The Red Woman and the White Bear

39. As the Moon Draws the Tides

I wouldn’t use you.

Aisling’s words echoed in Kael’s mind, their soft earnestness prying at his hardened heart and making it ache fiercely. She wouldn’t willingly, but the knowledge of what she must do—how he would make her use him—might have been enough to break him right there if he wasn’t so skilled at pressing down those sorts of thoughts until they were nearly nothing inside of him. He had this, now: Aisling sleeping soundly beside him, her warm breath gentle as it breezed across his chest. All signs of worry and stress absent from her face. If he could have held her there forever, he would have made any single sacrifice to do so. But that was not the fate written for either of them.

She stirred then and pulled back to look at him with bleary eyes. Even in the dark, the collage of blues and hazels held him captive. “You’re still awake.”

“Not for much longer.” Kael worked his hand underneath her shirt and traced circles on the curve of her lower back with his thumb.

She bumped his thighs gently with one of her knees. When he lifted a leg, she slid hers between them to rest there, pulling herself even nearer, then sighed contentedly.

He smiled. “If you were any closer, you would be under my skin.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” She reached up to smooth her thumb over the crease between his brows. “What are you thinking about?”

A pulse of disquiet surged through Kael, like icy water through his veins, but it took him only a moment to recover. “Only how lovely you look when you sleep,” he said.

“Your walls are up.” She hadn’t believed him; she’d heard that split-second of hesitation before he answered. Her hand moved down to cup his cheek and he leaned into it gratefully. The grounding force of her touch worked its alchemy on his frayed nerves.

“I mislike that you were injured in my defense,” Kael tried again. Not a lie this time, but certainly only a fraction of the truth that weighed on his mind. On his heart.

“I’d do it again,” Aisling promised solemnly.

“That will not be necessary,” Kael assured her.

Her presence beside him an anchor, Kael allowed himself to sleep, too, though it was restless and hard-won. He felt himself constantly dipping in and out of it, never as fully submerged as he wished to be.

He awoke when Rodney cracked open the door, letting in a slant of light. The púca gestured to him. Kael gently extricated himself from Aisling’s grip. She groaned, reaching out for him, but he tucked her arm back beneath the blanket.

“Hush,” he soothed before running his fingers through her hair once more. “Go back to sleep.” She let her head drop back onto the pillow and resumed her steady breathing.

Rodney was waiting for Kael by the front door, so the king straightened his disheveled clothes and followed him onto the porch. The cold mid-morning air was bracing and cleared his head the moment he drew in a deep breath.

“Tell me what you know,” Rodney demanded. There was no humor in his voice, nor was there any attempt to manipulate or hide his intentions. He was forthright, for once, and angry.

“I know a great many things,” Kael said, “you will have to be more specific.” He was goading the púca, he knew he was, but he was unprepared to slide from the knife’s edge he balanced on. Once he spoke the truth out loud, there would be no taking it back. The universe would know what he knew.

“There’s something more to all of this, and I daresay you’re well aware of it, even if Aisling isn’t.” Rodney stepped forward, seemingly ready to force the truth from Kael if he needed to.

Kael looked skyward, where gray clouds were gathering on the horizon. They were blowing in from the sea; he could smell the salt and taste its tang on the wind. Rodney waited impatiently for his answer, but it took Kael several moments to pull the words from where he’d hidden them in the depths of his heart before he could speak them out loud.

“You mustn’t tell her,” he finished. “Swear it to me. I know you owe me no allegiance but swear it all the same. For her.”

“I swear it.” Sobered by Kael’s admission, Rodney leaned his elbows onto the porch railing and pushed his hands back through his unruly hair, gripping it at the roots.

“She will need you, after. As reluctant as she will be to admit it.” Kael’s throat tightened, but he swallowed past that feeling. Pushed all of it back down even deeper than before.

Rodney snorted. “So you’ve noticed.”

“She does not seem overly fond of asking for help.” It was Aisling’s independence that had endeared her to him from the very beginning, when she’d stepped up on the dais on Nocturne and taken charge. Then, as his prisoner, when she insisted time and again on bathing herself, on walking the halls unguided and unaided. And now, as she seized control over her own fate. But he knew the damage she could do to herself with such a trait. In that way, he saw much of himself in her.

