25. Chapter 25 #2
I released a breath. But I was disgruntled to find out I cared.
I cared about his magic. Why did the idea of robbing someone of something so vital hurt?
It wasn’t my hurt. But I’d lost enough already in my life and been outcast long enough that I knew it would hurt to have a part of yourself removed without your consent.
“Magic is more like a well,” Kaed said over my thoughts. “You draw from it. It refills. But fae have their own limitations. I suppose one could use their power into oblivion. And great use costs us. But emotions fuel magic.”
“I know,” I said, too quickly, biting down on my own emotions simmering beneath the surface.
Kaed paused to look at me.
“Audrie.” I twitched a smile.
He nodded in understanding.
“But I’d like to hear it from you,” I hedged. “Someone with … two hundred years of practice.”
Kaed looked up, a little shocked, perhaps, that I’d known that detail.
“Audrie,” I said again, this time the smile fully formed.
And Kaed fought one of his own. “For the record, I’m two hundred and forty-two.”
Having the actual number was an unusual presence in me. It felt vast. Two hundred and forty-two was an age my young life could barely comprehend. I would never have the time he had, and some part of me envied that—a large part of me.
“No wonder you’re constantly getting headaches around us all.”
Kaed cocked his head to the side like he was puzzling me.
And it was the most disarming thing he could have done because, in that moment, he didn’t look like my kidnapper, my keeper.
He looked like a beautiful fae male. And I wanted to touch the lock of hair that brushed his brow.
I wanted to run my fingers over his cheekbones, to touch those lips that had parted ever so slightly and feel the empyrean span of his wings pour over me.
I cleared my throat, a little dazed as he looked at me.
“You pinch your nose. Like this.” I pulled a hand to my nose bridge and squeezed. “When you’re about to give up on patience, I think.” I laughed at my own observations.
He blinked twice, but that was the only sign he’d heard me at all.
There was a pause, and I wished I hadn’t said anything.
But a hum sounded in his throat as he contemplated my thoughts. “We, fae, don’t really … mature at the same rate as humans.”
And just like that, the terror of knowing my life was a blink of his eye filled me. They weren’t unusual thoughts for me to have. But I’d never been face to face with someone who didn’t know what it felt like to fear the claws of inevitability.
“Because of magic?”
“Everything comes with a price. And some are more willing to pay it than others.” His eyes darkened. But there was no hint of anything wicked and enticing. They darkened until they shuttered everything out from them.
My own eyes dipped from his, hesitant to be sucked into that darkness. I thought of every time I’d seen his shadows. His wings. Felt that rumble of his magic under my skin before he conjured it.
It occurred to me then that I hadn’t seen every fae wield around me. From the stories I’d heard, it seemed like fae were magic.
But the fae lights. The simple magic that kept doors locked. Self-healing. It all cost something.
My throat felt choked, but I had to know. “You’ve not aged. Your magic. I’ve seen you use it. Whenever you need to.” It wasn’t really a question. Kaed hadn’t shied away from his magic once. He’d used it as an extension of himself. Celeste too. She wielded it like it was part of her.
Kaed sighed and studied me for a moment before he spoke. “Maybe I’m just better at it, peach.” He winked, but that darkness lingered behind it.
I didn’t push; instead, I waited for him to answer properly.
“You breathe?” he said. He waited.
“Of course? What has that got to—”
“And your lungs do that for you. They’re part of you. But every breath you take costs you. Every beat of your heart costs you. But you wouldn’t stop them from being part of you.”
Dread gnawed at the recesses of my mind at his words. I stamped it down before it could take hold. I wouldn’t panic over that in front of him. My heart thumped in my chest, each beat a reminder of my finality.
“To some, magic is like breathing. We use it because without it, we are not wholly ourselves.”
I wanted to make a joke about how introspective and scholarly he sounded. But instead, I breathed. Into my lungs that kept me alive and would one day let me die.
“So if you need to, you can think of me as similar in human age to you. Perhaps a bit older,” he said, answering something else entirely.
“But not more mature,” I quipped, trying to dislodge the loadstone in my throat.
“Because threatening someone with a key is the height of maturity.”
I shifted a little. “Perhaps your brother is more mature.” I tried to move on from the thoughts of Kaed pressed to me, to something else.
There was an abrupt shift in the air. The room felt silent. All jokes and playfulness gone.
Cold.
Darker.
“Why do you want to know about my brother? My family is of no consequence to you. Hart won’t know to come here.”
“Why would he come here at all?”
Kaed’s gaze was heavy, and his jaw tightened. “I won’t let him take you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Maybe I’d misheard the way he said those words. The declaration felt … compassionate. Not demanding. Possessive. Protective.
I swallowed my panic as best I could. “Why does everyone fear him coming here?”
Kaed scrunched his lips in deliberation. “Hart and I … have a uniquely difficult relationship that my father solidified for us.” He rubbed at the scar that graced his face, avoiding my gaze.
If Kaed insisted on keeping me as a pawn, I would at least know the game I was playing.
Kaed sighed again and, despite my earlier comments, pinched his nose bridge between two fingers. After a heavy pause in the air, he said, “My younger brother has always wanted my crown. And I’d have given it to him. Years before now. Before my father changed who we were as brothers.”
He wavered like he was about to tell me something else but stopped dead as though the words had been drowned.
“You don’t want it?” I tilted my head to one side.