37. A Heavy Crown
A n affinity. Kael understood, then, how Aisling seemed to effortlessly give him that control that had for so long eluded him. How even from deep within the Undercastle, she’d smelled the snow. He moved one hand slowly to capture Aisling’s where it rested on her knee and laced his fingers between hers. He wished in that moment that he could project the things he felt for her, too.
Sítheach regarded the pair for some time while she considered Aisling’s request. Still running one finger over the crystal beside her, she dipped her other hand into the pool. The glow it cast rippled across the cavern’s ceiling, sending light refractions spinning. The hum of the magic grew louder still.
“You wish for them to end the war between courts,” Sítheach said—a statement, not a question.
“I— we —hope that they can guide the courts to peace, how they did in the early days.” Aisling’s voice was steady and sure, and Kael was once more struck by her bravery. Her conviction. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“The Silver Saints are born of the stars,” Sítheach mused, dragging her hand through the water. “A light that can only be seen in darkness.”
Aisling’s sharp intake of breath beside him caught Kael’s attention. Her eyes were wide, focused on Sítheach, and her hand gripped his fiercely.
“Guided by celestial light,” she recited breathlessly. “They were in the prophecy all along.”
“Take care with such assumptions, child. The strength of our prophecies lies in their interpretation, not in the intent of the originator.”
“If we call, will they answer?” Kael asked.
“To call the Silver Saints is a difficult thing, and costly, but it can be done.” The Diviner tipped her chin up, catching fractals of light on the crystals that grew from her eyes. She’d been devoured further and further by her power: each glance into time brought forth a new crystal that would grow unabated where it emerged, be it from the cavern or from Sítheach herself. He was all too familiar with that feeling of being consumed by raw magic. The physical manifestation of hers was as horrifying as it was beautiful.
“Has it been done before?” Aisling was leaning forward, mesmerized by the ancient faerie .
“It has not,” Sítheach said. “But something that has never been done before is not, by nature, impossible to do.”
“A blood rite?” Kael guessed. He knew the answer before she gave it; he’d known the moment she’d called it costly. A pit settled in his stomach, solid and heavy.
Sítheach nodded once. “Only the blood of the powerful might awaken the dormant Saints. As for how the ritual is conducted, I cannot say. That is in the hands of the caller to determine.”
“Will it work?” Aisling asked. She seemed less sure now, almost resigned.
Sítheach smiled serenely, withdrawing her hands to fold in her lap. “I do not predict the future, child. I only divine the threads; it is up to you to weave them as you wish.”
She turned from them then, a wordless dismissal, and cast her gaze back into the pool before her. The light there, and the light carried by the stream that flowed into it, began to dim. Kael helped Aisling to her feet, eager to leave before they lost their path out.
“Thank you,” Aisling said. When Sítheach didn’t respond, Kael nudged Aisling on. She stepped gingerly on either side of the stream.
“King,” Sítheach called once Aisling had rounded the corner ahead of him. He turned back and was hit at full force with a wall of magic. It pulsed around him, through him, holding him in place.
In his head, in the deepest recesses of his mind, the Diviner whispered to him: Every trail through this forest, winding though they may be—switching directions, deviating, crossing rivers and glades and traversing mountains—will bring the traveler to the same destination eventually .
Once she’d released him from that hold, Kael nodded tightly. “I understand. Thank you.”
Trailing behind Aisling out of the cavern, he made a conscious effort to loosen his jaw and let his shoulders fall into a more relaxed posture. It took all of his concentration; the ache in his head left by Sítheach’s intrusion did him no favors, either. To his great relief, he found the Shadowwood Mother had gone. He strode past Aisling to reach Furax, using the time untethering her from the tree and readjusting her saddle to rid his countenance of the final traces of tension.
Aisling’s closeness in the saddle gave Kael everything he needed to regain focus. He kept Furax at a walk to enjoy it a bit longer.
“Well,” she said after several minutes of silence, “it was a nice idea, anyway.”
Kael frowned; resignation still colored her tone. “You would give up so easily?”
“You heard what she said, Kael. I’d have thought you above anyone else would have put a stop to this the moment she mentioned blood magic.” She shivered, as though the very idea of it frightened her. Kael wrapped his cloak tighter around her shoulders.
“Sometimes the outcome is worth the sacrifice.” He wished he could offer more reassuring words, but there were none.
“We don’t know what that sacrifice is.” She’d twisted around so that she could look at him over her shoulder.
“Maybe not, but it remains the best chance we have.”
Aisling shook her head then turned back. “I don’t like it, Kael. ”
He felt the shift in Aisling’s body and sat forward slightly in the saddle to pull her even closer. She leaned into him, pressing her back against his chest. He hoped that contact steadied her as much as it did him. They rode on in silence and when they met Raif further up the trail, their horses quickly transitioned into a gallop, carrying them at full speed back to the Undercastle.