“She’s gotten better at it, I think. Either way, I’ll be here,” Rodney promised.

The púca left then, shaken and likely eager for the excuse to avoid Aisling for a while. When he returned later on with Lyre, both wore the same pale, drawn expression.

“What is it?” Aisling noticed Rodney’s face first and sprang up off the couch to greet him. Kael followed close behind, taking care to keep a healthy distance between himself and Briar. It was difficult given the small footprint of the trailer, but he’d managed to keep at least one piece of furniture between them throughout most of the morning.

“Lyre?” Kael demanded.

“The Seelie army is marching on the Undercastle.” Lyre’s yellow eyes scanned the trailer, cataloging the space and its contents shrewdly. The heavy cloak he wore concealed his robe, but not well enough to avoid a harsh look from Aisling. No doubt she was imagining the possibility that he’d been spotted by any number of Rodney’s neighbors, particularly the short, unpleasant man who seemed always to be lurking outside.

Aisling sank into a kitchen chair and Kael moved to stand behind her. “How did they find out already?” she asked.

“They had an additional guard posted outside, waiting,” Lyre explained tightly. “He saw the bodies as they were removed.”

Kael gripped the back of Aisling’s chair, grinding his teeth back and forth until he could speak again without losing his temper over the sheer carelessness with which they’d cleaned up the mess. His mess. “How far out are they?”

“Raif has already recalled the Fifth Company; he is readying the others now.”

Not far at all, then, if preparations were already underway. And for Raif to have recalled their last company afield meant he anticipated the Seelie army to be moving in at full strength. Kael’s mind raced ahead, plotting battle order and strategy. Where the defensive units would be placed, and which of the companies he would reserve for the counter-offensive.

“Is Laure with them?” Aisling’s quiet voice pulled him from his thoughts and he looked down at her. She was staring straight ahead at Lyre. Though he couldn’t see her face, he could picture the determined expression there.

“The changeling spoke to me about your plan to kill the queen,” Lyre said. His mouth curled into a devilish grin. “It would be my honor to assist. I am, as ever, at the service of the Red Woman.”

Aisling twisted around in her chair to look up at Kael. The hope he had so missed seeing in her eyes was back for the first time since they’d met with the Diviner. It glowed there, a steady burning ember, and he wished he could have looked away from it.

“This could be our best shot. It would give us more of an advantage to do it in your court, anyway, rather than trying to get into hers.” She chewed her lip, anxious for his response.

“You are not wrong,” Kael acknowledged. The hope burned brighter. He looked back at Lyre, then, and asked, “You believe you can design the rite?”

“I can design it, build it, and conduct it better than anyone else in your court, Highness. As it was, I have been crafting rituals for the High Prelate for years.” He winked at Aisling conspiratorially. Kael was taken aback by this; Werryn had never given the impression that any of the Lesser Prelates were competent enough in Rhedelas to craft anything more than low-level rituals. Certainly, he hadn’t ever mentioned that one of them was designing the rites for him entirely .

“What’s in it for you?” Rodney challenged. They were two sides of the same coin, Lyre and the púca, though the former more malevolent in his intentions than the latter. Rodney played the game for his own amusement; Lyre did so for personal gain.

Lyre’s grin widened further and his catlike eyes flickered over Kael. “The Red Woman has already promised me her protection. What might the Unseelie King have to offer?”

“If you are successful, I will see you made High Prelate,” Kael said.

“And Werryn?” Lyre asked, one brow raised.

“Werryn will not protest,” Kael shot back without hesitation. The aging male’s time had come and gone. Werryn had long overstepped his role, committing acts that would have been grounds for execution if they’d been done by any other courtier. His absolute superiority over the Lesser Prelates had been all that protected him. Now knowing that another could step into his place so easily, Kael would no longer be so tolerant of his insolence.

