Page 62 of The Unseelie War
In some weird, fucked up way.
You really would.
“I know what it’s going to cost us.”
Serrik's expression grew very still, his golden eyes searching her face. “Tell me.”
“Not here.” She struggled to her feet, clutching Book like a lifeline. Her legs were shaky, and she had to lean against one of the twisted trees for support. “We need to get back to the others. They need to know what they're choosing. They need to understand what we're asking them to do. And we need to find Alex.”
“Ava." Serrik caught her arm gently as she swayed. “What did you see? What did the Morrigan show you?”
She looked at him—really looked at him—seeing him with the new knowledge burning in her mind. In a few hours, she might be saying goodbye to him forever. In a few hours, she might bewatching him fade away into nothing more than memory and regret.
“I asked the bitch to tell me what was going on, and well, she showed me. I saw the truth.” She sniffled. “All of it. What we’ll become when we separate the worlds. What you’ll have to do to save the worlds from Valroy.”
“And?”
“And it's worse than any of us imagined.” She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, trying to pull herself together. “But I also saw what happens if we don’t. If we fail.”
“Which is?”
“Everything dies. Everyone. Human, fae, dream, nightmare—all of it gets consumed when the realities finally tear each other apart. And not just here, either. Everywhere. Every realm. We cause a cascade that just…consumes everything. Valroy gets what he wanted and more.” She looked back toward the direction of the opera house, where their friends were waiting for answers she desperately didn't want to give them. “When the Morrigan created the fae, she needed to create something that would hold their bloodthirsty natures in check. Keep them from destroying each other or the humans. At first, she tried to split the thrones. Unseelie and Seelie. But they were never peaceful. So she tried other methods. You were another attempt at that.”
“A failed one.”
Ava shrugged. Yeah. He was. But she didn’t need to confirm that for him. “Then she tried Valroy.”
“And then Abigail was a foil for that.”
“And then Alex.”
“And…now you.”
Ava gestured aimlessly at the chaos in front of her. “And now I have to…we have to…all of us have to suffer, because the other option is—is so muchworse.”When Serrik went to embrace her, she stepped away. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. It was too overwhelming right now. She shook her head. “I’m sorry…”
“I understand. Come. Let us speak with the others.”
The walk back to the opera house passed in silence. Her mind reeled with the knowledge the Morrigan had forced upon her, with the terrible clarity of understanding exactly what lay ahead. The weight of the book in her hands seemed to grow heavier with each step, as if the knowledge contained within was physically pulling her down. Inside its pages lay the complete instructions for the ritual that would save three worlds and damn three women.
She found herself looking at everything differently now. The children playing in the merged reality, their parents going about their daily routines as if the world hadn't fundamentally changed—as if all of it was just…well? A dream.
The smoke rising from the horizon from where Valroy’s war upon the humans who were awake and knowledgeable to their situation, fighting for survival, who were somehow worse off.
Ignorance truly was bliss.
All of it was borrowed time that would end in cosmic catastrophe if she didn't act.
But acting meant sacrificing three lives to save billions. Acting meant watching Abigail fade away into the Web until nothing remained but an echo of who she had been. Acting meant condemning Alex to become part of the foundation of Tir n’Aill, her consciousness slowly dissolving into the eternal forest. And acting meant giving up her own humanity, piece by piece, year by year, until she became something cold and distant and utterly alone.
By the time they reached the building, she had made her decision.
She would tell them everything.
Every terrible detail, every horrific consequence, every price that would be paid.
And then she would let them choose their own fate, even if it meant watching everything burn.
Because if there was one thing the Morrigan's forced enlightenment had taught her, it was that knowledge—terrible, unwanted knowledge—was still better than blind ignorance.
