19. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
The Shaman’s hut reeked of smoke and sage as it always did.
I hadn’t even crossed the threshold when his voice rolled from the shadows. “You’ve stepped where you shouldn’t, Little Mirror.”
I froze, my pulse hammering against my ribs. His milky eyes found me, sightless and yet seeing everything. He inhaled once, then shook his head. “Another realm clings to you. Corruption laced in honey. Aeos Sítheann.”
I swallowed hard. “I—”
“You needn’t say it.” His hand silenced me. “The realms leave their scent, and you never could hide a trail.”
Fury pricked hot, impossible to bury. But then I thought of Tairngire calling out my anger and closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath before speaking my thoughts out loud.
“It’s getting worse. The rage. It rises before I can stop it.”
“Because you clutch it like a dagger, even as it cuts you. You think it makes you strong,” he shook his head. “It only feeds itself.”
It was disconcerting…how true that felt.
He packed some herbs into his pipe, lighting it and taking a long drag before speaking once more. “The Weave hums differently now. Your path is turning. Today, you will walk again. Not by book nor dream, but in the flesh.”
The bond burned faintly inside me, as if it was acknowledging the words. “Tairngire,” I whispered, sensing that he was closer than usual, but I couldn't see him.
The Shaman grunted. “Rage if you like. He will take you anyway.” His blind gaze pierced through me. “The realms wait, Little Mirror. Are you ready to face what waits in you?”
A harrowing feeling prickled my skin, the Shaman’s words pinning me like an insect to glass. It irritated me that he seemed to know everything and was always right.
Mist coiled around my ankles before I could snap back. Cold, damp, and heavy. I staggered back, clutching my chest as the thread inside me gave a sudden, merciless tug.
My heart leapt into my throat. "What the fu—”
The Shaman only huffed. “They pull you like a marionette and call it destiny.”
The mist thickened, swallowing walls, floor, and even the sound of my breath. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d been unraveled, thread and soul torn apart.
And then, my feet touched solid ground, no longer in the Shaman's hut.
Mist peeled back to reveal the First Forest. Towering trees stood sentinel, roots twisting like serpents across the floor.
Tairngire leaned against a trunk with his hood up, arms crossed, his emerald eyes catching fractured sunlight through the canopy.
He wore dark leathers that were fitted to his frame, made for danger.
Runes glowed faintly at his wrists, ember bright, then fading again.
The same way he stood there all those moons ago when the Fates sealed our bond.
He regarded me slowly, his gaze lingering just long enough to prickle my skin. I’d changed into my own leathers before the Shaman’s hut—forest green, brown boots, a hood Saorla had sewn. I’d told her I needed it to perform my duties, but I’d really just wanted them for my secret training sessions.
The corner of his mouth tipped up on the left side. “Better. At least that color doesn't offend the forest.”
It was the exact kind of back-handed compliment I would have expected from him.
“So, you can summon me at will now?” I snapped, stepping forward. “Just give the bond a little tug and I appear before you like your loyal servant?”
His lips tugged into a half-smirk, unbothered. He waved a hand in the air carelessly. “Feel free to bow whenever.”
The bond burned through my core, carrying his amusement with it. I wanted to strangle him. But before I could retort, he opened that damnable mouth of his again.
“You were kinder last night,” he drawled huskily, gaze wandering toward the dagger at my thigh. “Fae magic on your skin. Wine on your breath. More polite.”
Heat crept up my neck. I hadn’t forgotten it—how close he’d stood, how his hand brushed my cheek, how his voice softened for a change. I was still blaming it on the Fae magic, it was the only logical explanation for the way my skin tingled with the contact.
“Polite? That’s what you’re calling it?” My laugh was harsh. “Tell me, Stagborn, did you think it would be polite to play savior? To scoop me up like some poor damsel in need of saving?”
His jaw ticked, eyes meeting mine.
“Be mindful, now,” he said, tone soft but edged. “You’d be surprised how many gods would’ve let you fall”
I arched a brow, stepping closer, refusing to flinch. “And yet, you didn’t.”