Kael led them to return on the shortest route, which Raif had been careful to avoid on their way out. He thought even Furax seemed reluctant to do so, but Kael was determined to make it back before sunrise.
“Keep your eyes forward,” he said low in Aisling’s ear as they approached Talamarís.
“Why?”
The trail curved through the densest part of the forest, where the ancient pines grew higher than all the rest. They towered overhead as silent sentinels, anchored below by thick roots that wound and snaked across the forest floor. Bodies of dead Fae lay cradled amongst them. Kael reached quickly up to cover Aisling’s mouth to stifle the shriek before it could escape her lips.
He hushed her, smoothing his thumb across her cheek. “It’s alright. Just keep your eyes up.”
She trembled violently against him and when he removed his hand from her mouth, he wrapped his arm tightly around her waist.
“What is this place?” Aisling clung to him, her fingertips digging into his forearm .
“This is where our bodies go when we die,” Kael explained gently. “We are laid to rest here amidst the trees and left to be reclaimed by the forest. We return to the earth and give it new life.”
It was a concept he’d long found beautiful: Kael saw it as a great honor to give back life to the earth that sustained them, to the forest that protected them. But now, as he looked around, all he saw were the faces of the soldiers he’d slaughtered at Nyctara. They were the embodiment of his anger, of his greed and hunger for power. Their skin was mottled gray-blue and beginning to rot away despite the thin layer of frost that covered them, but they were still recognizable. He still knew each one of them by name.
The war for control over Wyldraíocht—and the battle that raged inside of him—would only continue to eat away at his court until there was no one left to rule over. The realization struck him as suddenly and brutally as a sword plunging into his gut. He’d be alone, and the crown he wore would remain just as heavy. Without subjects, could he even be considered a king?
Not far beyond Talamarís, Kael paused as they passed by The Cut. The Low One had been his guide through every trial he’d faced. The old god’s voice in his head had steered him steadily forward since he was old enough to venture into the woods on his own. Kael needed to hear that voice now.
“Is everything alright?” Aisling asked, calmer now that they’d left Talamarís behind.
He removed his cloak and fastened it around her before he dismounted and said, “Wait here. ”
“Do you want me to take her back?” Raif took hold of Furax’s reins.
“I will not be long.” He needed Aisling nearby. Kael left them on the trail and pushed through the underbrush until he broke free into the clearing. The sky was indigo now, growing lighter by the minute as the sun rose. He placed himself in the center of the circle, dusting snow off several of the runes with the toe of his boot before he faced the altar and closed his eyes.
The Low One would have come to be close to the time of the Silver Saints; Kael was sure He would have an answer. A better solution. Anything other than what the Diviner had offered.
Kael called out to the Low One softly at first, then with greater force. As his shadows began to surge within him, he allowed several thin tendrils to escape his palms, reaching for Him through the darkness. Grasping, searching for any sign that He was listening.
Please, Kael begged. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, sent his shadows further. He could feel Aisling, that soothing warmth she imbued in him, and he held onto it as his shadows stretched and stretched.
But the Low One was strangely silent. There was nothing with Kael in that clearing tonight. The air never thickened; the atmosphere never grew heavy. The sounds of the forest continued on undeterred. Kael dropped to his knees as he drew his shadows back. There was an emptiness in his chest that he’d never felt there before. He was lost in the forest without a map. Abandoned.
Again, he had to work to regain his composure and coach his face back into a neutral mask. It took greater effort this time, but he managed to tamp down his hurt and frustration well enough to rise to his feet and return to where Raif and Aisling waited. They both looked at him expectantly. Without acknowledging either, he slung himself into the saddle and pulled Furax into a trot.
Two of Kael’s guards were waiting outside the entrance to the Undercastle. He could tell even from a distance that they were nervous; both had white-knuckle grips on the hilts of their swords. The light of the dawn glinted off of their dark armor. Raif’s feet hit the ground before his mare stopped, and Kael wasn’t far behind.
“What is it?” Raif demanded.
“Visitors,” the more senior of the guards said. “Waiting in the throne room.”
“How many? When did they arrive?” Kael asked. Behind him, he heard Aisling sliding from Furax’s back. He took her hand and pulled her close.
“Two, and not long ago.” A stable hob appeared to quickly take both horses away.
Kael guided Aisling forward, towards the guards. “See that she makes it safely back to her chambers.”
“The visitors are for her, Highness.” The younger guard turned his attention to Aisling then, and added, “Your friend is waiting with them, miss.”
Aisling set her jaw. “Show me.”
