38. A Study in Dichotomy
B efore the blood began to pool on Aisling’s skin, before the pain of the wound even registered, a thick rope of shadow wound around the Seelie soldier’s neck and pulled taut in one swift motion, severing his head cleanly. It rolled with dull, wet thuds across the ground and came to rest beside Tadhg’s lifeless body. Aisling looked up just in time to see a wicked smirk fading from Kael’s face.
She felt the warmth of her blood first. Once she looked down at the stain growing around the frayed edges of fabric where the blade had torn through her sweater, the searing burn brought her to her knees and drew tears to her eyes. Raif and Rodney both caught her on the way down and helped her to sit on the steps leading up to the dais. She pictured it as it was the first time she’d been there, when she’d been glamoured green with a dress of leaves and wings sprouting from her back. How simple she’d thought all of this would be.
“Kael!” Raif barked. Kael turned to them, slowly, like he was waking from a dream. “Find Elasha.”
Kael disappeared through the door at the back of the throne room—the very same door he’d pulled her through that night before she’d pressed him up against the wall and lured him in.
“Shit, Ash,” Rodney swore. His focus was locked on her wound as Raif tore away her sweater, unable to tear his gaze from it. The color had drained from his cheeks. “Fuck.”
“It isn’t deep.” Raif pressed a cloth over the gash, sending a fresh wave of pain sparking across Aisling’s nerve endings. It shot clear down her arm to the tips of her fingers. She bit down on the inside of her cheek hard to stifle a cry.
“Shit,” Rodney said again. His skin had turned from paper white to a sickly shade of yellow; his lips pursed in an effort to keep from vomiting.
“Stop looking at it,” Aisling scolded weakly once the pain had subsided enough for her to speak.
He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s a lot of blood.”
“It’s too bad we can’t use it for the ritual,” she joked dryly.
Still with his eyes closed, Rodney’s brows jumped up, then drew together. “What?”
Kael returned then with Elasha, who shooed Raif out of the way and peeled back the cloth he’d used to examine Aisling’s wound. Aisling sucked in a breath and gripped Rodney’s hand .
“It isn’t deep.” Elasha echoed Raif’s assessment, her even voice more comforting than his had been.
“She’s fine, Kael.” Raif had moved to stand beside Kael. He said it quietly, almost too low to make out. Aisling thought she may have been the only one to hear it; Kael didn’t acknowledge his friend’s words at all. She wanted desperately to reach out to him, to reassure him somehow that she was alright, but he maintained a careful distance and avoided her gaze.
Aisling braced herself when Elasha pulled a jar of thick paste out of the satchel that hung from her shoulder. Its smell was harsh, but it was similarly soothing to the salve Methild had applied to the wound she’d sustained to her head at Nyctara. As she rubbed it into Aisling’s skin, the blood congealed and the pain rapidly subsided to a dull, throbbing ache.
“Who was he?” Kael nudged Tadhg’s body with the toe of his boot.
“Niamh’s brother,” Raif answered.
“One of Laure’s pets,” Rodney added. “Her court artist. He’s painted dozens of portraits of her. She’ll be furious—Laure and Niamh both.”
“You need to take her away from here,” Kael ordered Rodney. “Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Aisling said through gritted teeth while Elasha bound the poultice wraps tightly. Despite her protest, he still refused to look at her. He’d angled his body away from hers, only glancing briefly at Rodney to give his order before turning his attention back to the two bodies that lay at his feet .
“It may be wise for you to accompany her—for her protection, and yours. Until we determine what sort of retribution this will bring,” Raif posited.
“My presence will hardly do her any good.” Kael’s jaw was taut and his tone clipped, but the cool detachment he attempted to display was painfully transparent, and Aisling wasn’t fooled. She felt that guilt building in his chest, the heaviness of it. The anger he wanted to mask, but couldn’t.
With some effort, Aisling worked her way back to standing. Though she felt unsteady on her feet, she ignored the way the room spun around her and walked as surely as she could to step in front of Kael.
“Look at me,” she said. Aisling lifted his hand from where it hung by his side. She pried his nails from his palm and ran her thumb across the marks they’d left there. He hesitated, and when he finally dropped his gaze, he didn’t look at her, but through her. His jaw was clenched so tightly now she thought his teeth might crack.
“Look at me,” she said again, more forcefully this time. “I’m fine.”
Finally, he softened a fraction and drew in a shaky breath. Kael’s attention slid to the cloth that bound her shoulder, a brief flash of anguish coloring his expression. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the bandages just above where the dagger had bitten into her. The light pressure there felt even better than the poultice itself. It was the first time they’d acknowledged each other this way in front of any members of his court, the first time they’d so obviously demonstrated what had grown between them before an audience. Aisling could feel their eyes on them now, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from his touch.
“I am sorry,” he whispered against that same spot on her shoulder. He kissed it once more before raising his head.