The air between us vibrated, until finally his lips twitched like he knew something I didn’t. “Don’t mistake one moment for weakness, Little Seer.”
I crossed my arms, with a smirk tugging at my lips. “You probably wish I had forgotten. Easier, isn’t it? Pretending you weren’t soft for a moment, carrying me like some helpless mortal.”
His eyes narrowed in assessment. “Is that what you think?”
I rolled my eyes. “I think you’d rather I remember you as the bastard god who leaves me in forests, not the gentle man who bothers to tuck me into bed.”
For a breath, his cocky expression faltered. His now serious stare pinned me, heavy and unblinking. Then, slowly, his smirk returned, infuriating as always.
“You didn’t look so furious last night,” he said, voice dripping with wicked amusement. “You looked almost…peaceful.” He leaned forward, runes flickering before dimming again. “A shame you woke.”
He wants to play games? Fine.
“A shame you didn’t let me hit the ground. Then you might have witnessed a mere mortal picking themselves up with pride. Gods, could your arrogant divine brain even imagine such a thing?"
That earned a laugh—deep, unguarded, startling me as much as it did him. True laughter, the same as last night, sending something molten through my veins.
He pushed off the tree and folded his arms behind his back, moving slow, unhurried. The forest responded to his every move, seemingly following him the way that it always did when he was in it.
I stiffened. He wasn’t smiling—yet—but the devious curve of his mouth said he knew the effect he had on me.
He stopped close enough that his presence pressed against me like heat off a fire. He didn’t speak, only watched, as if waiting for my anger to show.
I hated his unbridled patience more than his barbs.
So I moved. My boots crunched over moss until we were a breath apart. I tilted my chin and looked up at him as he towered over me, refusing to look away, even when his gaze carried unrestrained judgment.
“Where do you plan to take me? Which realm will it be first?” My voice was steady, though my chest thrummed with unease.
He let the silence stretch until I nearly snapped—until I swore he could feel the tension running through me like the pull of the Weave itself.
“Morhaven,” he said at last.
The word fell on me like a ton of bricks. I gulped. Morhaven. The mortal realm. The place I’d been torn from before the first cry had left my lips.
His eyes caught each flicker across my face—recognition, grief, longing—before I could mask them. He saw it all.
“Why there?” My voice cracked despite my efforts to add conviction to it.
“Because it’s where you began,” he said, certainty threading through his tone. His mask was back and as unreadable as ever. “And whether you like it or not, Little Seer…beginnings matter.”
The knot in my chest tightened, but I forced my breath steady.
“So what of these lessons?” My voice cut through the quiet forest. “What’s the point of all this? No one ever gives answers—only the Weave frays.”
Which was crazy considering there were literal monsters lurking about the Seventh Realm, a place where disorder wasn’t permitted.
He studied me as though weighing how much truth I deserved. The space between us vibrated incessantly—not just with the bond, but with something unspoken neither of us dared to name.
He rolled his lips, once, twice.
“The liminal space between realms is thinning.”
I blinked. No shit. I feigned ignorance. “Pardon?”
“The fabric between them weakens. It frays. Small tears first, then larger ones. Mortals don’t notice. Most divines can’t be bothered. But, the tears won’t stay small forever.”
The words landed heavy in my bones. I thought of the Fae in Anamcroí, of Caelith and his games. The beasts in the First Forest. The blood I’d spilled.
“And me?” I asked through gritted teeth. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
He shrugged easily. “You’ll learn. When the time is right.”
The half-answer was infuriating, as expected. Because I was learning. On my own. No thanks to him, either. The urge to throttle this damned god got stronger every day, and resisting it was even harder still.
His eyes lingered on mine too long, and I hated that I didn’t want to look away first, that I might see something in them I’d rather not.
A low hum vibrated through the ground, spiraling upward. Mist curled thick around his feet, coiling around my ankles like prying fingers.
I swallowed. “Now?”
“Now.” His voice was steady, calm, like someone who had done this a thousand times before. Which, of course, he had.
But I hadn't, and I was about to leave the only realm I'd ever known.