Page 88 of Ash and Feather

I moved to the other side of the table. There was a symbol carved into its center, dissected by the line of its hinged folding point—a circle containing the vine and thorn wrapped daggers of the once-powerful elven House of Moreth. It made me think of Andrel and his family’s manor—this symbol had graced so much of the furniture back in that old home of his.

My stomach twisted. I couldn’t bring myself to touch the wood, to steady myself against the table even as Cillian lifted his gaze to me and my balance swayed.

His smile was strained. He refused to let it disappear entirely—like he was trying his best to return to an easier time, when we used to spend hours talking about anything and everything—the good, the bad, the messy. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Cillian, I…”

He averted his eyes. “I heard rumors that you snuck your way into Ederis a few days ago.”

I didn’t deny it.

“Some of the witnesses swear they saw you summon fire.”

My breath hitched.

“Is it true? Are you so close with the gods now that they’ve granted you divine magic?”

He didn’t have any idea just howcloseI was.

Noneof them did, I realized.

Andrel knew more than anyone, probably, but who knew what he’d told them—how he’d picked apart and distorted the truth to suit his own agenda. I was scared to think about it.

“I’m glad at least one of our kind has the power we once did, and yet…” He stared past me, frowning. “Whatever they’ve given you, I’m sure there will be a steep price for it. Monsters don’t give without expecting anything in return.”

“Not all of the gods are monsters.”

He hesitated. Had he even heard what I said? Was he truly considering the possibility?

Another flutter of hope stirred in my chest as the seconds ticked by.

But then he asked, “What about our kind, then? Are we the monsters? All of us?”

I fumbled for a response but didn’t find one before he kept talking.

“The humans think so. They treat us as such no matter what, so how could we act any different?” He spoke in a quiet, almost thoughtful tone. Even now, while my own heart felt like it might pound right out of my chest, he was the pillar of calmness he’d always been to me.

“You aren’t a monster,” I told him. “Not the same kind as Andrel and his followers. Iknowyou aren’t. You helped me escape the last time we saw each other.”

I had replayed that scene endlessly in my mind over the past weeks, but there was no flash of recognition in his bright green eyes as I spoke of it.

It felt very far away, suddenly, as if it had happened in another lifetime. In some ways, I guess it had.

“Cillian,listen to me.Please.It isn’t so black and white as we—as I—once thought it was.”

He again seemed briefly intrigued by the idea, only to ultimately shrug it off. The gesture felt more tired than dismissive, like he was on the verge of giving up, too exhausted to keep carrying the crushing weight of all our kind’s struggles on his shoulders. Like he needed to shrug at least some of it away if he was going to keep moving.

“I don’t mind being called a monster, for what it’s worth,” he said, his tone still hushed. “Sometimes, it takes a few seemingly monstrous actions to make things happen for the greater good. You know that. How many conversations have you and I had about this very thing?”

A lot.

More than I could count. But he seemed different from the Cillian I’d had those conversations with.

Or maybe Iwas the one who had changed.

My heart no longer pounded. It felt like it was shriveling up instead. I desperately wanted to let the rest of me do the same, but I kept talking.

“How many?” I asked. If I couldn’t talk him out of his plans to cause further destruction, I at least needed to gather details about what those plans entailed.

---