Page 42 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Fort pursed her lips. “That doesn’t sound like it explains the barrier only letting you in and out once…”
“The story isn’t over yet. The prince grieved the girl like no one had ever grieved before, and wanted to follow her to the grave—but he found he could not, not yet. He could not bear the thought that the same fate might befall another hapless mortal. So he sought to change it. He travelled to the ends of the earth, pleading with the spirits and old ones. Finally, he found a way to tie the timelines between Faerie and the Mortal Lands together—at the cost of his own life.”
“Oh, I like that,” said Caer, at the same time that Luna sighed, “oh, that’s still very sad.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Why would you likethat?”
“Because he gets to be with his love again!”
“Some legends say so,” Beau continued. “Others say not. They say he became the barrier itself—that he hovers between life and death, that the sacrifice he made is to never be with her again at all.”
“Now, thatissad," said Caer. “I like that less.”
“This is maudlin,” said Fort, piping in. “Let us have another tale—”
Diana brought out a set of pipes. Luna sang a sweet song. No one seemed in the mood for much more. Skies darkened, stars bled glitter. Beds were unrolled, a little ale was drunk, and one by one, all the dwarves fell asleep. They seemed to need more than humans or fae.
Caerwyn was still silent. Beau looked at Aislinn, and then jerked his head towards the prince.Talk to him,he mouthed.
He let out a loud yawn. “Well, that’s me done for the night,” he said, making a show of stretching, before he rolled over in his makeshift bed and started to snore.
Caer blinked at him in obvious disbelief. “Is he asleep?”
“Unlikely. He won’t take long, though. It’s been a… long day.”
“That it has.” Caer’s gaze fell to the boughs above, the spray of stars gleaming in his eyes.“It’s pretty, here. I don’t know what I expected. More thorns, perhaps. Something… frightening.”
“There’s plenty of that too, I assure you.”
A quietness spread between them, lifted only by the faint whispering of the wind and the sound of Beau’s fake snoring drifting into something far more natural. Caerwyn’s eyes stared at the campfire, dark and glossy.
“I suppose you have questions,” he said eventually.
“Many,” she admits. “But… I don’t wish to upset you.”
“Ask them,” he said, “although I cannot promise I will answer.”
Aislinn had been writing a silent list since she’d seen him kill the guard, and she forced them into order.
“So… you can raise the dead.”
“And kill them,” Caerwyn said, jaw tightly set. “Don’t forget that part.”
Aislinn hadn’t, but she didn’t think he needed reminding of that. “It came on… spontaneously? Recently?”
“Yes.” He swallowed. “After the death of my mother.”
Aislinn sensed that that was one area where her questions wouldn’t be welcome. She could not pick at that wound.
“And that’s why Owen wants you back?”
Caerwyn shrugged. “Contrary to what many may think, Owen has never coveted the throne, as far as I know. He didn’t want to stop me taking it. I imagine he’s rather more worried about the panic that will spread if it’s discovered that the Crown Prince can raise the dead.”
“We have a word for it, you know,” Aislinn said. “Necromancy. It’s rare—forbidden—magic. There’s a couple of Unseelie that have an affinity for it. I’d wager you’ve some fae ancestry some way back.”
Caer went quiet for a moment, eyes glistening. “Am I—am I stillhuman?”
Aislinn took a deep breath, squeezing her fingers. She wanted to reach out and touch him and knew that that was a terrible, terrible idea. “You don’t have truesight. That’s something all fae are born with—even the halves. That suggests that, yes, you’re human.”
“Not that there’s anything bad about being fae—”
