Page 93 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

“Your royals have given their lives for peace,” Merak proclaimed. “Their blood was traded in exchange for our awakening.”

The warriors stared blankly, slack-jawed, hearing the words in their minds. Aisling and the Solitary Fae only heard them out loud; Merak’s voices swirled in the night air such that it sounded like the Silver Saints were speaking from all directions.

“Our awakening marks a turning point in your stories. The cycle of strife will end not with the fall of the courts, but with the rise of unity. Your differences birth strength, but your harmony shall craft your future.”

Tears streamed down the faces of many of the soldiers, Seelie and Unseelie and Solitary alike, as the Silver Saints spoke. Aisling felt her own face growing wet with them, cutting rivulets through the blood drying on her cheeks.

“Let our light guide you in this choice: to lay down arms or continue the futile cycle,” Merak continued. “The power to shape your destiny lies not in the clash of swords but in the embrace of diplomacy. But choose wisely, for the fabric of your realm hangs on the decisions made from this moment on.”

As suddenly as their magic’s hold had gripped the fray, the faeries were released. Still, none moved to pick up their discarded weapons. A few staggered to their feet, but many remained in a daze that kept them on their knees.

Aisling’s gaze slid to Raif, near the center of the field where the bodies lay thickest. He rose lithely and left his sword where it had pierced through Niamh’s stomach and pinned her to the ground. Rodney stepped in front of Aisling, a protective barrier, but there was no malice in Raif’s approach. He only stared at her, at the blood that covered her, resigned.

“So it is true, then,” he said. “The king is dead.” Aisling looked away and nodded, feeling that pain beginning to edge back into her consciousness. She’d have preferred to remain numb; it was a far more tolerable state.

“He gave himself willingly,” Rodney hedged.

“I have no doubt.” Raif looked towards the Silver Saints then. A distant, haunted expression had settled over his normally impassive face. “Did you not see it?”

“See what?” Rodney asked.

“They showed us our future—Wyldraíocht’s future. Just a glimpse, just for a moment, of what it would look like should the war continue.” Raif stared at Merak’s retreating figures. All three moved in unison away from the carnage back towards the tree line. There, they stopped and returned to their motionless stance.

“And?” Rodney pressed.

“The outcome is not favorable for either side.” Lyre had seen it, too, and he wore a similar expression to Raif.

“What happens now?” Aisling croaked. Her throat burned with an unreleased scream of anguish stuck there since Kael had knelt before her. She wasn’t sure whether she cared to learn the answer—herpart in this was over. She’d done what she was meant to and had paid dearly. There was little left for her in the Wild now.

“Assemblies will be formed, I suppose. Peacemakers from each court who will work alongside the Silver Saints to mend the rift,” Raif said. The rest of the battle-weary warriors were beginning to rise all around them. Aisling watched as a spriggan, clad in gold Seelie armor, offered his branchlike arm to an Unseelie Fae struggling to regain her balance on an injured leg.

“You think it will work?” Rodney was watching the pair, too, but still sounded skeptical.

“It has to,” Aisling insisted. This couldn’t all have been for nothing. Kael’s death couldn’t be for nothing. She repeated again, more for herself than anyone else, “It has to.”

Both armies worked well into the early morning hours clearing their dead and injured from the battlefield. The losses were steep on both sides, and felt deeply. The Silver Saints watched it all from the tree line, statuesque keepers of a more hopeful future. Aisling thought she could feel their magic lingering over the armies, propagating a sense of peace and calm as she had done for Kael. The pain of the injured was soothed, and the anger of the survivors was curbed.

It did little for Aisling, though, as she sat on the frozen ground amidst the effort. Raif and several company commanders had gone to The Cut to retrieve Kael’s body, but she couldn’t bring herself to go with them. She couldn’t bring herself to do anything, really,beyond mindlessly watching the first rays of sunrise. Rodney sat beside her, one arm around her shoulders. He’d pulled off her bloodstained cloak and replaced it with his own.

“I’m proud of you,” he said softly. “Your mother would be, too.”

“When did he tell you?” Aisling asked. She was sure he’d known.

“Before we came back. It was something the Diviner said to him. I’m sorry.” He tightened his hold around her, but she only nodded. She wanted to be angry—she would be—but for now, Aisling could only feel a hollowness in her chest.

“What happens now?” she asked again, this time about her own uncertain future. Without a prophecy guiding her path, she felt like a ship at sea without a rudder. Without a port. She couldn’t remain in the Wild, nor could she imagine returning to her life on the mainland. Even Brook Isle felt distant and foreign.

“Your path is yours again, Ash. What happens now is your decision.”

“Is it?” Aisling’s question was monotone, without inflection. “It doesn’t feel like mine.”

Rodney nudged her gently. “Whatever you decide, you’ve still got me. And you’ve still got Briar; I think he’s probably had enough adventure to last him awhile. I know I have.”

Aisling sighed. “Me, too.”

They’d never said I love you—Aisling hadn’t found the courage, and Kael hadn’t found the strength. But she whispered it now as she pressed her lips against his cold forehead. Over and over, she murmured those words as a mantra. A plea. Some small part of her thought it might be enough to bring him back. So many other fairytales had been proven true, why not the power of love to wake the dead, as well? But nothing happened. Kael was still dead. Cold and pale and unmoving and dead.

Even in death, he was beautiful.

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