27. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
Isat curled on the floor of my hut, knees to my chest. Outside, Anamcroí breathed green, untamed, but I felt none of it.
The air was drenched with pine, but my lungs still held the rot of the mortal realm, the tang of burning pyres, the fetid stench of death.
I had scrubbed my skin raw, but the scent somehow still lingered.
It had been thirty nights since Tairngire left.
I hadn’t even wanted to go and train. My gym sat untouched. I didn’t come across any more creatures, either. Thank the goddess.
The priests moved through the temple, blissfully unaware of the rot spreading through the realms. But I’d seen it firsthand.
Angry mortals tumbling through Morhaven’s streets. A mother mourning at a pyre. Werewolves prowling blackened woods, half-men bound in shadow. And Tairngire gleaming like war incarnate as he carved them down.
The memory still made me tremble. The truth of it sat low in my stomach: gods were not saviors, not guardians, but executioners. I buried my face into my arms, trying to breathe, trying to catch the forest’s song. But it came faint, mocking, like a melody too far away.
Thirty nights, and I still woke with his voice in my head, his hand brushing my cheek before he vanished and left me alone.
Thirty nights, and I hated him more for each one.
Thirty days, and I missed his arrogant barbs anyway.
I curled tighter, my nails biting skin, drawing blood.
No one here would understand. Not Saorla, not Branwyn, not even the Oracle.
I couldn’t tell them even if I’d wanted to.
Not about the Heart, a caged storm at the bottom of my satchel.
I kept it locked under my bed. Whatever you do, Tairngire had warned, do not listen when it speaks.
But warnings are easier kept in daylight than in the stillness of night. I held it once. It was black as pitch with honed edges, its surface alive with shadows. I’d meant only to look, to prove it was just a stone.
But then it whispered, echoing in my thoughts for days afterward: you are chosen. You are marked.
Chosen—for what? They never answered.
So I buried it again, pretending it wasn’t there, pretending I wasn’t tempted to touch it again. But some burdens cannot be buried forever, and I kept counting the nights, hoping one day I’d stop.
I dragged myself up the temple steps, each one heavier than the last. The Seventh Realm’s temple always gleamed brighter than the rest of Caer Anam—white stone spires, incense curling, incessant bells tolling.
Orderly and perfect.
It made me want to scream.
I pulled my cloak tighter and entered. The High Priestess was waiting, patient and austere, her gaze raking over me. Brannach lingered at her side, a shadow with folded hands and unblinking eyes.
“Well,” the Priestess said softly, her voice echoing against the stone in the temple. “Is today the day you tell us how your training goes, child?”
The lies burned on my tongue. “It’s…going,” I muttered, forcing a smile. My hands fumbled at my cloak. “Lessons in control. He’s teaching me patience. He says it’s necessary to gain control of divine gifts.”
Her head inclined, expression blank. Brannach’s eyes narrowed, slicing the falsehood wide open.
“And your Sight?” The Priestess’s tone was a blade. “Does it obey you yet?”
“No,” I admitted, too quick. I bit down on my tongue, wishing I could swallow it back.
No rebuke came. Only that cold nod, as though my failure was expected.
But Brannach’s eyes—they peeled me open, stripping the lies until I felt bare. He leaned forward slowly but with purpose. “You’ve been somewhere,” he rasped, his voice littered with gravel. “With the god. You’ve been carrying it on your skin like a stain.” He made a disgusted face.
Why yes, Brannach. The realm that you teach your acolytes to revere is actually quite abominable, and it smells like rotten flesh.
I felt my pulse quicken. He couldn’t know—not about Morhaven, not the Heart, not what I had spent my free-time doing. That I’d spilled mortal blood on sacred soil.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lied, wincing at the taste of it on my tongue.
The Priestess studied me a moment, her pale eyes emotionless. Then she turned away, golden threads of her robes whispering against marble. “Go. The Oracle awaits.”
Dismissed, as though the temple had already tired of my lies, I spun and fled. Brannach’s stare lingered on my back. Every step echoed with the lies I continued to tell.
The Oracle sat at the center of the ornate chamber, hovering above her dais, eyes clouded by the veil. Blind, yet piercing.
I bowed. “Oracle. I seek counsel.”
Her lips parted, rasping like laughter or a sigh, with her I could never tell. “You seek him.”
My fists clenched once by my side. “I seek…answers. Where has he gone? Why has he left me with—” I bit back the words. With another burden.
She tilted her head, birdlike. “The Forest God walks his own path. He listens where others do not.”
Always non-answers.
Shit, had I said that out loud?
Her eyes, pale and unseeing, shifted as if looking straight through me. “Patience, child.”
Patience. Always patience. Frankly I was surprised my teeth hadn’t cracked from how often I’d been grinding them.
“You knew,” I blurted. “You knew he would leave me. You knew I’d be carrying this burden. You know there is something tainted in the bonds."
