact.
It was only with great effort that he did so himself, drawing back to hold her at arm’s length. When he did, it was only because he heard footsteps down the corridor that brought him back into reality. “Go get them, I want to take you somewhere.”
“Where?” The word was just a breath; she looked unsteady on her feet.
“Away from here.”
Reeling, Kael waited for her. He braced himself against the wall, focusing on the texture of it beneath his palm, trying to come back down from wherever that kiss had sent him.
Aisling returned quickly, hopping on one foot as she pulled the other slipper on. Once she was back at his side, he faltered. In the time it took her to jog to the library and back, doubt crept in, with hesitation alongside it.
Until she smiled.
“Come with me,” Kael said. He almost reached out to take her hand, but stopped himself and balled his instead at his side.
Kael led Aisling quickly through the twisting corridors, down branching side passages so narrow they had to walk single file, and through the vast caverns that opened up around them. The deeper into the Undercastle they went, the more trepidation began to overwhelm his thoughts. He didn’t speak, nor did she. The only sound around them was the quiet draft that circulated through the caves.
Though some parts were dark, lit only by ancient torches with struggling flames, Kael knew the way by heart. He moved surefooted over rubble and around stalagmites along the path his feet had carved over hundreds of thousands of trips back and forth. The scrambling sounds of Aisling behind him, though, reminded him to keep his pace slower than he would have alone.
Finally, the pair entered a distant cavern. Small, and lit by moonlight. A little-known way in and out of the Undercastle. Kael went first, lithely climbing to the top of a boulder beneath the opening in two large strides. Then, he turned and offered his hand to Aisling. When she took it, and gripped it tight, his lungs squeezed as though she’d gripped him there as well. This time, he didn’t let go.
“It isn’t much further,” he promised once they had stepped outside. They were in the darkest part of the forest, yet she seemed unafraid. Only a few more minutes of picking through the underbrush and the pair drew to a stop.
“I’ve not brought another to this place before you.” Kael’s heart raced in his throat. He remained a few paces behind when Aisling dropped his hand and stepped forward to explore the small forest enclave. Silently, he watched her take it in: the gurgling stream that wound in and out of gnarled roots and reflected the trees above. The ferns sprouting along its bank and the moss carpeting the ground that glowed a soft turquoise, enchanted by the same magic as the plants in the night garden. The rich, dark smell of damp earth .
“None of your other faerie girlfriends?” she teased, glancing back over her shoulder to where he was standing. “You have a reputation, you know. One that you lived up to the night we met.”
Kael blew a short breath through his nose in response; he was glad for her humor to ease the tension. “I suppose the púca told you all manner of stories about the dangerous, alluring Unseelie King and his consorts.”
“Was he wrong?” The corner of her lips twitched up. When Kael chose not to answer, she turned to the stone ruins, the remnants of what once must have been a grand moon gate. Now, it was barely that, but still strangely devoid of vines or moss or lichen. “What was this place?”
Kael moved to stand beside her, looking up at it too as though seeing it for the first time. It always felt like the first time, even though he’d been visiting it for centuries. “I’ve never been able to determine its origin. It was here long before I ever found it.”
“It feels special,” she whispered.
“It comforts me,” he admitted. “I come here often.”
“Just to sit?” Aisling lowered herself onto the bottommost broken stone step before the arch. Kael did the same.
“To think, to pray. It’s quiet; sometimes I can feel the Low One even stronger here than I can before the altar.” He spoke about his god without thinking, but realized when he felt Aisling shiver beside him that she likely did not hold such a positive view of the deity after her experience in The Cut. “I have been King for a long while. This is one of very few places where I can escape that. ”
She hummed, drawing her arms around her waist. “Was your father a good king?”
Kael angled himself so that their knees nearly touched and shook his head. “My father was a lord. Our crown is not passed by bloodline, but by magic. I was born with the ability to wield shadows, as was given to me by our god Himself. A gift.”
“You don’t seem like you think of it that way,” Aisling challenged.
He could feel her studying him with narrowed eyes, so he kept his own focused on the movement of the stream. “I am grateful for it.” At times.