“No,” Kael said sternly. His pulse was beginning to race, and a sense of foreboding tugged at his warrior instincts. At his magic. Raif felt it, too, and had already drawn his sword. Kael regretted not having brought his own .
“It’ll be fine,” Aisling insisted. “Take me to them.”
The group moved quickly and in tight formation down the spiral staircase, all of them alert and tense save for Aisling. She walked confidently, seemingly unafraid. She’d grown so much bolder since they’d met. She squeezed Kael’s hand once, hard, before releasing it and stepping into the throne room ahead of him. It took every bit of restraint he had to let her.
Rodney was leaning casually against a table where someone had laid out an array of bread and tea and honey wine. He was telling a story, gesturing broadly in an effort to hold the attention of the guests. The redheaded male, who looked to be the twin of Laure’s guard captain, seemed entertained. The soldier who accompanied him, clad in the gold Seelie armor, appeared less so.
“Our riding party returns,” Rodney said when they entered the cavern. His voice was just slightly too loud as it echoed off the stone walls. “Highness, this is Tadhg, and a soldier who has made it very clear he wishes to remain unnamed.”
A wide smile spread across Tadhg’s face. “Aisling, I’m so relieved to see you unharmed. When we couldn’t find you, I feared you’d been taken.”
“I wasn’t taken. I left.” Her tone was hard as steel.
“Surely you didn’t return here voluntarily,” Tadhg suggested. His grin faltered just slightly.
“I did.” Aisling advanced towards him, forcing the Seelie soldier into a defensive posture. Kael and Raif moved in tandem to flank her on either side.
“The queen is prepared to negotiate for your safe return,” the soldier said curtly.
“I’m not something she can bargain for,” she shot back. Kael could sense her irritation even before the pink flush that bloomed in her cheeks gave it away.
“Please, Aisling, he meant no offense.” Tadhg moved closer, hands raised. “Laure only wishes to see you safe. We all do.”
Kael began to speak, but Aisling cut him off. “I am safe.”
“Let’s all sit down and have a drink,” Rodney interjected, all forced friendliness. He brandished the bottle of honey wine. “It may be morning, Tadhg, but it’s technically time for a nightcap here.”
“They’re not staying,” Kael growled. Rodney backed down.
Aisling reached back and found Kael’s hand again. Her movement was deft and sure. She was sending a clear message. Kael’s heart stopped beating, just briefly. Raif tensed beside him, mirroring the Seelie soldier’s reaction.
Tadhg’s eyes dropped to their hands, growing wide enough to see the whites all the way around his bright green irises as the blood drained from his already pale complexion. “Niamh was right,” he breathed.
“Disgusting,” spat the soldier.
Kael’s temper flared; his breaths came short and fast as heat flooded his veins. His magic writhed beneath his skin, but he clenched his jaw, determined to keep his shadows at bay. He tried to pull Aisling behind him, but she stood her ground .
“Leave,” she commanded. If he hadn’t been so angry, Kael might have been impressed by her fearlessness. As it was, he would have done anything to keep her from speaking again.
“Come back with us,” Tadhg insisted, almost begging now. He held a hand out to Aisling.
She slapped it away. “I won’t.”
“Tadhg has been too kind; this is not a request.” The soldier seized Aisling roughly by the elbow and jerked her forward, forcing her hand from Kael’s. She fell to the ground at his side. Despite the fierceness that burned in her eyes, she seemed so much smaller, so much more fragile with the soldier’s gauntleted hand squeezing her arm.
The rage that overtook Kael was raw and primal, overriding all that remained of his rational thought. When Tadhg stepped forward, reaching out to help Aisling stand, Kael moved in. His shadows were on Tadhg as he helped Aisling to her feet, ripping him away from her. They encircled his slender body, squeezing and squeezing until his ribs collapsed inward with a crunch that was almost deafening.
Heavy silence followed that sound, just for the span of a breath.
The Seelie soldier was the first to recover, letting out a vicious roar and lunging for Kael. Aisling reacted blindly, stepping out to catch the soldier’s arm as it swung in a wide arc. His golden dagger, a gleaming extension of his arm, was aimed at Kael’s chest, but instead found purchase in Aisling’s shoulder. The curved blade bit into the flesh just below her collarbone and her sharp cry finally broke that dam that had been cracking inside of Kael.
He was fury personified, his body unable to fully contain the shadows within that now spilled into the space, devouring the light. Hatred poured out of him as water from the mouth of a river into a greater, deeper ocean of the same. As on the battlefield, Kael and his shadows shared a common goal. But this time, the shadows listened, converging entirely on the subject of his wrath and leaving the others untouched.
When Kael felt the soldier’s terror through those dark currents, he smiled.