Kael and Lyre departed the trailer first, cutting across the wide grass field behind it toward the tree line beyond. They moved quickly into the cover of the forest and continued on in the direction of the Thin Place. Though Kael had been reluctant to leave Aisling, he was all too happy to avoid returning in Rodney’s vehicle. Rodney and Aisling split off in his car to drive Briar into town, where Aisling had arranged for a friend to watch over him. When Kael left, she’d been on her knees, her arms wrapped around the creature’s neck in a fierce hug and her face buried into his voluminous fur .

Silently, he’d sworn to the White Bear that his Red Woman would return, safe and unharmed. Then he’d sworn to himself he’d do everything in his power to see that promise fulfilled.

“May I ask,” Lyre began as the pair waited just beyond the Veil for Aisling and Rodney, “why?”

On their walk, Kael had explained to Lyre what he’d learned from Sítheach—what he had told Rodney and hidden from Aisling. Now, as he sat on a fallen log, he looked at the forest around him. It was quiet. Peaceful. Almost as though it was resting before the coming battle.

“Because it is the right thing to do,” he said simply.

“Perhaps. But right for whom? And when did you begin concerning yourself with what is right?” Lyre mused. Kael ignored the Prelate’s questions then and closed his eyes, listening to the wind rustle through the snow-dusted pines and the deep groans that emanated from their aged trunks as they shifted. Now, he thought. He was concerned with it now.

The rush of battle preparations invigorated Kael: the hum of energy that buzzed through the Undercastle, that electric undercurrent of bloodlust, was one that spoke to his basest desires. His mind felt sharper, his orders more certain. This was the role he’d been raised for—not just king, but commander. But Aisling’s hand in his as they traversed the bustling passageways towards his study kept him grounded in the knowledge that he had other, greater purposes now. It was a new feeling expanding in his chest, and for once it was not one he feared. Aisling had once promised him he could be better. Now, it was time to be the king she imagined him to be .

“Where will you create the ritual space? Werryn keeps a chamber in the rear caverns for such things, does he not?” Raif asked Lyre. He had met the party at the bottom of the spiral staircase and had received their summary of the plan with grim determination. He, too, was sharpened by the promise of the coming battle.

“No,” Kael said before the Prelate could answer. “Angry as she may be, Laure would not be so foolish as to follow me into these halls.”

“Perhaps The Cut?” Lyre’s mirrored eyes glowed in the firelight of the torch he pulled from the wall to carry outstretched. The shadows of the flames dancing across his face only made him appear more devious and cunning. “I believe I can repurpose many of the runes already carved there to adapt the circle for our purposes.”

“There is a great deal of magic there,” Kael agreed.

“And it may be strengthened further if you can call to the Low One,” Lyre added thoughtfully. Kael nodded. He would not say out loud that the Low One had been silent the last time he’d sought the god’s support. Alongside his shadows, blood—fresh and hot and seeping into the earth before the altar—would draw Him out this time, almost certainly.

“Highness?” Eamon and the other company commanders had gathered in Kael’s study, awaiting an audience and a chance to strategize over the maps he kept there. Each would undoubtedly have their own idea of how the battle should be executed, of where their company would be best placed in the fray. The males he’d chosen to lead were wise and battle-hardened, but any one of them would cut the others down without hesitation for the chance to claim that victory had hinged on their company alone.

Raif joined the other commanders around the map table, but Kael hesitated on the threshold.

“We three will go to work in The Cut,” Lyre said. “The space will be completed by sunup.” He turned back the way they’d come and Rodney followed after, allowing Kael a moment alone with Aisling.

“Go on,” she said, nodding towards the study. “I’ll be fine with them. I don’t want to keep you.”

Kael raised her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. Her skin was warm beneath his lips and he could feel her heartbeat steady there when he whispered against it, “I would very much like you to keep me.”

“Well then hurry back,” she said with a smile.

Kael ignored the incredulous stares of his commanders when he entered the study and took his place at the head of the war table.

“You would consort with the Red Woman so freely?” Kharis, Commander of the Sixth Company, challenged dubiously. “As war marches on your court?”

“I am your King. I will consort with whomever I please.” The harsh glare Kael gave him would have withered even the strongest trees in the realm, and as he cast it around the table, each commander lowered their eyes in concession.

