Page 80 of The Shadowbound and the False God

“We have been on borrowed time for too long.” Kael shed his cloak and folded it on the ground, then pulled Aisling down to sit on it. She was grateful for it; her body still ached. Then he turned to Rodney and asked, “Did you tell him?”

Rodney shook his head. “Haven’t said a word. Figured you’d prefer to do the honors, it being your idea and all.”

Kael sat forward and angled himself so he could see all of them, releasing Aisling’s hand only to rest it on her knee instead. He didn’t want to break contact with her any more than she did. That easy sort of tenderness seemed to come so naturally to him. It felt good. It felt safe.

Though now, she was afraid that whatever he was about to say would shatter that illusion and send her once more spiraling into the dark place where he’d left her the last time he had a plan. She braced herself for that inevitability, the fight-or-flight mentality kicking in and making her heart race and her mouth dry. Even with his confession and despite how hard she’d argued to get her point across, she knew he’d do it again: sacrifice himself for her. But if that were the case, if that’s what this all would come down to, she’d just have to do so herself before he could get the chance.

He’d had his turn. This was her rescue mission.

“You’ve each given up something personal and powerful for Rodney to work with. The weapon is strong, but not yet strong enough. Yalde is an ancient force far fiercer than anything we’ve known, anything we’ve ever faced. And even the best Weaver can only Create something as strong as the threads he has to draw on.”

Aisling braced for a smartass retort, but Rodney just nodded in acknowledgment. His earlier humor had fallen from his face to leave him solemn as he listened to Kael speak.

“We need to give more,” Raif suggested. He set aside the blade he’d been working on and reached for another automatically, finding its edge with the whetstone without even a glance down. The sound of it scraping against the metal was a rhythmic soundtrack beneath their conversation.

“You could each give that weapon everything you have, everything you are. It would never be enough. To wound,perhaps, but certainly not to kill. And we will not leave this place unless Yalde falls.” Kael spoke candidly, confidently. Where just moments before he had been tender and passionate, now he slipped seamlessly back into his role as king, a battle-tested strategist. A dichotomy, as always. His dual nature had captivated Aisling since the first time he allowed her to see his softer side—and she couldn’t deny the effect it had on her to watch him shift so easily from that tenderness to commanding, unyielding control.

“It isn’t so hopeless as he’s making it sound,” Rodney chimed in. He gestured to Kael with a look that seemed to implore him to give his monologue a more positive spin or, at the very least, to get to the part of the plan that actually resembled a plan at all.

“I believe wecankill him—and we can still use the blade to do so. It is not far off from where it needs to be.” It was as close to a compliment as Kael would likely ever give to Rodney, and Aisling thought she saw her friend’s chest swell with pride just briefly before Kael finished: “If I give it my magic.”

The repetitive stone-on-metal grinding sound halted instantly. Raif dropped his tools and shifted his weight, a coiled snake poised to strike. His eyes widened, then narrowed. “Kael—”

Kael cut him off, having already turned his attention to Aisling. “This is where I must ask for your help.”

“No.” Her mouth was so dry the word barely came out. She cursed herself for it. She’d have liked to have sounded more resolute.

“You have not heard what I intend to do.” He was baiting her. She wouldn’t bite. His calm tone and the soothing weight of his hand on her leg only frustrated her further.

Aisling swallowed hard, past the persistent stinging pain, and said more forcefully this time, “I don’t have to; I can tell it’s too much. You’ve already given your life once, Kael. I’m not doing this again—you’re not,we’renot.”

“Aisling is right,” Raif growled.

A spark of anger flashed across Kael’s face, there and gone in an instant. She could still feel it, though, simmering just beneath the surface, tightly restrained.

“Let’s hear him out before we dismiss the idea,” Rodney urged the group. To anyone else, his expression might have been unreadable. But even in this form, Aisling knew him too well to miss the flicker of understanding in his eyes. The pair had already discussed Kael’s intentions.

“We cannot kill Yalde with brute strength or clever traps,” Kael assessed. “He’d tear straight through us before we got close enough. But with my shadows…they come from Yalde, they were given to mebyYalde, and that means they are just as powerful as he is.”

“Souseyour magic, Kael. Kill the bastard. Strangle him, rip him apart, just as I’ve seen you do a hundred thousand times against a hundred thousand enemies before. Why are you so quick to give it up?” Raif was so tense he was nearly vibrating and his raised voice was amplified as it echoed off the chamber’s stone walls.

“Because Yalde controls them,” Aisling whispered quietly. She’d seen it firsthand: the way Kael’s shadows responded to the deity’s direction. They danced for him, reached willingly for his loving touch. Kael was merely a vessel—that, they had known. But even the times when those obsidian tendrils appeared to act at Kael’s behest, their obeisances were to Yalde alone.

“When he cannot control his magic, it is far easier for me to hold it under my command,”the dark god had taunted her. Kael would never win in a battle for dominance over his shadows.

Kael nodded, giving her knee a subtle squeeze. His gaze was steady, yet there was something in it that made her stomach twist: resignation. “The shadows were never truly mine to wield. They will be back under his control the moment I stand beforehim. If instead they are bound within the blade, fortifying it, he should be unable to call to them.”

“Should?” Raif challenged.

Kael raised one eyebrow, almost entertained by Raif’s attempt to dissuade him with the plan’s ambiguity. “None of this is a certainty. How many battles have we fought together that were?”

“This isn’t a skirmish over barren territories with half-trained, under-prepared Seelie warriors, Kael,” Raif snapped. “You’d be giving up everything—everything.”

Kael didn’t flinch at Raif’s harsh barb, but cast a fleeting glance back at Aisling and his mask dropped, just a fraction, so she could see all of him. Not a king, not a warrior. Just the barest hint of the male who loved her, the male who cared little for titles when the two of them were alone together.

“Not everything.” He said the words so quietly she was sure they were meant for only her.

Aisling forced down the urge to reach out to Kael, to pull him close and shake some sense into him. The insistent feeling made her palms itch, so she dug her nails into them to keep her hands still in her lap. It was difficult to imagine him without his magic—those dark, shifting shadows that were as much a part of him as his blood and the beating of his heart. They had shaped him in so many ways: sharpening his edges, hardening his resolve, chiseling and molding him into the male who sat now beside her. For all their blessings and their burdens, Kael’s shadows were an undeniable part of him.

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