Page 183 of Bane of the Wild Hunt

“I have explained about the ancestry of the Mavaari,” Riordan reminded him impatiently.

“It just seems… If this rogue can eat magic this way, then why has he not already done so? Why not consume the Four Courts, consume the Vale, rather than waste his time and energy building an army?” Castor insisted.

Riordan had not wanted to tell anyone about our trip to the Sylvan or about the potentially very dangerous dagger that we had been given. But we needed the council to understand the threat and start taking Rian seriously!

“You may have heard the whispers that we went to the Silver Moor. We went to meet with the Sylvan to discuss the threat of Rian DorTìodhlac,” Riordan began as he reached for the crystal dagger hidden under his cloak.

The council members leaned forward as he withdrew the knife, balancing the dimly gleaming weapon with both hands before setting it reverently on the table.

“A Sylvan blade,” murmured Isaura in astonishment, eyes wide and pinned to the dagger in disbelief.

“One has not been seen in centuries!” added Nyssa.

“I don’t know yet why Rian has not acted or even fully what he wants. What I do know is that I was given this dagger by the Sylvan to call them when Rian comes here because onlytheycan deal with him. Only their Light can defeat his power. So if they are so wary of him, then you must understand why we need to act in defense of the fey monarchs before he consumes their power?”

No one spoke, but I could tell they understood.

Chapter forty-nine

AT WAR WITH YOURSELF

Rian

My riders went to get some food and saddle their mounts to go to Aes Mirr. Leaving me alone with Nuala and the daunting task of confronting my own melancholy vargr.

Éadrom was every bit as unenthusiastic as he had been earlier when we flew to see Eive the first time. It took a great deal of nonverbal begging just to get him to come out of my bedchamber where he now preferred to brood.

I am sorry. I wish that I knew how to make it hurt less, but I do not,I thought to him, and he heaved a sigh.

I began to tighten the saddle buckles, my mind awash in doubt over how I was supposed to helpanyonewhen my heart was so broken that my vargr was incapacitated.

Destruction I delivered in spades. I was happy to bring war to anyone who dared to hurt my loved ones.

But comfort? Patience? Softness?

Give me rage and retribution, give me fire and death, rather than this empty sorrow I was so wholly powerless to prevent from eating the both of us alive.

I was surprised when Éadrom lifted his head and gave a soft snort. So I peered around him to see Nuala had left the couch where she’d been eating the food Carrick brought. Remembering to feed her would have to be something that I was more conscious about since half the time I was content to survive off wine andcneasú.

Most living things should know better than to presume to touch creatures such as vargr, but Nuala was confident as she strode up to him. Before I could even warn her that she needed to give Éadrom some space, the fire witch had brushed a hand up his snout that could snap her in half.

“I know,” she whispered to him as she leaned fully against his other shoulder and buried her face into his fur. As if he were a giant pillow and not a hound of war.

I could not move as I watched her stroking her hands across his chest until he…purred. That rumble of rough sound was not something I had heard from him in weeks. Not since Aodhan was killed.

“Nuala?” I spoke her name in confusion.

“Heaches, Rian. It is so unbearable, I cannot breathe,” she whispered urgently. Her voice was strained as if she were trying to fight back tears.

I was not sure if it was her evident perception of his anguish that was alsomyanguish, or if it was the sound of her voice breaking, but my heart gave a sharp twinge.

“I… cannot speak about that,” I told her dismissively and returned to fastening the saddle. I tried to focus on anything except the slight tremble in my hands and the bitter taste in the back of my throat.

I instinctively brought to mind a familiar yard where I could hear the sound of a stream behind me. The quaint little cabin was ahead, shaded under the boughs of autumn trees with a breathtaking background of mountains.

But all of my focus was on the dark-haired woman who was kneeling in an herb garden. She was wearing a dress the colour of mulberries with billowing sleeves that sloped off her fair, slender shoulders along with a wide straw hat to shield her from the sun. I could hear peels of infectious laughter ringing out from the cabin and knew it was her children at play. The music of their joyful giggles and the patter of their bare feet on the wooden floorboards of the cabin always brought a smile to my face. No matter how bleak I was feeling, this sound brought me peace.

It felt so real, and yet I knew in my heart that it was naught but my own mind devising a place where it could find serenity when my magic threatened my world.

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