79. UNWORTHY
I slid the edge of my sword along the whetstone, finding comfort in the rhythm and the sound of metal slicing against the black quartzite.
Of all the blades I had owned throughout my existence, I favored this one simply because of its size and weight.
It was a gift from Roirdan—one of the many weapons he’d commissioned for me over the years.
I had always sworn his blacksmith of choice was immortal, because after all this time, the smith’s precision work and craftsmanship never changed. Aremis and I had a theory that all the coin Roirdan had paid was secretly funding some sort of elixir or tonic that extended the smith’s life.
We knew two things for sure: Roirdan kept the smith busy, and the mysterious male never tired of forging.
Between Niall, Aremis, Roirdan, and myself, we’d accumulated so many weapons that fifty years ago, each of our vaults began running out of storage room. Niall had to carve out a new chamber in The Keep, solely for our hefty cache to spill into.
I caught myself grinning at the thought.
A horse clopped by, scattering pebbles in its wake. Its handler nodded to me as he passed, then kept on, towing a cart full of fresh provisions.
Down the path, outside of the tent we had all met in earlier, Niall was talking with Aremis and Saxon.
Every few seconds, Aremis would glance in my direction.
Saxon was probably telling him who he really was and how we knew each other—why I was keeping my distance.
Why I’d shredded an Elderwood tree with my sword and dulled my blade to the likes of a butter knife.
Saxon was a good male. In fact, he and I had been as close as brothers before he disappeared for thousands of years. But what he’d done, and the fact that he and the others had kept it from me . . .
Perhaps the fates intended it to be that way from the start. Perhaps the seer was right in what she saw, and the others were just following what they thought was the will of the gods and the fates.
Neither of those things eased the hurt and betrayal I felt.
For him to show up now, after all this time . . .
Good male or not, brothers in arms or not, there was so much anger and bitterness in my heart over it, that I had a hard time not being overwhelmed by his sudden re-appearance. It was a reunion I didn’t think would ever happen. One that I wasn’t even sure I’d wanted.
Aremis slid his eyes to me. Again.
Stop fucking looking at me.
He crossed his arms, his mouth twisting at the corner like he knew something was coming, and that I wasn’t going to like it.
Aremis liked to playfully pull at the strings of my irritation from time to time.
It was his way of reminding me to “loosen up.” I liked to tell myself that I only let him get away with it because I knew he was limited in the amount of joy and amusement he could partake in, given the fragile situation with his power.
But in reality, I needed those reminders, no matter how small they might be, or how irritating.
I would never admit it to him, but part of me would lament if his antics ever ceased.
He leaned toward Saxon and mumbled something.
Fates, if he suggested any sort of conversation or apology, I was going to—
Saxon turned in my direction. Behind him, Aremis bit back a grin and tossed me a mocking salute.
Fuck. You.
My grip tightened on my blade, and I pressed it harder against the quartzite, sending sparks spraying as it ground against the stone’s grit.
Why I’d chosen to stick around and not return to my own quarters was beyond me, but I really wished I was anywhere but on this fucking stump, sharpening my fucking sword.
All I could do was watch Saxon approach.
Every crunch of his boots bit into my already thinning patience, and I clenched my jaw. Aremis thought this was funny. But there couldn’t be any less humor in it. I was not in the state of mind to talk to this male right now. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be.
The moment came nonetheless.
“Do you . . . have a moment to talk?”
Yes. But that moment was about eight thousand years ago. Sorry you missed it.
I spent an unnecessary amount of time inspecting the edge of my blade before replying. “Guess I have no choice.” I pushed to a stand. “But first, you and I are going to have a strong drink.”
Half an hour later, I’d acquired a half-full bottle of whiskey from Niall’s personal provisions, and two horned mugs from Vanir. Not ideal for this type of pour, but it would have to do.
Saxon hadn’t said a word as he followed me through the camp like a living shadow.
The sun was high in the sky, beating down against the black stone of the mountains, making us all sweat.
I wiped the back of my palm against my forehead as I stalked to the other side of the camp where the trees thickened.
There, beneath the shade from the mountain, it was much cooler, and quieter, without the commotion of the other soldiers and Dionachs.
A boulder jutted forth from a small ravine, overlooking a trickling stream.
Convenient. As if the fates planned for this encounter.
I stepped up onto the large stone, then took a seat.
Saxon followed suit. I handed him a mug, then uncorked the bottle and served us both a heavy pour.
Without letting the liquor breathe, I put the bottle to my lips and took a long swig.
It burned like fire going down my throat, but the warmth it left in its wake eased some of the tension from my shoulders.
We sat in silence, listening to the stream and sipping our drinks, working up the courage to have the conversation that was many millennia in the making.
This whiskey needs to work faster.
“You were right,” I finally said. “I did see them at the end. But just because they lost hope, didn’t mean they couldn’t still find it somewhere else.” I turned my head and met Saxon’s stare. “How do you think I survived this long?”
He didn’t respond.
“I found something worth living for. I gave myself a purpose, even if it wasn’t the one the fates had in store for me.
I chose to continue. To uphold what we were born to do, regardless of who we do it for.
” I took a sip, gritting my teeth as I swallowed the sweet burn.
