Page 70 of The Unseelie War
And Bayodan he would not even witness. It was for the best. He could not take the disapprovingfatherlygaze of the ancient lord.
Cruinn bowed his head and nodded before hurrying away. If he was intelligent, he would gather his goat-legged lover and listen to wisdom. And not return at the side of Abigail and her friends.
Valroy would be unsurprised either way. He resumed his walk, making his way toward the heart of the camp. There, Alexandra was suspended, embedded into the bark of the trunk of the tree. Roots of the tree had wormed their way underneath her skin, the dark lines like so many veins and arteries. Blackish brown lines bulged under the thin, pale membrane as the tree drank from her.
The witch turned Unseelie looked terrible—her purple hair matted with blood, lips chapped from the slow drain of the roots that pierced her arms and legs. But her eyes…her eyes still burned with unbridled fury.
“Good evening, my dear,” Valroy said pleasantly as he approached, folding his wings at his back like a cape. “I trust you're finding your accommodations adequate?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Alexandra spat, though the effort clearly cost her. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth where one of thesmaller roots had apparently decided to sample what her tongue might taste like. “Never mind, you’d like that too much.”
“Such language!” Valroy placed a hand over his heart in mock dismay. “And here I thought you were supposed to be the civilized one in your marriage. I can see why our dear departed Izael was so fond of you—you have a delightfully uncompromising spirit.”
The mention of her husband's name made Alexandra's expression crumble for just a moment before fury reasserted itself. “Youmurderedhim.”
“Iexecutedhim. For treason. For placing sentiment above duty. For forgetting that sometimes, my dear Alexandra, the only choice we have is between destruction andgreaterdestruction.” He moved closer, studying her with the clinical interest of a scholar examining a particularly fascinating specimen. “He wanted to save the Unseelie from the consequences of my war. As if they were somehow separate from the conflict, as if they could remain untouched by the chaos I was born to unleash.”
“They’re yourpeople?—”
“They are tools, nothing more. Just as you are a tool. Just as I am a tool. We are all instruments in a symphony that began long before any of us drew breath, and will continue long after we have all returned to dust.” He reached out to touch her face with surprising gentleness. “The difference is simply that I have learned to find joy in the music. You of all people should understand that.”
Alexandra weakly jerked her head away from his touch. “You're insane.”
“Perhaps. But I am alsofree.”He gestured broadly at the camp around them, at the fires burning in the distance, at the chaos that spread like ripples across the merged realities. “For the first time in my existence, I am allowed to be what I was created to be. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To spend centuries pretending to be something smaller, somethingless, than your true nature?”
“I know what it feels like to love someone.” Alexandra shut her eyes, wincing in pain that had nothing to do with the torture sheendured. “To care about something more than your own self. To choose to be better than what you were made to be.”
For a moment—just a moment—Valroy felt something like a crack of guilt in the armor of his certainty. Because yes, he did know what love felt like. He knew the weight of caring for someone more than himself, knew the agony of watching someone he cherished pull away from him because of what he was.
But it did not matter anymore. Did it?
Because he was not loved in such a way in return. Love did not conquer all. Love was nottotal.There was always a line it could not cross.
Namely?
Him.
“Yes,” he said finally, his voice soft with something that might have been regret. “I know that feeling as well. And it is precisely why this must happen. Because love, Alexandra, is the cruelest joke the universe ever played on creatures such as we.”
He turned away from her, unable to bear the compassion he saw flickering in her eyes despite everything he'd done to her. “Do you know what my beloved Abigail will choose when she arrives? When she sees you hanging here, bleeding for the Unseelie, dying so slowly and so very, very painfully?”
“She'll choose to save me,” Alexandra said with absolute certainty. “She’ll choose…whatever the fuck she’s planning, over you.”
“Yes. She will.” Valroy's smile was infinitely sad. “She will choose duty over love, wisdom over compassion, the needs of the many over…me. And in doing so, she will sacrifice herself.” He glanced back at Alexandra. “Just as you would choose the survival of your entire race over saving the memory of Izael. Just as the spider will choose his chance for revenge over protecting his Weaver. Just as the Weaver will choose sacrificing herself over her love for the spider.”
“You think love will lose.”
“It will. Because it cannot survive when everything else will die in its wake,” Valroy replied, though his voice lacked conviction. “Lovemakes us predictable. It makes us…vulnerable.It forces us to act against our own nature, to choose paths that lead only to suffering. Abigail could stand at my side as I burn down the world. She will not. She loves me—up and to a point.Butneveracross it.”
“Then why do you love her?” The question was quiet, but it cut through his defenses like a blade.
Valroy was silent for a long moment, staring out at the horizon where the aurora lights danced between realities. “Because I cannot help myself,” he admitted finally. “Because she is the one perfect thing in this imperfect universe, and even knowing that my love will destroy us both, I cannot stop myself from wanting her.”
“Then maybe that's not weakness,” Alexandra said gently. “Maybe that's what makes you more than just a weapon. More than what the Morrigan made you. Maybe that’s what makes you real.”
“No.” His voice hardened again, the moment of vulnerability passing like a cloud across the sun. “It is precisely what makes me dangerous. Because a weapon that loves is a weapon that can be turned against its wielder.” He looked at her directly. “And tonight, when my dear wife comes to save you, when she makes her choice between duty and compassion, she will learn exactly how sharp that blade can be. Do you think my designs upon this world end here?” He chuckled. “Hardly. I have words for dear mother. Words that start and end with the tip of a blade. Sadly, I will need the Weaver’s assistance.”
“What?”
