Page 81 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

“It has not,” Sítheach said. “But something that has never been done before is not, by nature, impossible to do.”

“A blood rite?” Kael guessed. He knew the answer before she gave it; he’d known the moment she’d called it costly. A pit settled in his stomach, solid and heavy.

Sítheach nodded once. “Only the blood of the powerful might awaken the dormant Saints. As for how the ritual is conducted, I cannot say. That is in the hands of the caller to determine.”

“Will it work?” Aisling asked. She seemed less sure now, almost resigned.

Sítheach smiled serenely, withdrawing her hands to fold in her lap. “I do not predict the future, child. I only divine the threads; it is up to you to weave them as you wish.”

She turned from them then, a wordless dismissal, and cast her gaze back into the pool before her. The light there, and the light carried by the stream that flowed into it, began to dim. Kael helped Aisling to her feet, eager to leave before they lost their path out.

“Thank you,” Aisling said. When Sítheach didn’t respond, Kael nudged Aisling on. She stepped gingerly on either side of the stream.

“King,” Sítheach called once Aisling had rounded the corner ahead of him. He turned back and was hit at full force with a wall of magic. It pulsed around him, through him, holding him in place.

In his head, in the deepest recesses of his mind, the Diviner whispered to him:Every trail through this forest, winding though they may be—switching directions, deviating, crossing rivers and glades and traversing mountains—will bring the traveler to the same destination eventually.

Once she’d released him from that hold, Kael nodded tightly. “I understand. Thank you.”

Trailing behind Aisling out of the cavern, he made a conscious effort to loosen his jaw and let his shoulders fall into a more relaxed posture. It took all of his concentration; the ache in his head left by Sítheach’s intrusion did him no favors, either. To his great relief, he found the Shadowwood Mother had gone. He strode past Aisling to reach Furax, using the time untethering her from the tree and readjusting her saddle to rid his countenance of the final traces of tension.

Aisling’s closeness in the saddle gave Kael everything he needed to regain focus. He kept Furax at a walk to enjoy it a bit longer.

“Well,” she said after several minutes of silence, “it was a nice idea, anyway.”

Kael frowned; resignation still colored her tone. “You would give up so easily?”

“You heard what she said, Kael. I’d have thought you above anyone else would have put a stop to this the moment she mentioned blood magic.” She shivered, as though the very idea of it frightened her. Kael wrapped his cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“Sometimes the outcome is worth the sacrifice.” He wished he could offer more reassuring words, but there were none.

“We don’t know what that sacrifice is.” She’d twisted around so that she could look at him over her shoulder.

“Maybe not, but it remains the best chance we have.”

Aisling shook her head then turned back. “I don’t like it, Kael.”

He felt the shift in Aisling’s body and sat forward slightly in the saddle to pull her even closer. She leaned into him, pressing her back against his chest. He hoped that contact steadied her as much as it did him. They rode on in silence and when they met Raif further up the trail, their horses quickly transitioned into a gallop, carrying them at full speed back to the Undercastle.

Kael led them to return on the shortest route, which Raif had been careful to avoid on their way out. He thought even Furax seemed reluctant to do so, but Kael was determined to make it back before sunrise.

“Keep your eyes forward,” he said low in Aisling’s ear as they approached Talamarís.

“Why?”

The trail curved through the densest part of the forest, where the ancient pines grew higher than all the rest. They towered overhead as silent sentinels, anchored below by thick roots that wound and snaked across the forest floor. Bodies of dead Fae lay cradled amongst them. Kael reached quickly up to cover Aisling’s mouth to stifle the shriek before it could escape her lips.

He hushed her, smoothing his thumb across her cheek. “It’s alright. Just keep your eyes up.”

She trembled violently against him and when he removed his hand from her mouth, he wrapped his arm tightly around her waist.

“What is this place?” Aisling clung to him, her fingertips digging into his forearm.

“This is where our bodies go when we die,” Kael explained gently. “We are laid to rest here amidst the trees and left to be reclaimed by the forest. We return to the earth and give it new life.”

It was a concept he’d long found beautiful: Kael saw it as a great honor to give back life to the earth that sustained them, to the forest that protected them. But now, as he looked around, all he saw were the faces of the soldiers he’d slaughtered at Nyctara. They were the embodiment of his anger, of his greed and hunger for power. Their skin was mottled gray-blue and beginning to rot away despite the thin layer of frost that covered them, but they were still recognizable. He still knew each one of them by name.

The war for control over Wyldraíocht—and the battle that raged inside of him—would only continue to eat away at his court until there was no one left to rule over. The realization struck him as suddenly and brutally as a sword plunging into his gut. He’d be alone, and the crown he wore would remain just as heavy. Without subjects, could he even be considered a king?

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