“I have lived all these years thinking I had done something wrong. I thought I was the cause—not even worthy of an explanation, or a goodbye, or of death itself. Over time, I learned to live with the guilt and the questions and the what-ifs. I buried all the memories so I would not have to drown in them, but I never forgot our brothers. I never will.”
“I . . .” Saxon searched for words. “Remic, I’m truly sorry. I never meant to leave you with that burden.”
“But you did.”
There was a long pause.
Saxon took a gulp of his drink, then stared down into it.
“I was miserable afterward. I knew I had only done what they’d asked me to, but it still felt like I had brought nothing but shame upon myself.
I tried to look for you afterward; I searched for months.
” He spoke as if finding me would have made a difference.
“What’s done, is done, Saxon. Telling me then, or now, does not change the fact that they are gone.”
“I wasn’t trying to find you to tell you what I had done. I was trying to find you so that I could tell you what the seer said.”
“That you and I would be spared? Got that.”
“No, Rem, there was more. She said ‘both are needed in a great war that is to come.’”
My heart stuttered in my chest.
“I tried to find you to tell you that we have a purpose after all.”
A purpose—the one thing I had wanted my entire existence. I had searched high and low, across territory and realm for it. I had fought for it with every swing of my sword, looked for it in every being’s eyes as they thanked me for saving their lives.
Part of me wanted to laugh that Saxon had known all along, and that I, in my rage, had vacated the isles and found places to stow away for years until I felt some of myself returning. If I had just stayed, if I had only allowed him or anyone else to find me . . .
But I had no desire to be found back then. And thus his revelation was lost to time.
Would it have truly changed my outlook on things anyway?
Needed for a great war.
That seemed fitting. It was what I was used to—to be needed for something so vague, so vast. Never anything specific.
What of the other wars I’d fought in? Who was to say the fae’s vision had not already been fulfilled?
Perhaps I was looking at this all wrong.
The lives I had saved over the years, the duty I upheld—be it of my own will or the fates—mattered.
It was the lack of confirmation, and not knowing what the end game would be, that ate at me.
I tried to bite back the bitterness, but no matter what angle I looked at it from, I lost that battle.
I stared into my own mug at the amber liquid that appeared black within the confines of the horn. “And none of you ever thought to question the credibility of the fae who gave Gideon this message?”
Saxon lifted a shoulder. “What choice did we really have?”
I could debate that all that day long, but there was no point.
The rest of the whiskey went down more smoothly. I drained my cup, then tipped the bottle to refill it.
“So, after all this time, you just happen to show up on the eve of battle, and conveniently disclose information I have waited the majority of my life to hear? Why are you here, Saxon, really?”
He finished his drink and lifted it for more, answering as I poured.
“I didn’t just happen to show up. I was with the human queen and her Dionach.
I have been in the human realm for quite some time, actually, keeping to myself near the northern coast. When the attack on the northern border happened, I went to pledge my services to do whatever was needed.
That was where I met the queen’s Dionach, and then the queen received a vision, and the next thing I knew, we were saving a woman in the forest. The woman, Auren, took us to a cave to heal herself and the shifter that came to save her, then she ported us here. ”
I processed the information, connecting the things I’d glimpsed when I first entered Niall’s tent earlier. I thought I had seen Breck there. And Auren’s shirt had been torn . . .
Shit. I knew I’d sensed something was wrong. But with the errant manifestation of energy radiating from Salterra, my senses had been in a tangled mess.
“When I got here, I uhh . . .” He paused.
“You . . . what?”
“I found my Dionam.”
I heard the wince in his words, and slowly, I turned my head in his direction. “Who?”
He opened his mouth, but hesitated.
“Who?” I hissed under my breath.
“The High Lord of Calledan.”
Niall. Of course it was Niall. And thank the gods it was him.
I would give my life for Niall. He’d given me everything—a place to call home, a brotherhood to hold sacred, and most of all, he had given me a place at his side, in the hope that I would find my purpose in the process.
I was relieved to know he had an additional sword to guard his back, but the certainty with which Saxon said it gnawed at me.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“A strange feeling I got when I first stepped into his presence. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
I nodded. If I asked him what that feeling was actually like, I would only embarrass myself.
“I spoke with him briefly. He said you’re one of his Trium?”
I nodded again, this time with less enthusiasm.
“How did you find yourself here, with this group?”
“This group is my family, Saxon.”
He dipped his chin. “Auren . . . is she—”
“She has a Dionach,” I quickly said.
His brows pinched. “Oh. I thought . . . from the way you . . .”
I thought so too. Some part of me thought that still. “There is no way to ever know for sure.”
“But wouldn’t you feel it? I did the moment I met Niall. Neither you, nor I, have a wardeness to confirm it, but does that really mean we wouldn’t be able to feel it when it’s true?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” There was no denying that I experienced something when I met Auren. But . . .
Fates, he was starting to make me feel like I was creating my own misery in thinking I needed someone else to confirm it.
When I remained quiet, he simply nodded and said, “For what it’s worth, I can see how much she and the others value you. You don’t need a wardeness to tell you that you were meant to be here with them. That alone is something you will know in your heart, without a doubt.”
My heart. What was my heart, really, if not the source of my constant restlessness?
I scoffed into my cup. “And you’re so sure?”
“Well . . . yes. I can’t explain it, but you’ll know.”
Perhaps I did know. Perhaps I’d known for a long time.
Perhaps I didn’t find myself worthy of anything at all.