Page 25 of What Sleeps Within the Cove

I’d seen them when Nemain lost her voice, felt the connection to the magic that was the same as mine. The magic that flowed through me was the same as what he’d used to torment and punish, and I couldn’t shake the distinct feeling that it would change me into something I never wanted to be.

The sound of raging water was such a stark contrast to the silence of the burning plains. It lingered in the distance long before I could see the river itself. My heart felt like it dropped into my stomach, leaving me with a distinct mix of dread and anticipation. We were finally approaching the site of the first river. While I dreaded what I might endure, it was one step closer to being reunited with Caldris.

To seeing him safe.

“What should I expect at this trial?” I asked, running my fingers through Fenrir’s fur. Speaking to him didn’t come naturally, my own discomfort with having another being present in my mind forcing me to give the words voice. The Morrigan flew overhead, leaving me with just my Cwn Annwn to protect Brann and I. I had little doubt they would return to their human forms if needed, but answering these types of questions obviously wasn’t necessary for them.

“Trial?” Brann asked, glancing between me and Fenrir. He swallowed, turning his gaze forward with a grimace. “Please tell me he is not forcing you to undergo the Trials of the Five Rivers.”

I said nothing, waiting for Fenrir to murmur his answer within my mind. He was silent, leaving me to deal with the furious brother at my side who sucked his teeth and hung his head in his hands. “All who enter Tartarus in their physical forms are required to endure the trials,” I said, forcing my voice not to tremble with my own frustration. I didn’t care to admit that it seemed even more pointless now that I knew who my father was. If any one being was responsible for the laws that governed this place, it was him.

He was the only person who could condemn me to such a fate, and simultaneously the only one who could save me.

He hadn’t bothered. The man who’d come to me when my magic became too much for me and took the excess away so that I could survive felt like a distant memory, like it was disconnected from what I knew now. This version of Khaos did not seem to care if I suffered during the trials, and it left me with a bitter taste on my tongue.

He’d been kinder to me when I thought him a stranger, but now that I knew he was my father, I was disappointed.

“The Trials of the Five Rivers were designed to determine a person’s worthiness of the magical gifts that would be bestowed upon them if they were to reach the Cradle of Creation,” Brann explained, his gaze going distant. Something in that expression was soold, so tired that I wondered how I’d never seen the weariness he must have felt when we’d been living in Mistfell.

How many times had he watched me struggle through a human existence? How many times had he watched me make the same mistakes over and over and never been able to stop me from repeating a vicious cycle?

“I’m aware. That doesn’t tell me whatthistrial will entail,” I said, looking down at the side of his face. His features had thinned during his time in Tartarus, as if even his soul was damaged from his prolonged starvation and separation from his body. I didn’t know if his magic could sustain his physical form even when his soul was separated, or if he’d effectively already died during his time here.

“Each of the rivers represents a strong human emotion. Something that could turn even the most innocent of humans into a tyrant if left unchecked. The trials are a safeguard of sorts to keep humans or Fae who lack the ability to overcome those emotions from reaching the Cradle,” he explained, turning his brown-eyed stare toward me finally.

“The dwarves stole Mab’s crown from the Cradle,” I said, the sudden realization striking me in the chest. If that was the place where all the strongest of magical gifts originated, nothing else made sense.

“Yes,” Brann answered, nodding along to the words. Lupa nuzzled up to him, pressing her body against the length of his and looking for attention. He rested his hand atop her back uncertainly, looking entirely too awkward as if he’d never considered an animal might want affection. “The trials weren’t always necessary. They didn’t exist in the same way and the Primordials were more trusting of those who came to them looking to bargain. The dwarves stole the Cursed Gem from the Cradle in the dead of night, and the Primordials created the Trials of the Five Rivers to make sure they would never again contribute to the rise of a tyrant like Mab.”

I nodded, wondering what sort of gift might await me when I made it to the Cradle. If the Cursed Gem had been stolen, what would be given willingly?

“What have the previous victors been gifted after they completed the trials?” I asked, watching as Brann’s face fell into sad resignation.

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth, looking away from me in silence. I waited, expecting an answer that he seemed unwilling to give.

“None have survived the trials,” Fenrir said, that deep voice confirming everything Brann wasn’t bold enough to say.

Well then.

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” I said, swallowing back the rising trepidation of what was to come.

The Morrigan dove toward us, shifting as they landed. The flutter of feathers bursting through the air never stopped amazing me, leaving behind three shining Goddesses when they settled to the dusty earth.

“While none have survived the trials as a whole, some have survived one or two. But the trials are about more thanjustsurviving,” Macha explained, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Many survive a trial only to return home because they weren’t able to procure a gift for the Primordials. You must perform in a way that is befitting of someoneworthyof power in order to be granted the gift. You have to prove that you are stronger than the emotion that makes you human.”

“But the Fae aren’t human,” I argued, thinking that if that was all there was to it, one of them would have won the trials already.

“They’re not, but that doesn’t mean the humans are the only ones with emotions. The Fae feel things like rage and sadness, love and loss. To say that they don’t is to grossly underestimate their capacity to feel. Only the Primordials are immune to such emotions,” Badb said, striding forward as the chasm that held the river opened up.

The waters below me rushed downhill, the current fast enough to pull even the strongest of creatures beneath the surface.

My father couldn’t feel emotion. That didn’t feel entirely true from my interaction with him before coming to Tartarus, and I couldn’t help but feel frustrated by the inconsistent information. It was in direct opposition to what I felt like I knew already.

If the Morrigan was right, I was worth nothing to him if I didn’t win. There would be no love lost beyond whatever purpose he had for me.

Whatever the Fates had in store.

I hated the notion of being nothing to one of the only people in this world who were supposed to love me unconditionally, and while I didn’t expect to have a normal relationship with Khaos by any means, one that was absent of all affection was too dark a reality to face.

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