Chapter 32 #2
His face constricts in pain, the veins in his neck bulging as his eyelids squeeze shut. I rush back, catching him in my arms, but he’s heavy. I struggle beneath his weight until Aerona helps guide him to the floor.
He leans into me, gasping for air. The moment I take his hand, searing pain shoots through me at his vise-like grip, but it’s nothing compared to the panic thundering in my chest.
“Taran? What’s happening?”
He grits his teeth and squeezes so tight my fingers might break.
“You’re hurting me,” I gasp.
He drops my hand in an instant, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. I take his face in my hands and meet the depths of his eyes. An emerald fire blazes within, crackling with an otherworldly energy.
These aren’t the soulful eyes I know. “What can I do?”
A flicker within their radiant swirls. Focus.
His breathing slows, and the fire diminishes. His eyelids flutter shut, and he collapses against the wall.
I turn to Aerona. “What was that?”
She cocks her head to the side, but keeps quiet.
“It was the Land.” Taran’s voice rasps out between breaths. He grimaces as he shifts his weight. “She was in pain. So much pain. I’ve never felt anything like that.”
Aerona frowns. “What could it be?”
Taran ignores her, shaking his head. “We should go.”
He pushes himself up, but stumbles, and I quickly slide under his arm, keeping him upright. He accepts my help, leaning against me until he gets his footing.
Aerona stands, her eyes narrowing as she watches Taran.
He meets her gaze. “You’ll be there?”
She answers in the Tongue, and Taran’s face hardens as she speaks.
“I know,” he says, his voice firm. “Will you be there or not?”
Aerona glares at him. “I will.” Then she opens the door and slams it shut behind us.
* * *
I try to get answers out of Taran—about what happened, what Aerona said—but he says nothing.
After a while, I give up, and we spend the next several bells hiking in silence, my head throbbing from all my bottled-up tension.
Taran eventually leads us down the hillside to a well-worn path at its base.
There’s not a fae in sight, but this is such a departure from how we’ve spent the last few days that my nerves spike. “I thought we were staying off the common paths?”
“We’re almost to White Spring. I’m hopeful we’ll look like any other pilgrims. Try to keep your distance from anyone we come across.”
“What kind of pilgrims?”
“You’ll see.”
A few minutes later, we round the base of the hill into a valley flooded with white.
My hand hitches halfway to my mouth, paralyzed by the sheer beauty. “What is this?”
Countless trees, as far as the eye can see, fill the valley. In place of leaves, delicate white flowers coat their branches.
Taran nudges me forward with a gentle smile. “White Spring is famous for its trees. Their flowers bloom every spring, drawing visitors from across the continent.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
His eyes meet mine. “We have some time to wander.”
The smile that stretches across my face almost brings me to tears. I pull him after me, running to the nearest trees.
Golden sunlight breaks through the white flowers that float above our heads, contrasted by the striking, crimson bark that I hadn’t noticed from a distance.
Blood-red limbs twist and curl, presenting their delicate bouquets to the sky, as falling petals waft gently to the forest floor, speckling it like patches of melting snow.
The beauty of it all calms the storm that’s been brewing within me.
I long for my paints—it’s impossible to capture the splendor of this place with charcoal alone. But even my oils wouldn’t convey the depth of color, the vitality flowing through with every heartbeat. The best I can do is cherish every sight, preserving the images in my memory.
As we wander, Taran occasionally guides us away from fellow sightseers whose eyes widen when they glimpse him for too long. Sometimes it’s a gentle nudge; other times, a brief tug on my hand. We walk until my neck aches from the strain of looking up so much.
I glance at Taran and find his gaze on me, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
“What?” I ask.
He quickly averts his eyes, clearing his throat. “Just, the wonder on your face. Even with all the pilgrims flocking here, I’ve never seen someone so infatuated with my realm.”
His words sound familiar, but I can’t place where I’d heard them before. It’s a good thing he’s looking away and can’t see the blush warming my cheeks. “You speak almost as if it’s a part of you.”
“It is,” he says, turning back to me. “That’s what it means to be—to rule. She exists within me at an intrinsic level, deeper than anyone else in Aedys.”
He almost called himself King, but wavered. Why does he hesitate so much to claim his title? Could it be self-doubt? Fear of failing?
I can certainly relate to that, and my arms itch to wrap around him, to tell him not to worry so much—I would’ve appreciated someone doing that for me.
But with how he’s responded to my questions in the past, I’ll have to tread carefully to get anything deeper out of him.
If I succeed, maybe I can help him come to terms with all that.
“Can we sit for a while?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. “You’ll have time tomorrow, but we should head to the meeting spot.”
“But no one’s supposed to arrive today.”
He turns toward the hillside, his brow furrowing. “I sense someone already there.”
With reluctant feet, I follow him toward the town of White Spring itself, but my spirits lift as we climb the slope and enjoy a wondrous view of the trees from above. The setting sun paints the blossoms in warm yellows and golds beneath the orange sky.
The trees, as majestic as they are, are too fragile to support structures in their branches like other fae villages.
Instead, the fae have dug their dwellings into the goat-covered hills that line the valley.
Each has a wooden door and a window or two, with a stone chimney poking out of the grass above.
Crowds of fae have gathered along the paths, enchanted by the golden light washing over the trees as their branches dance in the wind.
