Page 59 of The Shadowbound and the False God

“Aisling didn’t explain?”

Kael looked down at the fading indentation in the grass where she’d dropped his dagger. He hadn’t asked. They hadn’t had many opportunities to speak alone, but he could have made the time.He should have made the time.Had he not dared dream of the softness of her skin, of the warmth in her gaze and the scent of her hair when the illusions haunted him most? He was foolish for not saying as much the moment she whispered his name.He should have made the time.

Except to Rodney, Kael only said, “We’ve not spoken. Not really.”

“Merak—the Silver Saints—went to her on the last day before your body was to be laid in Talamarís.” Rodney fidgeted as he spoke, first with the sleeve of his sweater, then with a leaf on the closest rowan tree. “They told her there was a way to bring you back. We burned your body, and they opened the door for us to come here and find you.”

Kael looked down at himself. He was material, solid; no longer the nebulous form he’d inhabited before he moved from vision to nightmarish vision. He smoothed one hand over his chest. He recognized the garment by its uncomfortable fabric, woven from tiny, threadlike tree roots meant to rot away along with its wearer, returning together to the forest floor.Burial robes.

“Burned,” he murmured quietly, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. He could scarcely fathom it. “Why?”

Rodney shrugged. “To send your body to collect your aneiydh. Not all of us were so keen on it, for the record. Raif, least of all. Though it appears that it worked.” He paused, then asked cautiously, “It did work, right? You’re…you? Not an illusion, or some other sort of spectral thing?”

“No,” Kael said. He was firm in his conviction, sure that he was once again himself, and once again whole—or as close to whole as he’d ever been.

“Good. That’s good.”

There was more Rodney wished to say; Kael could sense it in his breathless tone and the way he could scarcely stand still for more than a moment. He didn’t ask, though. He waited quietly for the púca to break first.

“Lyre was the most enthusiastic about the plan. For obvious reasons, as you’d expect. He’d have been first through the door if Raif hadn’t insisted. But there’s…more to it. There’s more to all of this.” The leaf Rodney was playing with broke off in his fingers; he looked around wide-eyed to ensure Sudryl hadn’t seen before tucking it hastily between the others still fluttering from the branch.

“What more?”

Rodney shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He began to speak, then appeared to think better of it and shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked together. When he shook his head, the mane of red fur that ran down the back of his neck rustled and his tall ears twitched.

“Ask Aisling,” he said finally.

Kael sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was beginning to ache from the tension radiating up from his shoulders. “Where is he?”

“Who, Lyre? He ran off, and I very much doubt he’s still alive.” Rodney narrowed his eyes to scan the forest beyond the Enclave. “If I had to guess, I’d imagine your High Prelate was unable to handle the reality. Simply couldn’t stomach the knowledge that he’d devoted his life to a deity that never existed at all.”

The way he said it so matter-of-factly grated on Kael’s nerves. The Solitary Fae had little regard for religion, if any at all. The púca couldn’t care less the name or nature of the god they’d encountered, or if they’d even encountered one at all; of course he would treat the crumbling of Kael’s very foundation so flippantly. Even Raif’s own observances never remotely resembled true piety—Lyre might have been the only one in Elowas and Wyldraíocht both who could even come close to understanding the deep ache of loss Kael felt now.

The pair stood in tense silence for a while longer as a cold wind picked up around them. Rodney shivered, but Kael found himself soothed by it. The icy air caressed his over-hot skin with a light touch, a kind touch. Kinder than he deserved.

“What do you think?”

Kael sighed once more, torn between ordering the púca to let him be and indulging the conversation, if for no other reason than to keep himself distracted for a little while longer. The latter won out and he asked, “About what?”

“Any of it.” Rodney had pulled that loose leaf from the tree again and was tearing bits off of it, letting the pieces go one by one to be carried away by the wind.

Kael paused, almost tempted to give an honest answer before realizing what that would entail. How much it would cost him. He shook his head. “I cannot think about any of it. Not right now.”

“She’s been through a lot to get here, you know.” Though he spoke quietly, Rodney’s tone was pointed.

Kael bristled at the sentiments the púca let lie unsaid. “I am aware.”

He’d seen it in the tired lines of her face, in the haunted depths of her eyes. He’d felt it when her hand trembled in his grasp as she pulled him out of the fog she’d summoned, and he’d heard it when her voice rose in panic over something so trivial as misplacing her bag.

“Have you asked?” Rodney challenged, one thick russet eyebrow cocked.

She’d mentioned trials, but Kael wasn’t sure if he was ready to know the full scope of what Aisling had put herself through to find him. He wasn’t strong enough to bear the raw and painful truth of it. By way of answering, Kael held his dagger out to the púca. “Will you return this to her?”

Rodney shook his head. “No, but you can.”

“I do not believe she wants anything from me at present.” Kael withdrew it anyway, sweeping back his cloak to tuck the sheath into the waistband of his trousers at his back. The weapon’s handle was smooth against his spine, and cool, all of Aisling’s warmth long since gone from it.

“Then hang onto it until she does.” Rodney began walking away, then twisted to add over his shoulder, “Try listening to her—actually listening. Aisling has crossed realms for you. What has your false god done but make you suffer?”

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