“I’m not leaving here without you. Come with me,” Aisling insisted.
Kael nodded. “As you wish.”
They moved quickly then, Rodney collecting their bags while Aisling changed into a fresh shirt and leashed Briar. Kael met them at the base of the spiral staircase. He’d changed, too, into a plain shirt and loose black pants that would be passable in the human realm—just. His silver hair was tied back into a bun at the nape of his neck and he’d glamoured away the points of his ears. Still, the tilt of his eyes and the angles of his face would set him apart on the island.
Rodney’s car was frosted over when they reached it where he’d left it parked off the side of the road, partially obscured by brush. Kael looked about as comfortable in its backseat as Aisling looked on horseback. She sat close to him so their legs touched; she could feel the tension his body was under. Briar kept a wary eye on him from the passenger seat.
It was evening on Brook Isle, though not nearly as dark as Aisling had hoped it would be to conceal their arrival. As they drove into the trailer park, there were still children playing outside, bundled in heavy winter coats and brightly colored scarves. Rodney pulled up as close to his trailer as he could manage.
“Miss Morrow!” Cole called from behind them .
Aisling groaned and Rodney cringed, swearing under his breath.
“Are…are you hurt? Did this man do something to you?” Cole demanded as he drew closer. Aisling looked down at herself, realizing for the first time that more than a little dried blood was still crusted down her arm and up the side of her neck. “I’ll call the police—”
Kael bit off the end of his sentence with a vicious, chilling snarl that stopped Cole in his tracks. Aisling smoothed a hand over the bowstring-tight muscles of his back and urged him on towards the trailer.
“Mind your business, Cole. We’re fine here,” Aisling assured him.
Inside, Aisling cleaned herself off over the kitchen sink while Rodney moved the coffee table aside to inflate an air mattress on the living room floor. Despite Rodney’s offer for she and Kael to share his bed, Kael had insisted that he needed to remain where he could see the door. He took an armful of blankets and pillows from Rodney and made up the couch for Aisling.
She was tired, almost sick with tired, but she couldn’t will herself to sleep. Over and over she replayed their conversation with the Diviner. And when she shut her eyes, she saw Tadhg’s body lying crushed beside the headless soldier. Frustrated and sore, Aisling rose from the couch well after midnight. She stepped over Briar and tiptoed past Kael to the bathroom.
Stripping down to her bra, she balanced fresh bindings and a jar of salve Elasha had given her on the edge of the sink. The poultice had dried out; the bandages were stiff and tugged uncomfortably at her skin. Aisling peeled them off gingerly, wincing when they stuck in places. The wound underneath had already begun to heal—it looked now to be several days old, rather than just several hours.
“Does it hurt?” Kael appeared in the bathroom doorway. He was leaning against its frame, watching her examine herself in the mirror.
She shot him a rueful smile. “Only when I breathe,” she teased.
He approached and swept her hair back over her shoulder to check the wound, long fingers prodding at it gently. She tried not to pull away from the sting. “It will leave a scar,” he said.
Aisling grimaced, imagining it already marring her skin. “I know.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” He unscrewed the lid of the jar and began spreading the salve over her skin with a tenderness that belied his strength, his rage. The male was a study in dichotomy, capable of unflinching cruelty one moment and such softness the next. Always, always proving himself more than the villain he made himself out to be.
She shrugged. “Most men aren’t particularly fond of scars.”
“Human men,” Kael mused, the barest hint of a smirk touching his lips. She blushed red as the center of the wound he was redressing for her.
“I’m sorry I woke you.” Aisling would have been content to watch his hands brushing over her skin for hours, but instead focused on the dripping faucet in front of her.
“I was awake.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t heard him stir; his steady breathing had been as good as a lullaby. “I guess the air mattress isn’t the most comfortable. ”
“Indeed it isn’t,” he agreed. He tied off the bandage then straightened up. “There.”
She missed his touch when he pulled away but thanked him all the same. Finally, she looked up into the mirror and took him in as he stood behind her.
Kael looked so out of place there in Rodney’s bathroom, half-glamoured to look human and washed out by the harsh yellow lighting, that she had to laugh. This trailer had been a consequence of her mother’s stories, and now here she was with two of them: a púca changeling fast asleep in the bedroom, and the Unseelie King standing barefoot on the blue shag bathmat. He raised an eyebrow quizzically, but she just shook her head. She was too tired to try to explain the absurdity of it.
Rather than return to the couch, Aisling instead went to the kitchen and filled the kettle with fresh water. Kael followed and Briar padded over to lay beside her feet on the linoleum.
“You should sleep. You need rest,” he admonished halfheartedly.
“I know.” She lit the stove and set the kettle on the burner before pulling down a box from the shelf and holding it up. “Tea?”
When he nodded, Aisling rummaged in the cupboard for mugs. There was only one without chips around the rim: heavy ceramic in a faded shade of emerald and emblazoned with a fox, the Brook Isle High mascot. She set it aside for Kael.
