Page 45 of The Fae Lord

“I’ve been thinking about her a lot since you returned, wondering if she’s okay.” Alana rubs her arms as if she’s cold. I pass her another blanket and she looks bemused, like she didn’t expect me to be able to pick anything up.

“Water molecules in the air,” I mutter quickly.

Alana nods. “I see.” She pulls the second blanket on top of her and shivers. Despite it being warm during the day, the temperature out here in the forest drops drastically in the middle of the night. “She doesn’t even know what happened to you.” Alana meets my eyes. “She loved you, and she doesn’t know you’re dead.”

I take a deep breath – a habit, not a necessity – and watch as some small blue flickers of energy dance across the surface of my hands. “I think about her too. More than I probably should.”

“She was your girlfriend, Kayan. You can think about her all you like.” Alana smiles at me, and it reminds me of how things used to be. After a moment’s quiet, Alana says quietly, “When did you fall for her?”

I study my hands, watching the blue lights. I know the exact moment; it was when Rosalie accidentally set fire to a bush because she was angry with her younger sister for borrowing her clothes, and was stomping around the wood throwing fireballs. This particular one, she didn’t extinguish in time, and it hit a nearby bush, sending the whole lot up. She was frantically trying to put it out when I found her. I had no water magic then, because it was after Alana had taken it from me, so I rushed to the lake and came back with a bucket of water. Then another. It took a long time, but we finally put out the fire.

Rosalie cried in my arms. She felt useless because she couldn’t put the flames out, even though she’d started them. Then she felt horribly guilty for crying about her poor control of magic when I had none.

We kissed.

And after that, she was mine and I was hers.

But I don’t tell Alana this story. It feels too special. Too private. “It was after you and I...” I search for the right phrasing, but Alana nods her understanding, so I don’t have to speak it out loud. “We missed you. Samuel was gone. You became a recluse. It was just me and Rosalie, when it used to be the four of us. Somewhere along the way, we just...” I shrug.

Alana smiles. “I’m glad you had each other.” She reaches out, but her hand passes through mine in a shimmering play of light. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you both. I’m sorry I sealed myself away. I was scared, and I felt so guilty, and I was sure you both hated me.”

“I could never hate you, and neither could Rosalie. We’re your friends.”

“She might hate me now.” Alana sighs and pulls a pillow into her lap, hugging it tight against her chest. “It’s my fault you lost your life.”

“No,” I say firmly. “It is my fault. I chose to try to break out of the cellar. I killed the guard. You had nothing to do with that, Alana.”

“I was the reason we were there. Eldrion wanted me all along.”

I wish I could take hold of her hand and squeeze it so she truly knows I do not blame her for what happened. I could never blame her.

“When all this is done,” she says, a familiar note of determination in her voice, “we’ll find Rosalie. She’s not dead. I know it. We’ll find her and bring her home.”

“We?” I smile slowly.

“You won’t be here?” Alana frowns.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. When all this is done, I will have to leave again.”

“What will it look like when it is done? Do you know? Do you think we will succeed in taking down Eldrion?”

I want to answer her, but I can’t.

Sighing, Alana combs her hands through her long red hair. “Do you remember when Samuel died?” she asks.

This question is unexpected.

“Of course.”

“I think I took away my mother’s pain.” She meets my eyes.

“I know you did. I knew it then, but you refused to speak of it.” I close my eyes and allow myself to drift back to the day of Samuel’s funeral.

The night air was cool, and the warmth of the floating funeral pyre had long since faded. Rosalie and I followed Alana down to the shore. We had waited with her all afternoon, watching her mother from a distance as she stood by the lake, staring.

Farrow, Alana’s father, stayed a while. But then he kissed his wife and left.

Others filtered away, too. And Magdalena was left alone...

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