Raif cleared his throat and leaned over the table to arrange the figurines there. He counted out five opponent pieces and placed them between the Undercastle and the border of the nearest Seelie dominion. He added another three behind those, a rough estimation of the forces following to conduct a second wave of attacks once the primary army had weakened the Unseelie defenses.

On his end, Kael set out the figurines representing each of his companies. He’d already envisioned it all: this strategy was one he’d gamed out time and again with Raif, altering and improving it little by little each year as numbers and strength shifted on both sides. It had only ever been a matter of time before the Undercastle came under siege. What he hadn’t ever anticipated, though, was that he would not be leading his army from the center of the frontline. His figurine, a black horse, he removed from the board. The commanders noticed.

“You will look to Raif for your orders,” Kael said, preempting their questions. “We developed this strategy jointly, and he has my support in altering it as he sees fit should the need arise.”

“And you, my king?” Eamon asked.

“My focus will be on the queen. To that end, even should you have her at the tip of your sword, she is to remain unharmed. Ensure your soldiers are aware of this.” When the commanders murmured their assent, Kael added sharply, “She is mine.”

The gentle waves of Aisling’s hair felt like silk between Kael’s fingers as he toyed with the end of a strand that had fallen forward over her bare shoulder. She looked breathtaking where she lay beneath him atop blankets of fur. She’d wanted to be close to the fire he built for her on the hearth, chilled from working in The Cut, and so he’d layered the blankets into a makeshift bed there on the floor of his chamber.

Her cheeks were flushed now from the fire’s warmth, and her lips were pink and swollen from the kisses he’d peppered them with ravenously from the moment his chamber doors closed and they found themselves alone. Kael knelt between her spread thighs, moving his hands to explore her form from the crests of her ribs down over the curves of her waist. She felt so delicate in his grasp.

She was perfect, every bit of her. But instead of telling her as much, Kael said only, “They will likely be here by dawn tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” Aisling propped herself up on her elbows, baring her naked chest to him. He made no attempt to hide his perusal of her body, already dewy with perspiration. Those protective instincts that had been ignited to such a dangerous degree in Kael before shifted as he gazed down at her, softening into a different sort of impulse. He traced a callused thumb across her lips. Then, over her collarbone, where Elasha’s poultice had already healed her wound into a raised pink scar. A reminder that he’d failed to protect her—and not only that once.

He was hers, he realized, and he felt that realization in his marrow. She had pulled him in as the moon draws the tides: gradually, inch by inch, but with unstoppable force.

Kael dropped forward to blaze a trail of searing kisses across her jawline, down the column of her neck, into the hollow at the base of her throat. He lingered at the notch of her collarbone, where her pulse fluttered just under her skin .

“I have never felt want—never felt need—the way I feel it for you,” he purred. Aisling fell onto her back and he settled more of his weight against her, pinning her beneath him. Her lips met his again and parted. Waves of tingling pleasure cascaded through him when her tongue played over his own. The heated tension winding tightly in Kael’s abdomen drew lower as he hardened against her.

“Please,” Aisling begged, voice trembling, aching for him as he did for her. He’d wanted to savor this, to savor her, for as long as he could. But the hungry look in her eyes pulled a shudder through his muscles and he lifted himself up just enough to allow her to reach down and guide him into her. The way her body responded, tightening around him, was almost too much to bear.

When Aisling opened her legs wider, Kael rolled his hips against hers rhythmically. As they moved together, he tried to stay there with her in the moment and ignore the weight of uncertainty that hung heavy in the air. Yet each touch, each caress, was infused with a bittersweet urgency, a silent fear of what was to come. Neither of them dared speak that fear aloud, though. Not when doing so would make it real.

So they moved together, seeking both comfort and ecstasy in equal measure. Aisling’s labored breath kept time with his thrusts and Kael relished the scent of her filling his nostrils, his lungs. She whimpered when he slowed his pace, dipping in and out of her with languid strokes. He wasn’t ready for their closeness to end; he was intent on drawing it out for as long as he could, despite the way his every nerve protested for release .

This time, the rapturous climax they shared was a moment of surrender, a collision of two individuals finally, finally acknowledging what bound them.