Page 94 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

Kael would lie for three days and three nights before being laid to rest amidst the roots of the trees in Talamarís. The commanders had placed his body on a plain table carved from the same obsidian as his throne. It was the only feature in the cavern, which was vastand dark with a ceiling so high it disappeared into blackness. Two candles were lit, one at his feet and one at his head, but the circle of light they cast hardly expanded more than a foot beyond the edges of the table.

Raif stood guard at the entrance day and night. He was steadfast in his duty: he never sat, never leaned. Never closed his eyes to rest. Inside the cavern, Aisling did the same at Kael’s side.

She couldn’t fully recall the events leading up to that moment in The Cut, nor could she remember how she’d left that dark place afterwards, as if shock had erased those bookends entirely. She did, however, remember that minute of absolute stillness when Kael had given her his life. The feeling of the blade dragging through his flesh. The way his eyes dulled as the spark of life there faded while he was still on his knees before her. The hot stickiness of his blood coating her body.

She could have used his name, the gift he’d so willingly given her, to stop him from pressing that blade to his throat. But she hadn’t—she couldn’t—and instead she just watched mutely as he gave himself to the ritual.

Each evening, Methild came to the cavern. She brought with her a basket of clean rags and another of Kael’s commanders, Garrik, carried in a steaming bucket of fresh water. Together with the old hob, Aisling washed Kael’s body. The first night, it took two buckets and several hours to remove his armor and scrub his skin clean of blood and sweat and dirt. Aisling washed his long, moonbeam hair carefully, somehow still afraid of getting soap in his eyes. They’ddressed him then in a simple set of black robes. They were rough. He’d have hated them.

Before Methild left her alone again, Aisling passed her the strand of gems Kael had worn in his ear on Nocturne. She’d found it atop his desk when she returned to his room to choose the crown he would wear. She held his hand while Methild, stone-faced, pierced his lobe with a long needle and followed it through with the post of the earring.

At some point, Rodney carried in a chair and forced her to sit. She hardly registered his presence, nor did she feel the weight of his hands on her shoulders when he guided her down. She thought her feet should have hurt from standing on hard stone for so long, but the only discomfort Aisling was aware of was the one that lingered in the hollow of her chest. She’d have carved out her heart if she thought it might excise the pain she felt with its every beat. But she knew that as long as she had breath in her lungs, she’d feel the sharp ache of loss there.

On the third night, Aisling clung desperately to Kael’s body. His commanders would take him before dawn to Talamarís, where he would rot away. She couldn’t bear the thought of him decomposing there, his skin peeling and bones decaying like those other soldiers she’d seen. He wanted to go that way; she knew he did. The customs of the Unseelie Court were as important to Kael as his religion, and he’d consider it his greatest honor to lay with the rest of those faeries who fell for his court during the final battle. Still, it madeAisling sick.

“I love you,” she said for what must have been the thousandth time. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

Aisling’s skin prickled as the atmosphere in the cavern shifted, becoming charged with magic. Merak had filed in behind her, silently and in sync. Their soft white light illuminated the space, reaching into every corner and catching on tiny veins of glittering quartz in the walls. It bathed Kael gently in its glow. When the tallest of the three glided to stand beside her, the gleaming white material of their cloak felt like water where it brushed against her bare arm.

They remained silent for several moments before they said, “You are human; you were born to forget. You will fade, and your memory with you. His face will not linger, nor will this ache inside of you. You will forget him one day and by then you will not even realize what it is you’ve forgotten.”

“That isn’t true.” She supposed their words were meant to comfort her, but instead only hardened her further against letting him go. She smoothed the ends of Kael’s hair that had fallen out of place with the movement of energy the Silver Saints brought in with them. “I won’t let it be true.”

“You do not have to.” The magic around them thickened, the shimmering light pulsing and humming. The other two Silver Saints joined them around the stone table, looking down at Kael. The tallest one remained focused on Aisling.

“I won’t,” she said again, defiant.

“Then bring him back,” Merak said.

Aisling’s world stilled.

She recoiled, scrambling to her feet, but she didn’t hear the chair clattering to the stone ground. The hum of energy and the dull roar of her own blood rushing in her ears was, for just a moment, loud enough to dampen the ambient sounds of the Undercastle. Finally, she tore her gaze from Kael and looked between Merak’s unearthly, featureless faces, searching. They were serene in their plainness, almost angelic. It was no wonder that they inspired such peace, even amongst those Solitary Fae who were untouched by their magic. But that serenity they radiated had little effect on the apprehension and dread that surged in Aisling’s chest.

“Bring him back?” she whispered. The words felt wrong, so wrong, in her mouth.

“Hisaneiydh, the basest essence of him—what you might equate to his soul—has been captured. His corporeal flesh must first be released to collect it.” Their voice was an echo that rippled through Aisling’s fraying consciousness.

She shook her head, hard, trying desperately to clear it. Trying to understand how the finality of loss could somehow be dispelled. “Where is it?”

“Elowas,” Merak proclaimed. “The god realm.”

In times of crisis, Aisling had long since learned to wrap her empathy in a resilient mantle, a shield against the onslaught of emotions that threatened to engulf her. She reached for that mantle now to steel her, to allow her the clarity of thought to understand the decision she was now faced with.Bring him back.She played with Kael’s hand rather than look again at his face, tracing the lines on his palm and measuring her own against it as her mind raced.

She could bring him back.

“How?” she demanded.

One at a time, each of the three Silver Saints brushed long, slender fingers over Kael’s closed eyelids, then said, “It begins with fire.”

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