I nod with a smile on my lips. It’s not pain or discomfort, all these feelings, all these voices. It’s just a reminder of how much I miss my home.
Daed leads me to a clearing, and the stream he promised is just as he described: crystal clear water so translucent that the stones gleam at the bottom. I crouch by the bank, scooping my hand through the cool water, a delightful tingle racing across my skin. I bring my hand to my mouth, drinking deeply, andthe purity of the water carries with it the echoes of the forest's memories.
Daed looms over me, his presence steady and watchful. “I remember that dress,” he remarks. “The last time I saw it, it was covered in blood.”
I look up, wiping the water from my lips. “And the last time I wore it, you were separating a man from his head.”
“I did what I had to,” Daed replies, his voice devoid of regret.
“So did I."
He drops into a crouch beside me. “Do you know what I thought when I saw you on the balcony?”
I turn my gaze back to the running water, reluctant to hear what he might say next.
“I thanked the Pale Eye for sending someone strong enough to survive Baev’kalath… someone brave enough to survive me.” Suddenly, his hand cups my face, his thumb brushing away a lingering drop of water from my bottom lip. “Someone so beautiful that I have been unable to think of anything else for weeks.”
“Daed,” I murmur, attempting to turn away, to escape the weight of his words, but he doesn’t let me. He gently turns my face back to his, back to the steel of his gaze.
“It shouldn’t have taken me this long to tell you.”
“Enough, Daed,” I interject, wrapping my hand around his wrist and slowly pulling him away. I am done with the sweet words that come and go like the wind. I need honesty, I need stability. I am teetering on the edge of a cliff and if he doesn’t grab me soon, I will fall. “Iheardyou in the room, Daed. I heard you tell them to send me away.”
A flicker of realization washes over his face, and his jaw tightens. “Did you ever think I was trying to save you?”
“From what?” I challenge. “From Modok? From Frane?”
“Fromme, Amara,” Daed admits, his expression wrought with emotion as if these words have been waiting to break free since the moment he first saw me on that balcony. “I am not a good man, and an even worse husband. I was trying to do the one decent thing I could for you—to set you free before I hurt you.”
“Did you do the same for her?” I ask, my voice trembling with the weight of the question that has haunted me, pressing against my chest until I struggle for breath.
Daed furrows his brow, confusion shadowing his features. “Who?”
I finally gather the courage to voice the question that has lingered for too long. “The Fae woman whose portrait hangs in your tower. Was she your wife before me?”
Daed’s chin drops, and he rises to stand, but I need to know. I rise with him, grasping his shoulders before he can turn away. There is nowhere to run here—not in this small piece of paradise.
“Was she your wife?” I press again, my heart racing. A lump hardens in my throat. “Did she carry your child?”
His eyes snap back to mine, his chest heaving as he struggles to find his breath. “No, she was not my wife. No, she was not carrying my child. She was my mother, Amara. Her name was Veloria.”
I grapple with the weight of his words, initially wanting to dismiss them as more lies meant to confuse me. But Daed continues, answering the unvoiced questions swirling in my mind.
“Lanneth is not my real mother,” he says, his tone hardening. “She is the woman my father married after my mother’s death.” A shadow passes over his features. “She was an Archdruidess once, but she had higher aspirations. Still, she is the only mother I’ve ever known.”
The relief I thought I would feel at discovering the Fae woman is not his wife is overshadowed by the deep sadness etched into Daed’s face, scars hidden beneath his skin. He grits his teeth, struggling to contain the sorrow threatening to spill over.
“It is my fault my mother died. I killed her.”
I shake my head, refusing to accept such a notion. I have seen his cruelty, witnessed his capacity for violence, but I cannot believe this man is capable of such an atrocity—especially now, as I begin to glimpse the light within him.
“I don’t believe you,” I state firmly.
“What you choose to believe doesn’t change the truth. She died giving birth to me.”
“Oh Daed, that isn’t your fault. You were just a baby. Childbirth is dangerous; it’s not something you could control.”
“Because I am here, she is not. What other way is there to explain what I did?” His voice trembles, and it’s almost too much for me to bear.