“And your mother?” She was leaning closer now, curious about a past that Kael hadn’t spoken or even thought of in a very long time.
He drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. “She was a vessel for me, just as I am a vessel for this.” He’d never known the female who had given her life to birth him.
Aisling was quiet for a moment while his words sunk in. “Who raised you? Methild?”
“I was given over to the Prelates before my mother was cold in her grave,” he said, fighting to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “From the moment my magic was discovered, I was theirs to cultivate.”
They sat silently then, bathed in the sounds of the forest and of their own steady breathing. It was a still night. Cold, but without the bite of the winter wind, it was tolerable. Kael leaned back and propped his elbows against the step behind him.
From this position, Aisling could see every bit of him, every detail, down to the pale blue veins beneath his skin where the sleeves of his tunic rode up. She studied his arms, those veins and arteries and capillaries that became a spiderweb of inky black from his fingertips on up when his shadows grew too strong. For a half-second, Kael allowed her to trace her finger over one on the inside of his wrist before he pulled away.
“What does your magic feel like?” she asked softly.
“Agony,” he said. “Ecstasy.”
“Show me,” she urged, still in that same soft voice.
Kael sat up and looked at her sharply. “No.”
“You want to understand my effect on it, I know you do. So try.” Aisling was looking at him insistently. Earnestly. She was offering herself to him. The very thing she’d fought against, she was now asking for. You can be better . She said that she didn’t want to be used as a weapon, but this wasn’t that. This was something else entirely—a chance for him to test his magic away from the Prelates, away from the battlefield. Not in the service of the Low One or of anyone else but himself. And she wanted to give that to him.
Still, he hesitated, indecision warring in his chest. “I won’t—”
Aisling interrupted him. “You won’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that,” Kael insisted. He had before, and he would again. It shouldn’t matter; he shouldn’t care. But it did, and he did.
“Yes I do. Don’t tether to me. Just let me be here with you.” There was no fear in the girl’s voice and no apprehension in her eyes. Kael was unsure where she derived her confidence in him from, but it was misplaced.
Though torn, he nodded tightly. Kael moved to kneel on the soft moss and drew several deep, shaky breaths. Aisling left the step to sit cross-legged before him. Although she was closer than she likely should have been, he couldn’t find it in himself to ask for more space. He wanted her there.
The woods around them hushed in anticipation of what was to come. Jaw clenched, Kael lowered his head and closed his eyes and called upon the shadows that had been fighting to emerge since his confrontation with Werryn. They came violently to the surface, those savage currents, in a bid to tear into anything within reach.
When he felt their familiar sting he dropped one hand to the earth, but before he could dig his fingers into the moss Aisling slipped her own hand into it. He felt her other, then, on his cheek. Her palm was soft and cool as her fingers grazed his hairline. Kael tilted his head to lean into it. Her touch was steadying; he focused on it with all that he had.
With Aisling’s hand in his, Kael found himself releasing the tight grip he kept on his magic. The shadows, once frenetic and wild, slowed their chaotic dance. Instead of lashing out, their tight coils unwound lazily. The obsidian tendrils drifted from Kael as steam rising off of water, carried on the breeze and swirling in the ebb and flow of the forest’s energy. He didn’t dare open his eyes for fear of breaking the spell.
He didn’t once feel his shadows pull towards Aisling, so he let them explore. Through them, he felt rough tree bark and the ice-cold water of the stream. The prick of pine needles and sticky sap and the impervious stone ruins. Never before had his shadows felt so much like an extension of himself. Even in battle, where he felt the most at peace, they were merely a projection of his rage. This was something different entirely.
Cautiously, slowly, he called them back. As they curled into his skin, he winced. Still uncomfortable, though not quite as painful. Kael opened his eyes to find Aisling’s and his breath caught. She’d tamed his magic—she’d tamed him.
The calm he felt was overwhelming. Aisling caught him when he fell forward, guiding his head down to her shoulder and supporting his weight. She snaked her arms around his waist and slid one hand up to pass gentle circles over his back.
Held tight in her arms and wrapped in the sweet, oppressive quiet of the night, Kael wept like a child.