Chapter 61
Two days since I’d last seen Rìan.
And it was eating me up inside.
The Bone Mother assured me he was recovering well. That he’d slept through most of it while his body finished healing.
I’d slept through most of it too. They’d given me a small hut at the far edge of the village, with little more than a bed of rushes and furs.
Ribs, femurs, and strings of vertebrae hung from the ceiling, turning slowly like some grotesque nursery decoration.
Whenever I woke, I watched them revolve above me until exhaustion pulled me under again.
But tonight, Saskia had dragged me from my hut, insisting I join them for the feast. Brinnekin meat was notoriously tough, she'd explained, and needed time to soften enough to eat. Apparently, tonight it was finally ready.
An enormous bonfire burned in the center of the village, flames rearing high, reaching into the darkness like grasping arms. Around them, sweat-slicked dancers writhed and bent with the fire, their silhouettes twisting into something almost demonic as they stamped and spun, every step sending the bones they wore clattering.
Elaborate headdresses crowned with jawbones and long, spiralling horns dipped with every movement, while carved ribs curved around torsos like jewelry.
Braids rattled with every turn of the head, threaded through with finger bones and fangs.
Slivers of polished bone pierced brows, noses, lips, tongues, and ears, more precious to these strange humans than gold or gemstones.
Their faces had been painted into grinning skulls—not in mockery of death, but in defiance of it, of survival wrested from a world determined to devour them.
The drums beat in time with my heart, their taut hides catching the firelight with the unmistakable iridescence of faerie skin.
Between each thunderous pulse came the dry hiss of gourds filled with teeth, a sound like falling rain, and the low, mournful drone of long-necked lutes strung with fae sinew.
There was something untamed about these women—not savage, but utterly unburdened by the rules that governed the rest of humankind. Here, they were not prey but predators. And they celebrated it with wild abandon.
Logs were added to the flames, and laughter rose with the sparks into the night.
The Bone Mother beckoned me to sit at her right, Saskia settling to her left. Bowls were pressed into our hands before I had time to protest, mine piled high with wild rice, roasted roots, mushrooms, greens, and generous chunks of roasted meat.
The Bone Mother caught my hesitation.
"Chicken," she said, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes.
The knot in my stomach loosened. I was grateful for the Bone Mother's consideration.
I hadn't realized how hungry I was until the first bite. Before long I'd scraped the bowl nearly clean, using thick, warm rounds of coarse bread to mop up every last drop of the rich gravy.
My head swayed to the rhythm of the drums, my skin flushed from the bonfire despite the threadbare shift Saskia had loaned me for the evening.
The bond pulled tightly as a shadow fell across us.
“Bone Mother.”
I stilled at the sound of his voice. Slowly, I lifted my head.
Relief struck me with such force it almost hurt.
He looked... well. His dark hair had been combed back from his face, still damp from washing.
Someone had mended and cleaned his shirt, which he’d buttoned high as usual.
He was a little pale, the last traces of the ordeal still etched in the shadows beneath his eyes, but he stood tall and steady. Alive.
The Bone Mother looked up and gave a disapproving huff.
“You should be resting, Prince.”
The corner of Rìan's mouth curved.
“How am I supposed to rest with all this damned noise?”
A laugh escaped the Bone Mother, and she gestured for him to sit. Saskia leaned forward at once, pushing a clay bowl into his hands. He inhaled the aroma of the roasted meat and gave an appreciative grunt before tearing off a piece of bread. Just as he was about to scoop up a mouthful, he paused.
Leaning slightly toward me, he lowered his voice.
"It's not the Brinnekin, is it?"
The familiar scent of leather and charged storms drifted over me, and the bond between us stirred warmly beneath my ribs.
"Chicken," I murmured with a grin. "I hope."
His eyes met mine and held for a heartbeat, something silent and comfortable passing between us. Finally, he dipped his head and took a bite.
He demolished the first bowl in moments. Before he'd swallowed the last mouthful, Saskia was already reaching for it. Without asking, she filled it again.
By the time he finally slowed, he'd emptied three bowls and drained an entire earthenware jug of water.
Only then did the color begin to return to his face.
I told myself the tightness easing in my chest had everything to do with the festivities around us—and nothing to do with the fact that he was sitting beside me.
I focused my attention on the celebration, trying not to look at the way his long fingers drummed in time to the music, or the way the firelight chased the shadows across his face.
