Page 81 of The Shadowbound and the False God

Aisling had seen firsthand the toll they had taken on him, how the scars they’d left carved so deep into his skin tormented him in his darkest hours. His magic—Yalde’s magic—had systematically stripped away pieces of him, one by one, until at times he seemed more shadow than flesh. And for all he’d given, they’d been so easily wielded against him. Those same shadowshe’d revered had possessed him entirely and turned him into Yalde’s monstrous puppet.

Yet, even as she hated his magic for all it had cost him, she couldn't ignore the other side of it. Kael’s magic had made him a force to be reckoned with: a king who protected his people with unmatched ferocity. To his court, the shadows weren’t just a weapon. They were his strength, his shield, and his crown. And although those shadows had once seemed an unstoppable tempest, she’d seen too the moments when they quieted under her touch, revealing something gentler buried beneath the chaos. Those same shadows that had once twisted and burned themselves into her skin had at times caressed her as affectionately as Kael’s own hands.

After everything,despiteeverything, he was willing now to let them go. She should have been relieved—this should have felt like freedom. But it didn’t. All she could think about was what it might do to Kael. The thought of how it might leave him untethered, to be stripped of a part of himself so intrinsic she wasn’t always sure where the shadows ended and he began, left her aching. And though she couldn’t say it out loud—not now, not in front of the others—she was afraid. Afraid of what losing his magic would take from him. Afraid of what might be left behind.

Afraid that she might not be enough to help him mend the pieces that would break in the process.

But then the moment was gone and Kael turned away, his attention already shifting back to the task at hand. Aisling could only watch, her mind reeling with the realization of what he was willing to lose—and the crushing certainty that she couldn’t stop him if she tried.

Raif wouldn’t give up so easily, though. He’d risen to his feet, entire body rigid with barely contained fury. Aisling had seen him this way only once before, when she’d first broached theidea of laying Kael’s body on the pyre. He’d worn the same expression then, too. She wasn’t the only one there who loved Kael. This was Raif’s king, his commander, his closest friend. How many times had the soldier talked Kael out of making foolish, rash decisions in the past? How many times had he put his own life on the line to protect Kael from himself?

“There is never only one option, Kael,” the soldier insisted angrily. “This does not have to be it.”

“If we want to leave this place together, all of us, thisisour only option. Otherwise, the three of you can return to Wyldraíocht while I remain.”

They all stiffened at that; it was a painful truth to hear, but the truth nonetheless. Kael was just the only one of them brave enough to acknowledge it out loud. He slid his hand further to the inside of Aisling’s leg to drum his fingers against her calf. His touch wasn’t enough to ease her anxiety this time.

“I am at peace with this,” he said finally. “I would not ask you to feel the same, but I would ask that you at the very least recognize that this is my decision. My magic is mine to give up, just as each of you decided what of yours was important enough to give for this same cause.”

Kael’s tone was calm, but there was a warning edge to it. He was through entertaining arguments to the contrary; he’d made up his mind.

Rodney cleared his throat then. “Whether or not we want to admit it, we all know this is the best shot we have. We can argue about it, or we can get to work.”

He might have guessed that the group would react the way they had to his plan, though Kael would have predicted the greater resistance would have come from Aisling. That Raif had responded with such anger was surprising. Kael’s Guard Captain had never shied away from challenging him—which was one of the reasons why Kael chose him for the role in the first place—but rarely had it been with such fury. Kael could recall only one other instance in which Raif had dared raise his voice at his king.

It was the last time Kael had nearly been killed by his shadows.

He’d opened his eyes after nights and nights of half-conscious drifting, unsure whether he was alive or dead. Unsure whether the Sangelas ritual had worked, if the Low One had accepted his benedictions and had strengthened him as he’d asked. The pain had been just as blinding that night as it was each time it returned thereafter, no matter what potions or poultices or salves Elasha and the other apothecarists devised.

But Raif cared little for how Kael felt. The moment he managed to open his eyes, the moment the soldier saw even theslightest flicker of awareness on his king’s face, he’d attacked. Not even Werryn, during his most sanctimonious diatribes, had ever before torn into Kael the way Raif did that night. He’d deserved it then likely as much as he did now, but that fact did nothing to lessen the rage he felt at being questioned. His shadows twisted beneath his skin and clawed for release.

Perhaps they could sense what he was about to do.

Kael banished that thought to the coal-black corner of his mind where he’d buried all of the other cruel truths he’d learned too late: the Low One’s lies, Yalde’s manipulations, his own failures, Aisling’s pain. Either willingly or unknowingly, he’d been blind to it all. And now, they were all left to suffer the consequences.

“What could you give?”Rodney had asked Kael when they’d sat together.

He’d scoffed at the question—his best attempt at playing down the nervous energy that made his thoughts run together. The dagger between them hummed audibly, as did the air and the stones and the thin roots overhead that tangled in Kael’s hair. “You mean, what do I have left that Yalde hasn’t already taken from me? Precious little, and I fear nothing I could give to you without losing what’s left of myself.”

The púca had gazed down at the shining blade, tracing one long finger over its hilt, and said, “It still isn’t strong enough. I don’t know what will get it there.”

In the quiet of the chamber, choking on the stench of spent magic, Kael had realized what he could do—the only thing that might imbue the weapon with enough strength to slay the false god. It might indeed have been all that was left of him, yet Aisling’s acceptance and unspoken love made him consider that maybe he could still come back from it regardless.

Kael would have happily let Raif go when he stormed off, had Aisling not urged him to follow with a hand on his back.He melted at that gentle, wordless command and for a moment allowed himself to sink gratefully into her caress. He could feel it—her calm—seeping into his coiled muscles and trickling down his spine like water over stones. It soothed and steadied him, not only quelling the tempest but serving as a reminder of just what he had to protect. No sacrifice was too great to save his light from this crushing darkness before Elowas snuffed her out entirely.

“Stop,” Kael demanded. They were back outside, the cold breeze that had nipped at him and Aisling now close to a raging gale. Raif halted but didn’t turn. He stood at attention with his back to Kael, both fists clenched at his sides. If they’d been back at court, Kael would have thrown him a training sword and they’d have had it out in the arena—both males preferred to exhaust their tempers in the ring before attempting a more diplomatic approach. As it was, they had no blunted weapons, and Kael was at the very least keen enough to know that neither of them were in their right mind to wield anything sharper than words.

“I cannot support this,” Raif said tightly. “I will not.”

Kael stalked forward to close the distance and stopped directly in front of the soldier. Raif stood nearly nose-to-nose with Kael. His dark eyes burned as he met Kael’s icy glare with his own.

“Why not? Would I not still be your king without my magic? Would you not still be loyal to me; would you not still follow me?” His challenge fell harsher than a blow from any weapon, training or otherwise, and when it landed Raif’s glare faltered. Kael wished it hadn’t; that glare had masked far more than he’d expected.

“Are you truly so foolish as to believe I follow you because of your shadows?” Raif spat. He shook his head, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. “Your magic may have earned you your crown, but you are king by the strength of your will and theweight of your choices. That is who I would follow. That is where my loyalty lies: not with the shadows, but with the male who has wielded them.”

“But you would not follow me now.”

That half-smile faded and Raif’s expression was hard once more. “I will not lay my king to rest again.”

---