Taran guides me past until he eventually turns to a door in the hillside, stopping to peek through the open window.
A warm glow fills the interior, and someone sits in front of the hearth, their back to us.
“I don’t recognize this person,” Taran says, his voice low. “Stay behind me. Be ready to run if you need to.”
My next inhale dries my mouth as I look around. The path nearby is busy with fae, but not so much that I’d have trouble getting away.
Taran slowly opens the door. “Who’s here?”
He steps cautiously inside, and I follow, my eyes locked on the stranger.
“Look out!” Taran whirls around, grabbing my arm.
In the next instant, a force plows into me from behind, lurching me into Taran’s chest. The fae sitting at the fire flies toward us, slicing at Taran with a long white knife. Taran dodges as I go sprawling to the floor. He pulls out a dagger and swipes at his attacker’s side.
Two more fae burst into the room from outside, slamming the door behind them. I scramble away, colliding with the wall behind me. One newcomer goes straight for Taran, interrupting his attack on their friend, but the other grabs me by the front of my coat and smashes me hard against the wall.
“This must be the mortal,” he sneers.
One incantation—just one—and I could save myself. It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue.
But Taran forbade it. He’d never forgive me if I did.
I grab the fae’s arm, but I can’t make it budge. I kick and squirm, and he laughs. All the strength I’ve gained from my months of drills means nothing—I’m going to die, before I ever knew what it was like to live.
He pushes harder against my chest, and I gasp for breath. My lungs are screaming, begging for air.
The curved lines of a focal form in my mind.
His grip on me slackens, and the incantation evaporates before completion.
He coughs up blood. Taran pulls his dagger out of the fae’s throat, blood splattering where it pierced a pale tattoo; two twisting paths of curves and sharp angles, reminiscent of antlers.
He falls to the ground, gurgling.
That was too close.
Taran whips around as another fae lunges for him, colliding with a small table as he spins out of the way. The knife finds his leg, and he cries out before throwing his body into his opponent, knocking him to the ground.
He drives his dagger into his enemy’s heart.
I scramble over as he falls back, panting heavily.
“You’re hurt.” My hands shake as I scour his leg, searching for the source of the blood.
This is my fault. If only I’d been able to defend myself.
“I’ll be fine,” he says. “Try to calm down.”
“How can I calm down? They tried to kill us! There are dead bodies everywhere!” And blood. Deep crimson, soaking into the floor. Into my skin. It’ll never wash out.
“You’re safe now.” Taran takes my hands. “I’ll take care of it. It’s not the first attempt on my life.”
He stands, grimacing as he puts his weight on his injured leg. Then he guides me toward the fireplace, past some floating, glowing orbs I didn’t notice before, and onto a soft rug away from the blood.
My head shakes uncontrollably. “No, I need to help. You’re hurt.”
“It’s only a cut, Ellie. I’ll be fine. Just breathe.” He sits beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder.
I try, but my lungs won’t fill. Tears stream down my cheeks.
Taran tilts his head until he meets my eyes, the warm light of the fire and orbs illuminating his face. “Are you hurt?”
My mouth tightens as I shake my head. I’m not hurt, but Taran is. Because of me. Because I can’t protect myself. Can’t do anything. I’ve done nothing useful this entire journey.
“Is it shock? It’s alright, we’re safe now.” He squeezes my shoulder.
“No.” I sniff back the tears and try to ignore the bodies, focusing on Taran’s eyes—they’re overflowing with worry.
“I was the best.” The words sputter out, and the rest tumble after, like an avalanche. “I never wanted to be, but I was. My father made sure of it. So I could follow in his footsteps. Defend our land. But all I was doing was hurting it.”
Taran tries to take my hand again, but I push him away, unable to be restrained as everything I’ve bottled up comes gushing out.
“I’m useless without it.” My voice splinters. “All I’ve been this entire time is a burden. You tell me I’m important, that I can help you, but I have no idea why or how. And whenever it seems like you might actually let me in, you shove me aside like I’m nothing.”
I try to meet his eyes, but he looks away.
“You’re not nothing, Ellie,” he says quietly. “You have a strength, a perseverance that I wish I had. And you push me, without fear—you don’t know how rare that is. But if I let you… if I let myself…” He closes his eyes, pressing his lips together.
So he does care about me.
Taran’s eyes open, the sorrow within them pouring into mine. “I’d be throwing away the entire reason I brought you here.”
“I can find another way to help.” I take his hand, and when he doesn’t pull away, hope alights within me. “If you let me, I could share your burden.”
Taran’s shoulders sink. “But if you ever remember… if we ever break your curse… you might never forgive me.”
I squeeze his hand tight. “I won’t blame you. This is my choice.”
His mouth twitches as he swallows. “It should only be a few more days. Then you’ll understand what you’re asking.”
A tangle of emotions twists in my chest. “What if it’s not? We almost died, Taran. We don’t know what the future holds. But I know I can’t keep feeling like this. I don’t want to die feeling like I never mattered.”
Something tugs at the back of my mind. Why do I need him to feel that way? But the thought recedes as he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, his finger brushing gently against my skin.
My heart holds its breath.
He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling slowly. “Forgive me,” he whispers.
His lips meet mine, and all the knots within me unravel, the world fading away with his kiss.