“If you two are going to keep on with all this noise, you might as well pour one for me as well.” Rodney turned on the kitchen light, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Briar’s tail thumped against the ground, a lazy greeting .
All three sat around the small table quietly for a time, lost in their own thoughts. Rodney toyed idly with the string of his teabag; Kael’s hands were folded over the top of his mug. Aisling leaned her elbows on the table and held her mug against her lips, blowing every few seconds while she waited for it to cool.
“Ash?” Rodney broke the silence.
“Hmm?” Swirling steam partially obscured his face as she looked at him over the rim.
“Earlier, what did you mean about the ritual?” he asked.
Aisling cringed; she’d forgotten about her poorly timed quip. She set her mug down on the table and crossed her arms over her chest as tightly as the ache in her shoulder would allow.
“It takes a blood rite to raise the Silver Saints.” She turned to Kael then and said, “I’ve been thinking about the ‘blood of the powerful’ part. What about Laure?”
Laure was plenty powerful; Aisling had seen it herself. The Seelie Queen could produce plants from nothing, creating and sustaining life with her bare hands. It was pretty magic, and strong. Coupled with her ability to send humans into those enchanted waking dreams, Aisling thought Laure was likely one of the more powerful Fae she’d encountered yet.
Kael looked at her thoughtfully but said nothing in response. Rodney was unconvinced.
“You’re talking about killing the Seelie Queen, Aisling? That’s impossible,” he said. His heavy brows pulled into a tight frown.
Aisling backtracked. Her heart raced at the mere idea, as though Laure might have somehow heard their conversation from deep within the Wild. She recalled the fire that blazed in the queen’s violet eyes, the rabid hunger there. “I didn’t say anything about killing her. We wouldn’t have to kill her, would we?”
“A rite of this magnitude will require an equivalent sacrifice,” Kael answered simply. He was stoic: his voice, his expression, his posture. Nothing about him betrayed even the slightest hint of his opinion on the idea, whether he thought it wise or foolish or so far-fetched as to be unworthy of discussion entirely.
Over the fear that had gripped her, a burning sort of resolve flared to life in Aisling. Laure had been keen to use the Red Woman as a means to her preferred end from the moment Aisling set foot in the Seelie Court. Now, here was her chance to reclaim the autonomy she’d been clawing for since she’d learned of the prophecy. Fate was hers to write now.
“Do you know how to perform something like this?” Aisling asked. The sun was just beginning to rise outside the trailer, painting the kitchen in pastels. Kael’s hair took on every shade the sunrise threw, iridescent.
He shook his head. “Ordinarily I would turn to Werryn for guidance; he would likely know best how to design the ritual. He understands the old language and is far more practiced in Rhedelas —rune casting—than I.”
“What about Lyre?” Rodney suggested.
“Possibly.” Kael remained impassive. His tea had grown cold, but he kept his hands above the mug as though he could still feel its heat on his palms. Both Aisling and Rodney waited for him to say something more—to say anything more—but he lapsed back into silence.
“Can you get him a message without going back in?” Determined to forge ahead with or without Kael’s help, Aisling turned to Rodney.
“Sure, but maybe we should think about this a little more first.” He rubbed the back of his neck and eyed Kael uneasily, attempting to interpret his silence.
Of course she wanted to think it through. If she had the time, Aisling would have spent days drafting up a roster of advantages and disadvantages to their plan. She’d have spent longer still searching for another avenue to avoid bloodshed and sacrifice altogether. But the luxury of time had faded; now, they had to act.
“Talk to Lyre, Rodney,” she directed firmly.
A short while later, as the rest of the trailer park began to wake, Aisling retreated quietly back into Rodney’s dark room and curled up in his bed. Her mind was hazy now and her eyelids had grown so, so heavy. At last, sleep was catching up with her. She hoped it would be deep and dreamless.
She didn’t hear Kael enter, but shifted over to make space when she felt his weight depress the far side of the mattress. “You’re tired,” she said, running a hand across the hard muscles of his chest. He leaned into her touch.
“I am.” The exhaustion was plain in his voice.
“Have you come to nap with me?” A lazy smile played on her face, eyes half-closed .
Kael pulled a blanket up over their shoulders and wrapped one arm around Aisling’s waist. “The púca left. He said he would return later.”
“Did he say where he was going?” Aisling lifted her head slightly from the pillow to look up at Kael. She could only just make out his outline; his face was hidden by shadow.
“No,” he said. His fingers in her hair eased her head back down and then ran, from root to tip, in smooth, steady strokes.
“Okay.”
“You do not trust him,” Kael assumed.
“He did leave me in your prison.” She was only half-joking.
Kael hummed, moving closer and resting his chin on the crown of her head. “It seems we’re both rather accustomed to being used.”
Aisling curled into his chest and relaxed as he tightened his arm around her. “I wouldn’t use you,” she sighed.