The Oracle smiled, serpentine and unsettling. “Child, the Fates do not tell me everything,” she murmured. “But they show me enough.”
Enough to know. Enough to do nothing. My stomach knotted. I wanted to demand clarity, but her imposing presence strangled the words in my throat.
She lifted a hand, dismissing me. “Go. What you seek, you will not find here.”
And just like that, I was dismissed, twice in one day. An occurrence that was becoming far too familiar for my liking.
The temple walls pressed in. It was absolutely suffocating. So I did what I always did when it became too much.
I went to the library.
Shelves shifted, lantern light flickered over spines that whispered when I brushed past. I followed the familiar pull through bending corridors until my alcove revealed itself. The fountain murmured softly, vines curled up marble pillars, and wildflowers nodded like they missed me.
My safe space.
Except I wasn’t alone.
The Elder Sgàthánwing hovered above the fountain like it had been waiting for me. Its moonstone feathers gleamed. Its eyes caught the lamplight, shattering it in color.
“You smell of wandering,” it rasped, “of a realm not your own.”
I exhaled, weary. “And you smell of pompousness.”
It let out a squawk. Was that a laugh? “Perhaps. But that’s what keeps me young.”
So the ancient creature has jokes today.
Crossing my arms, I fixed it with a look. I wasn’t in the mood. “I have questions.”
The Elder chuckled. “Of course you do. Always some riddle you can’t figure out.
Always threads you cannot untangle these days.
I remember when you arrogantly walked through this library, blindly thinking that the Sight meant you knew everything.
" It let out a sound that was similar to a sigh. “I’m beginning to miss the silence. What knot is it now?”
“A realm,” I said, ignoring its insults. I really didn’t have the patience for them today. “Aeos Sítheann. And the queen.”
Its wings buzzed louder, delighted now instead of pretending to act annoyed.
“Ah. I was waiting for you to ask. The Fae. Tricksters, beautiful and cruel. Their tales weave tighter than silk, their betrayals more plentiful than seeds in the earth.” The Elder circled above the fountain.
The water shivering into faint images: a tall figure striding through endless woods, laughter in his wake.
“Eryndor Vale. The Fae king who never claimed his throne. Wild of heart, beloved by beasts who bent to no leash but his laughter. However, his sister was the true child of the land. Silfarels ran with her, hawks circled her, roots shifted beneath her bare feet. The forests of Aeos Sítheann answered her in ways they never answered gods.”
The water darkened, reshaping into a crown and a pair of red, cruel lips.
“And the queen,” the Sgàthánwing hissed. “Dorienne. Cold, calculating, desperate to keep her throne. She feared Eryndor—feared his beloved sister more. They were held in reverence where she was only endured. So she laid traps, betrayals, failed banishment spells whispered in the dark.”
The air stilled inside me. “Did she eventually succeed? The book ends in an awkward place, like it was never truly finished…”
Its mirrored head tilted, showing me my own warped reflection. “What does it matter? You’ll believe only what tastes like truth to you. That is the curse of knowledge. It hungers constantly but rarely trusts the hand that feeds it.”
My scowl deepened. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.” Its wings shivered. “Now. Shall I tell you of the bargains she struck? Or leave you in suspense for another day?”
The water shifted, mist curling into more shapes: Fae, a throne, the glimmer of some shadow waiting in the dark.
“Of course she succeeded.” The Elder squawked again, definitely laughter.
It was such an odd sound, coming from the naturally stoic old bird.
“Not swiftly, nor cleanly, but Dorienne always found ways. And when her tricks faltered, she sought…help.”
The fountain shimmered. Another figure rose—a curvaceous woman cloaked in shadow, a crown of thorns rested on her head, flickering like flame.
“She was not Fae, nor mortal, but a first goddess—Druíneach, the Weaver of Silence. Strange, law-skirting. She had always acted for her own benefit, only taking deals that fueled her mysterious agendas. She promised Dorienne a banishment disguised as mercy. All Dorienne had to do was ask.”
After a pregnant pause, the Elder continued. “And so it was done. Eryndor’s sister—the wild one, the beloved—was cast out. Banished beyond Aeos Sítheann’s borders, beyond crown or kin.”
My mouth went dry. “Are you implying that she…died?”
The Elder's piercing gaze was relentless as it pinned me. “Mortals always think stories end. They do not. Threads coil back. Some knot, some fray, some wait centuries to be plucked again.”
The fountain’s images bled away.
“Eryndor’s sister was promised,” the Sgàthánwing murmured, voice low, “to another. To one who would have given everything to keep her.”
My pulse kicked against my throat. “Who was she promised to?”
The Elder chuckled, wings flashing like knives as it took off. “Ah, darling Seer. If I gave you every answer, I’d lose the delight of watching you squirm.”