AT WHAT COST?
I tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep.
The dark vault of Niall’s bedchamber was dimly lit by the simmering fire, the reflection gently dancing across the jagged stone ceiling.
My mind spun with thoughts of what Fallon had endured, and what that same poison must have done to Niall.
I couldn’t help but think that if I hadn’t come along, if I hadn’t crossed The Veil, Niall would have never been in that cell.
He wouldn’t be struggling with his power because of Ramil’s mind tricks and poisons.
But if that were the case, Fallon wouldn’t be here.
He would still be withering away under Benmoor’s palace, siphoned of his power and life by his wretched father.
And Morah wouldn’t have her brother by her side once again.
She’d also probably be married to that prick, Killian, and living a miserable life while trying desperately to retain her stronghold in her territory’s secret revolution.
Maybe the fates had a greater plan after all.
But at what cost?
What had happened to my brother? Was he even safe?
Did he worry when he didn’t hear from me?
Did the king cover it all up and have my death faked to save face? And if so, did my brother hold a funeral, believing me to be dead?
I thought back to the letter I’d written to Liam, explaining what had happened and where I’d gone. I’d given it to Folquin before we’d ventured to Benmoor and wound up poisoned.
I hoped he was able to deliver it. My brother needed to know that I was alive. He had no wife yet, and we had no other remaining family.
He was alone.
My bottom lip quivered as I sucked in a breath and held back a sob, but a tear slipped from my eye and soaked into my pillow.
Seeing Morah and Fallon laughing quietly with each other, the way he touched her face with reverence, and that brotherly love that I had known every day from Liam, made my heart ache.
My shoulders shook quietly as I breathed in and out through my tears.
Niall stirred behind me. “Auren?” His arm slid around my waist, and he leaned into my back, pressing a kiss between my shaking shoulder blades. “What is it, love?”
“I miss my brother.” I wiped my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Never apologize for what you’re feeling,” he said, pulling me back against his warm body. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
I thought for a moment, then shook my head. “I think I might just take a walk and clear my head.”
His arm loosened. “Do what you need to.”
I turned over and placed a kiss on his forehead before sliding from the bed. The faint firelight was just enough to illuminate the worry in his expression, but he nodded, letting me slip away into the night.
I tucked the robe that Sorscha had given me tighter around my waist as I entered the hallway. I hadn’t bothered to put on shoes, so the smooth, cool stone kissed my feet as I walked. The orb that had taken a liking to me drifted at my side, keen to let me wander wherever I desired, lighting my way.
Niall’s personal chambers were deep within the mountain, and the cavernous hall that led to them seemed to have been carved for a giant.
Flickering lanterns that were half the size of me were mounted on the walls every dozen or so paces, each packed full of candles, and glowing golden, like Niall’s eyes.
As I rounded the corner and wound down the sloped, spiraling walkway, I heard the sound of trickling water.
The orb’s light glinted along the walls, where water flowed down naturally worn grooves in the stone, disappearing into thin crevices where the walls met the polished black floors—likely feeding into the rushing waterfall that roared beneath.
The sound echoed through the cavernous space, calming me as I descended to the lower levels of The Keep.
When I came to the main floor, my eyes instantly found the figure that stood at the waist-high patio wall beyond the windows. Somehow, I knew he’d be there.
Bathed in moonlight, Remic stood like a stone statue, keeping watch over the mountains and the valleys below. A sense of relief washed over me at the sight of him standing there, as if waiting for my arrival—as if he knew I’d be wandering out here tonight too. Again.
His right wing twitched, telling me he’d noted my presence. I didn’t wait for him to turn around as I exited The Keep and padded across the patio to his side. I leaned forward with my elbows on the stone wall and cradled my chin in my palms, letting out a long sigh.
A gentle, knowing grin surfaced on Remic’s face as I glanced up at him.
The moon was high above, casting its ghostly, silver light upon Calledan. Lighting skittered through storm clouds far off in the distance.
“How do you do it? When the weight of the world becomes too much?” I asked.
