Page 91 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

Then, as she stood back with Rodney, watching Lyre continue on with his own preparations, her teeth chattered loudly when she said, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Which part?” he asked dryly. He had his hands tucked beneath his arms and bounced from foot to foot to keep warm.

“Any of it,” she’d answered.All of it.

Caught up in the moment, she’d been so quick to paint the target on Laure’s back that the thought of what she was saying, what she was condemning the Seelie Queen to, had been far from her mind. Now, though, her shoulders were heavy with the burden of a choice she wished she didn’t have to make. She was a bystander in a war that wasn’t hers, a human ensnared in the tangled affairs of the Fae—and her human heart recoiled at the notion of ending another’s life, even for the sacred purpose of raising the Silver Saints.

Laure wasn’t innocent; Aisling knew that well enough. Her motives were corrupted by her own virtues, her actions rooted in self-interest and manipulation. Yet, even in acknowledging Laure’s misdeeds, the idea of taking her life for the ritual made Aisling’s stomach churn.

“You won’t be the one to do it, Ash,” Rodney had promised. But still, Laure’s name had come from Aisling’s own lips. Aisling might not be the one to spill the queen’s blood herself, but it was she who’d chosen her for the sacrifice.

Was it justifiable, she’d asked herself, to sacrifice one for the benefit of many when that one had no say in the matter? For Aisling, this wasn’t merely a question of simple ethics. Her thoughts swirled viciously, torn between a sense of duty to the prophecy and a stubborn moral compass that resisted the idea of spilling blood, even if it might bring peace.

The question haunted her dreams, too, despite having been lulled to sleep by the warmth of Kael’s skin against hers and the ebbing flames of ecstasy he’d ignited in her veins. So when she awoke to Raif’s low voice at the door, cold dread grippedher lungs so tightly that they felt filled with cement. This was all much, much bigger than she was prepared for, and she felt so small on the threshold of what they were about to do.

There was so much she wished to say to Kael before they parted ways, but the words all stuck in her constricted throat. Even if she had been able to force them out, they would have felt too much like goodbye. And this wasn’t that.

Now, waiting, Aisling paced back and forth across The Cut, careful to remain within the bounds of the protective runes Lyre had laid down when they arrived. Beyond the trees, the sound of armored footfalls was thunderous. The forest shook with the might of both armies approaching one another and soon, deafening clangs of metal slamming against metal rent the once-calm air. Shouts followed, deep bellows of anger and anguish. She wondered, briefly, what the echo of this battle looked like on Brook Isle. Whether there would even be a Brook Isle to go back to.

Oblivious, Lyre lounged against the trunk of a tree. Aisling wasn’t keen on spending time alone with Lyre on a good day, much less at a moment so fraught as this. Despite her nervous energy, he appeared absolutely at ease as he studied the long scroll of parchment he’d scribbled on. His lips moved as he recited the ritual’s words to himself voicelessly so that he would be prepared to utter them in one steady, unbroken refrain when the time came.

Another clash, louder this time, accompanied a pained shriek that shot straight through Aisling’s gut. She darted to the far edge of the clearing and retched twice into a tangle of ferns. Her skin felt clammy, drenched in the cold sweat of fear. Her vision warped andspun until she sank to her knees and braced her hands in the dirt. The battle raged all around them, and the smell of spent magic filled the forest with a choking, bitter stench that made Aisling heave again.

With her eyes squeezed shut, she tried to parse through the noise of the fray for a familiar voice: Kael’s, or Rodney’s, or even Raif’s. She strained her ears desperately, but the sound of combat was little more than a discordant roar.

It was an eternity before she finally heard running footsteps crashing through the underbrush. Lyre was on his feet and at her side in an instant, pulling her up roughly by the elbow and tugging her into the camouflaged hiding place they’d constructed behind the altar. Crouching there, Aisling could just see a flash of safety orange bobbing towards them. Rodney skidded into view, scrambling over roots to dive into the concealment beside her. Silently, Aisling seized his hand and gripped it tight.

A second behind, Kael’s silver-white hair streamed in the frigid wind as he ran. His footfall was nearly silent in comparison. He halted with his back to them in the center of the circle of runes, both hands free of weapons, waiting. There was hardly any light left to see him by as the setting sun’s last golden rays filtered sideways into the clearing.

Laure’s approach was preceded by creeping vines: they crawled across the forest floor and wound around tree trunks, tight enough to strangle, a poisonous shade of kelly green. She was stunning in her fury, amethyst eyes aflame and teeth bared as she faced down Kael. Two predators vying for dominance.

“I should have known you would flee to this place to seek protection from your so-calledgod,” she snarled, stepping forward. “But Aethar walks with me; your idol is nothing, not even here.”

Through the branches that hid them from the circle, Aisling saw the ends of Kael’s hair rustle in a soft breeze, the only movement breaking the sudden stillness in the clearing. Laure was wrong—the Low One was there. The queen took another step forward, then one more still, crossing unknowingly into the circle. She was surrounded now by the runic inscriptions they had carved.

When Aisling rose from behind the concealment, Laure faltered for the briefest moment. Then, that burning rage reclaimed her features tenfold.

“You stupid, insolentchild.” She spat the last word bitterly. “You’ve chosen death and darkness over goodness and peace; you’ve damned us all.”

Aisling moved slowly, slowly, tracing her way around the circle in a bid to draw Laure’s attention away from Kael. “The Seelie Court is no more righteous than the Unseelie. Disguising your misdeeds doesn’t erase them.”

“You’ve let yourself be blinded, little girl. What the king has done to you is far worse than any of my enchantments.” Laure laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “How do you imagine this ends for you? Happily?”

“It is how this ends foryouthat you should be concerned with,” Kael growled. He moved to Aisling’s side, briefly brushing the back of his hand against hers before continuing to advance on Laure. Shadows wove around his figure, drawn by the call of their master.

“I see you’ve improvedupon your illusion of control,” she shot back. Despite the arrogance in her voice, Aisling thought she noticed a flicker of fear in the queen’s eyes as she studied the inky ribbons that rippled from Kael’s hands.

Laure jerked her chin upward and the vines that had surrounded The Cut surged forward, sighing and whispering as they moved. When their tapered ends reached the circle, they withered and shrank back. Not a single tendril made it past the edge of the runes. Laure’s enraged shriek was ear-splitting. She fumbled to unsheathe a golden dagger from its hilt at her waist, long with a distinctive wavy blade, and lunged.

But Kael was faster.

Her limbs were wrenched out until she was suspended spread-eagle just above the ground. She was held in place by Kael’s shadows—shadows over which he had full, unabated control. They danced for him now, did his bidding without protest. Laure was unable to move so much as an inch as he approached her. Her eyes were wide and wild, full lips open in a silent scream.

Having quietly taken his place before the altar, Lyre began his recitation. The foreign words flowed together lyrically, beautiful despite their sinister meaning. This was not the Fae language Kael had spoken to Aisling; this was a dialect far, far older. It was the language spoken during the time of the gods. During the time of the Silver Saints.

Kael reached up and took possession of the dagger Laure still clung to. He turned it over in his hand, then swung. The first slice of the blade split open her palm, sending rivulets of blood streamingdown into the dirt. It collected in the runes at her feet. A second slash opened her other hand, adding to the flow.

Two vaporous streams of shadow reached beyond the circle of runes, disappearing into the darkness of the forest. The Low One was with Kael now, Aisling knew. She’d seen his shadows grasp at the presence of his god before, noticed the way they seemed to disappear into the air, pulsing as they connected Kael to the deity.

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