The Bone Mother reached over, resting a weathered hand on my knee before turning to Rìan.
"You're certain you won't stay a few more days?"
His expression sobered at once. "It's best we continue on our way as soon as possible."
She studied him for a long moment, then clicked her tongue in obvious disappointment. Her gaze drifted beyond the fires, toward the wall of bones surrounding the village.
"Saskia will lead you tomorrow," the Bone Mother said. "She'll take a handful of our women. They'll guide you into the mortal realm unseen."
Saskia gave a single nod. "We'll remain with you as long as we can."
Rìan inclined his head. "Thank you."
The Bone Mother accepted the gratitude with a small nod. Saskia rose from her side, gathering the empty bowls before carrying them away.
For a long moment, the Bone Mother simply watched the two of us, her expression unreadable.
“A powerful union,” she said at last. “An Eidra and a Dreamwalker—united against the Fae. You will change the course of history.”
I felt my heart twist.
We'd never intended to stand together against Elantis. I'd never intended to stand beside the Dark Prince at all. Everything I'd done had been to get Aedric back. But now I didn't know if I could ever side with the Fae again.
Everything I'd believed had shattered. Calantha was cruel beyond measure. Thalassis was a scheming, power-hungry bastard. Almost every Fae I'd encountered had possessed a darkness I'd failed to see at first. Hamish had seemed good—but it seemed I was a poor judge of character.
Because I'd trusted Aedric. Trusted him above every other living soul. I'd given myself to him—body, mind and spirit—and chosen him as my mate, all upon a carefully woven web of lies.
I felt as though I were drowning. The harder I fought to find solid ground, the deeper I sank.
I glanced sideways at Rìan. He watched the dancers in silence, his expression drawn, one hand in his pocket, his fingers absently turning something over inside it.
Our bond had become a familiar presence inside me. Constant. Comforting. Somewhere along the way, I had stopped fighting the thread between us and begun to cradle it instead. What had once felt like a chain now felt like a part of me.
But soon the bond would be broken. No thread tying us together.
The thought was suddenly unbearable.
It had been easier when I hated him. Easier when the bond was something I wanted gone, when Rìan was a monster I could blame for every terrible thing that had happened to me.
But I didn't hate him anymore. Gods, I didn't hate him at all.
And now the thought of severing that last tether between us felt less like freedom and more like—
I couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't sit here beside him and pretend the very thing I'd fought so hard for wasn't suddenly terrifying me.
I set my bowl aside and rose too quickly. “Excuse me.” I turned—and nearly collided with Saskia.
"Come! Dance!" She tugged me toward the nearest bonfire.
I slipped gently from her grasp. "I'm afraid I'm too tired."
Saskia looked ready to insist, but the Bone Mother intervened.
“Let her go, Saskia.” The Bone Mother inhaled another fingernailful of powder. “The road ahead will be hard, and she’s already weary from her travels.”
Saskia clapped me on the shoulder and turned back to the fire.
“Thank you for the feast,” I dipped my chin quickly, avoiding Rìan’s stare. The Bone Mother nodded and waved.
I turned and walked away. I didn't look back, but I could feel his gaze burning between my shoulder blades.
I wove between the smaller fires, ducking around clusters of dancers. Grinning skulls spun past me, bone ornaments clacking with every step. Someone looped a necklace of large, lumpy ivory beads over my head. A woman beckoned me toward the circle.
I quickened my pace.
My thoughts circled endlessly around what was to come.
When our bond was broken, I would go back. Of course I would. Where else could I go?
I reached for Aedric in my mind, trying to remember the familiar lines of his face, the feel of his golden hair slipping through my fingers, details of the male I'd loved so fiercely.
Another face answered instead.
Dark hair. Silver glinting in watchful eyes. That absurd, infuriating dimple, forever at odds with the solemn mouth that concealed it.
I pushed the image away.
I reached again for Aedric's smile. The warmth of his embrace. The peace I'd always found in his arms.
Instead, rough hands ghosted over my skin. Impossibly soft lips found mine. The quiet rumble of a laugh—so rare—rolled through me.
I tore my thoughts away and fixed my gaze on the path ahead, willing my feet to keep moving. Part of me wished they could carry me straight past my hut and onward into the darkness. Farther from the bonfire. From the village. From Elantis.
From my own treacherous heart.