His voice was calm as he said, “I prefer the protocol of self-reflection and reassurance. I find it is often necessary to remind ourselves that we are far more capable than we think.”
I thought on his words while I listened to the water flowing out from the mountain.
I knew I was capable, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was still a bit lost. Yes, I now knew my purpose, and it was going to amount to something greater than I’d ever imagined it could be, but the sacrifices I might face along the way were starting to become an ever-present worry.
“You have a lot on your mind,” Remic said, looking down at me. His long hair fluttered on the chilled breeze.
“Can you sense it?” I asked, fighting a shiver.
“I can. It feels like . . . pain, worry . . . perhaps doubt.”
I sighed again. “Pain, yes. Worry, definitely. Doubt . . . I don’t doubt anyone but myself.”
“Self-doubt can be our worst enemy . . . or so I’ve learned.”
“It’s odd because I’ve never struggled with doubting myself before. I’ve always been so sure of what I was capable of. Now, I’m more worried about those around me who might be affected.”
“That means you have something worth fighting for,” he said.
I held his stare for a moment before he looked back up at the night sky.
“I do not doubt you, Auren. I never have.”
Just knowing that he believed in me eased my worry. His mere presence was like a balm to an open wound, comforting and relieving. He gave me a sense of reassurance and solidarity, something I’d felt from my first moments around him.
I continued to look at him, searching for the tells of his age, just like I’d done before. Again, I found nothing but the depths of millennia that were set into his gray eyes. And the more I looked, the more pain and heartache I saw.
The time difference that Morah and Fallon and I had discussed earlier .
. . it was bothering me. It had changed my entire perspective of the lives everyone lived.
Especially my own, and how little I’d experienced in the meager thirty years I’d been alive.
How insignificant thirty years actually was compared to centuries and millennia.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“You once told me that you hadn’t flown for ‘fun’ in over two thousand years . . .”
“You want to know how old I really am,” he concluded.
I gave him a nod.
He stayed quiet for a long moment, then he placed his hands on the railing beside me. His fingers found groves in the stone, tracing them as he said, “I am nearing eight thousand years.”
I let the number sink in. It was a staggering leap from the ages of the fae. An age I simply could not fathom.
“So, eight thousand years as a Dionach, and you still look like you could be around my age. How is that even possible?”
He set his sights on the mountains once more, letting a gentle smile grace his face. “We age differently. Just like the fae do. And if I’m calculating this correctly . . . I’m probably about ten years older than you—in human terms.”
“You’re the equivalent of thirty-nine human years old?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. That’s not so bad.”
He cleared his throat. “Thank you?”
My cheeks flushed. “I just meant it’s easier to comprehend. And I don’t feel like you’re so . . . ancient.”
His wings shook as he let out an actual laugh—the first I’d ever heard from him. I committed the sound of it to memory as it echoed across the mountain valley.
“By all means, I am ancient, according to my kind,” he said, his grin beginning to fade.
“Dionachs pass on when their purpose is fulfilled, or their Dionam’s life is over.
I have neither to tether my lifespan to, so time just continues on for me.
” There was a sadness to his voice, but he was quick to straighten his shoulders and lift his chin, as if he was silently pushing back sorrowful thoughts in an effort to save face.
I knew that look. I’d fought the notion myself, countless times. He felt like he was lacking purpose.
The question I asked next wasn’t something I planned on asking, but for some reason, I began to wonder about it. “Remic, is it possible for someone to have two Dionachs? Two guardians?”
“I’ve never known that to happen. But given who you are, it could be possible.”
“Would you know? I mean, if you were charged with guarding me, wouldn’t you feel it, or something?”
“I’ve been told the connection feels like a magnetic pull. Almost like a fae mating bond, but with none of the romantic attraction. But the main confirmation is through a wardeness. Without one, our connection to Torin is lost.”
“What does your wardeness say?”
His eyes lowered to a point across the silver-tipped mountains. “I lost my wardeness long ago.”
My heart cracked.
“Remic, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“You could not have known,” he said, blinking. “And it was so long ago now, I hardly remember the sound of her voice.”
Pain fell over his face like a veil, and I had to look away before I became too emotional.