Page 10 of The Shadowbound and the False God

“Exactly, traces. But thus far, we’ve been unable to detect a single trace of Merak. It’s three times the size of our sun, with a mass two-point-seven times greater. A star that size shouldn’t just disappear. And if—”

The broadcast went to static, then to black when Lida shut the television off.

“Aisling,” she said again, impatiently this time. “What is going on with you?”

Aisling turned to look at her friend, at that face she’d known since she was a child on the playground. Lida’s eyes were searching, looking for a lifted edge to grab onto and peel back to expose Aisling’s thoughts. She recalled the last time Lida had looked at her so urgently, so intently. It was when she’d shared the truth of her mother’s stories on the playground, after Seb had laughed and run off to play with the other children. Lida had been able to tell then that Aisling believed every word her mother said, and so she did, too. Or, at least, she believed that it was important to let Aisling believe those stories.

Now, her dark eyes penetrating and earnest, Aisling could only think of how blissfully ignorant Lida was—as all her friends were—to the wide, wide world that lay just beyond their own. To all of its beauties, and all of its horrors. For so long, her mother had been able to navigate her life in both of those worlds with grace and compassion: Maeve Morrow had never once wavered in her accounts, but neither had she held any ill will towards those who doubted her. It dawned on Aisling then that maybe it was her own belief in Maeve’s stories that kept her mother sane. It was only when she no longer had Aisling to confide in that she lost all ability to cope. If handed a calendar, Aisling could likely point to the precise time when her mother’s mental state began to slip, and it coincided exactly with the moment Aisling decided she no longer wanted to believe in the Fae. When she no longer wanted to be wrapped up in Brook Isle’s vicious whispers about Maeve’s lost grip on reality.

But for as long as Maeve had one person who believed her—just one—she was able to handle having a foot on Brook Isle, and another in the Wild.

Aisling took a moment to look around Lida’s home. The color-coordinated furnishings, the array of framed photos on the wall. One of the two of them together, years ago, smiling on the deck of the ferry while wind whipped their hair across their faces. Lida was still that same smiling woman she was in the photo. Aisling couldn’t say the same for herself. Lida’s life had continued on, moving steadily forward, her days unchanging while Aisling’s entire world had been upended.

“We miss you, Ash.Imiss you,” Lida insisted. “It’s like you’re not even here anymore.”

Aisling wrapped her arms around her waist and squeezed. Her mouth had gone dry; she had to swallow a few times before she could speak. “I’m sorry.”

“I am if you feel like you can’t come to me. You know you can talk to me about anything.” When Aisling looked down, then away, Lida added quietly, “You’ve not been this way since your mother died.”

After several long moments of silence, Aisling said, “She was right.”

Lida took another step closer. Her brows pulled together as she cocked her head to one side. “Who was right about what?”

“My mother—her stories. She was telling the truth all along, Li. I didn’t want to believe in them anymore and it killed her.” Aisling dug into her sides, fingertips pressing bruises into her skin even through the thick sweatshirt she still wore of Rodney’s.

“Ash.” Lida guided Aisling by her shoulders to sit on the couch. She pulled over an ottoman so that she could sit directly in front of Aisling, their knees touching. “You aren’t responsible for what happened to your mother.”

“I left her to deal with everything in her head alone. Maybe this is karma,” Aisling wondered out loud. The thought wasn’t one she wished to share, but she couldn’t stop it from spilling out of her mouth all the same.

Lida leaned in further, trying to meet her eyes. “Talk to me Aisling. Please. You can tell me anything.”

“It’s real, all of it. The Wild, the Fae. I…” Aisling trailed off, unsure which parts of her own stories she wanted to tell. Which parts she could even manage to put into words now. Even just that barest confession was enough to make her stomach roil and her body tremble with nerves.

But Lida didn’t push, didn’t interrupt. Just took one of Aisling’s shaking hands and held it steady between her own.

“I’ve been. I’ve seen it. I drank with them, danced with them. Fought with them.” Aisling sucked in a breath and stopped herself just short of admitting:I fell in love with one of them. “They were cruel to my mother—I learned that. And some of them were cruel to me, too. But others were kind. They helped me.”

She shut her eyes tight as their faces flashed through her mind: The Shadowwood Mother. Methild. Ivran. The sidhe in the archives. Elasha. Kael. Always, her thoughts strayed back to Kael.

“And that’s where you’ve been going?” Lida asked carefully.

Aisling kept her eyes closed, too afraid to see the look of disbelief she was sure her friend wore now. She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

A pause—one that felt too long. Then Lida murmured, “What happened to you there?”

“Too much. It isn’t as beautiful as my mother always told me. She was tricked. I nearly was, too. But there was someone there who I…who I cared about, and who cared about me.” Aisling drew in another breath. Her mind raced ahead, thoughts coming far faster than she could verbalize. “I couldn’t save him then, but I have a chance to now.”

“Who was he?” Lida shifted closer, their knees pressed together tightly now.

“The king. He was cruel at first, like the others. But there was so much more to him. So much that he kept hidden from everyone else. He saved me, in the end. I thought I was saving him, but he was always going to save me. It was written that way and I couldn’t change it. But I have to go back—I have to bring him back.”She had to try. Aisling didn’t care anymore whether it was predetermined or not. She was the Red Woman, and she was his. And it was time she embraced both of those things.

She was aware of how cryptic and rambling her answers were, how unhinged she must have sounded. She wouldn’t believe it herself if their roles were reversed and Lida was sitting where she was now, confessing to everything she’d kept bound so tightly in chains and locked away inside her heart.

But instead of laughing or mocking or telling her to get a grip, Lida simply asked, “What was his name?”

Aisling clenched her jaw. She couldn’t say it, not without breaking down. She didn’t want to break down yet.

“You loved him.” A statement this time, not a question; though not accusatory or disbelieving.

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