Page 69 of The Shadowbound and the False God

“We need to give it something. To giveupsomething.” Raif answered for Rodney, pronouncing each word slowly as understanding began to dawn on him. Aisling couldn’t keep up.

Rodney nodded. “This weapon will be used to kill. What you give it—it has to be dark. It has to be a part of you that hurts to give up.”

Nausea swelled and burned in Aisling’s throat and that horrible, horrible taste of iron returned to her tongue. She wouldn’t do it again—wouldn’t allow any of them to do it again. She’d rather rot away in Antiata for the rest of her days than see a single one of them toy with that sort of cruel magic one more time. Her voice cracked when she said, “We can’t—”

“This isn’t blood magic, Ash,” Rodney interrupted, knowing where her mind had taken her. “It’s nothing so corporeal. More like…a feeling. Something you’ve held onto. Anger, sadness, hatred. But specific, not quite so broad as just an emotion—something you could describe.”

She couldn’t yet quite grasp the concept, but the others seemed to. Raif’s face was drawn; Kael just gave a tight nod.

“When?” Raif asked.

Rodney’s shoulders lowered as he relaxed some, knowing he had their support—however tacit. “I need a little time. Not long, but that last go was draining. Does anyone know if there’s leftover stew?”

Raif snorted, and Kael exited the cairn again without another word. Aisling imagined he’d returned to pacing, wearing that same path deeper and deeper as he passed over it for the thousandth time. It agitated her just to picture it, but she wasthankful at least that he did so out of sight. Finished with his own pacing, Rodney joined her on the floor.

“I’ll talk you through it, Ash,” he promised. “We’ll do it together.”

Aisling was grateful for his reassurance. It didn’t go far in easing her nerves, though she knew at the very least whatever he would have her do, she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

“Will it hurt?” she asked. She’d gone through so much pain already—her time in Yalde’s grip had been a blur of agony and heartbreak and frustration. And although her injuries disappeared along with those spectral illusions Yalde had created, her throat still felt angry and raw. She’d hoped the stew’s broth would have soothed it, but its heat only scalded her further.

“Not physically.” Rodney’s eyes were closed, his head tipped back to rest against the wall. He spoke faintly as his breaths grew longer and deeper. Aisling had always been envious of how easily he was able to fall asleep, how little he needed to be comfortable. She longed for a pillow; one filled nearly to bursting with down. A blanket, too—Kael’s cloak had done a fair job of keeping her warm, but it was rough. She’d hated laying him to rest in those damned burial robes. If she had known they were what he’d turn up in here, she’d have fought harder to burn him in something else. Something soft. He deserved at least that.

But she couldn’t keep quiet for long; the sound of it was too agitating. Unsure whether or not Rodney was still awake, she whispered, “I’m afraid it won’t work.”

He cracked one eye open to look at her and smirked lazily. “What, you don’t think two emotionally constipated Fae warriors, an exhausted human, and a washed-up Weaver with a half-cocked plan can come together as a god-slaying dream team?”

“Take this seriously, Rodney.” Aisling swatted at his leg but smiled in spite of herself.

“Believe it or not, I used to be a cocky bastard when it came to Saothrealain.” He winked, then closed his eyes again.

Aisling rolled her own. “I believe it.”

“It was baseless; I never was much good. If I can pull this off, it might be the biggest thing I’ve ever done. And if I can’t, well…” Rodney shrugged, rustling the fur on the back of his neck. “At least I’ll die knowing I tried.”

Aisling’s smile fell quickly.

When she didn’t respond, Rodney sighed. “Fine, I’ll take it more seriously. If I can’t figure this out, I promise I’ll make my last words something profound. I’ll give a whole damn soliloquy if there’s time.”

“I don’t find that funny,” Aisling shot back. His humor was as dry as ever. She appreciated it most of the time, but less so now.

Rodney heaved another exaggerated sigh and slid a bit further down the wall, shifting until he found a comfortable divot for his head. “I’ll save us all, Ash. Promise. Just let me rest first.”

Two emotionally constipated Fae warriors, an exhausted human, and a washed-up Weaver.On his description of Kael and Raif she wouldn’t comment, but he was right about at least one of those things: Aisling was exhausted. Lulled by the crackling fire and soothed by Rodney’s steady snoring, she tilted her head to rest it on his shoulder and closed her eyes, too.

Aisling’s sleep was light and restless. It was plagued with images of the mural, moving and shifting and changing. Cracks split open near the ceiling where the roots gripped the stones and spewed freezing water streaked with crimson blood. The depictions of Yalde grew and grew, inky paint spreading from the cosmos in his chest and covering over all the rest, until the wall was solid black. That tiny kernel of Seren pulsed with light, fighting against the paint until it finally succumbed.

Then from below, something grabbed her ankle.

She woke with a start just as the light flickered out, gasping as though she’d been submerged in the paint and the blood-soaked water, too. Kael was crouched in front of her, one hand on her ankle. He’d shaken her awake gently, though in her nightmare-addled mind it felt far more violent.

“You were dreaming,” he said.

Aisling looked away and rubbed her cheek, hot and flushed from where it had been resting on Rodney’s shoulder. “I’m fine.”

His silver eyes just examined her face in silence, taking in the tracks her tears had carved through the dirt on her cheeks while she slept. Suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, Aisling lifted an arm to scrub them away. He was quicker, though. He always was.

Kael caught her arm and lowered it, instead raising his free hand to smooth his thumb over her cheek. Her body betrayed her resolve to stay distant: Aisling couldn’t keep herself from leaning into his touch. She held her breath, not because of his sudden closeness, but because there were dozens of words stuck in her throat that she didn’t dare let escape.

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