My arms curve protectively around the infant as I shield him from the waves of power, cursing the Fates for allowing him to be here in the first place. Airlie's hand reaches out to cover my arm reflexively as she steps into the protection of Roan’s body, her gaze glued obsessively to Tyton and the witch.
Frantic footsteps sound behind us, and Tauron arrives, his voice sharp as he bellows, “What in the Fates is happening?”
The soldiers lining the wall come running to see for themselves, but even with the mounting fear within them at the formidable display of power, they stand ready to fight. As we all stare, the glowing chasm before us grows brighter and brighter, searing our eyes until we have no choice but to look away from the heat of it. The ground shakes beneath us, the power building to a crescendo that might tear us all apart.
Then, as quickly as the rite began, the connection snaps into nothingness, leaving behind only the witch and Tyton. They’re both panting as though they've fought ten rounds in the sparring ring with no break, alive and whole while their skin still glows with the last vestiges of power.
Tyton stares at the witch, dazed but unharmed, and when Tauron makes a move toward him, Airlie’s hand snaps out to stop him, her nails digging into his arm when he tries to shake her off.
“They have to finish the rite. If you interrupt now, the power exchange will have been for nothing. The instructions areveryclear, Cousin, and Tyton agreed to them.”
Tauron turns to her, a snarl on his lips savage enough that Roan steps between them, but it doesn’t stop the onslaught of his words. “You all sent him to that cursed forest with her, and whatever madness has haunted him has now taken root in his mind. This is all her! The witch is controlling him, and you've all just sat back and let it happen for the sake of a fate!”
He doesn't say my fate or even the kingdom's fate, respectful even in his ire, but only as far as that. His temper burns as hot as the Seelie midsummer sun, and with the smallest push we could send him into a manic rage the likes of which Yregar has never seen before.
Airlie has endured centuries of her cousins’ outbursts, along with those of all the many male-folk she surrounds herself with, men she trusts more than any others in this kingdom, and she simply stares at him before turning back to the rites at hand.
Her tone is dismissive. “Either you trust Tyton to be strong enough to know his own mind or we all wither and die, Tauron. Perhaps that fate of yours, so terrible it turned your heart, has truly taken all hope from you, butmyhope is not gone. There’s nothing bad about choosing to give back to the earth once more, and we all agreed performing the rite was worth the risk.”
He snarls back savagely, “I agreed tonothing,and you have no right to speak of my fate when yours is a happy life ahead! A husband and a son, a future laid out before you, when ash and blood and heartache are all I’ll ever know.”
It's the closest he’s come to actually telling us what future the Seer once revealed to him, but the moment the words leave his lips, he turns and stalks away from us, keeping a perimeter around the witch and Tyton but staying close to his brother all the same.
Airlie glances at her son, but he's still sleeping peacefully in my arms, undisturbed by the magic and the cacophony that surrounds us all. It's a handy ability to have, particularly being born amongst this family of ours with barely a peaceful day within our grasps.
Roan wraps an arm around her waist, and she nestles against him, muttering furiously under her breath, “Stubborn, idiot men! I'm going to have to drag the lot of you into the future we all deserve to have, kicking and screaming against your own best interests. How am I going to raise a son with such a heavy burden on my shoulders?”
I turn my attention back to the witch as she murmurs to Tyton low and patient explanations of what is still to come for them both, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t find any obvious danger within her actions…none except for the looming sense of foreboding hanging over us all, a carefully laid trap waiting to consume us whole.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-NINE
Rooke
The autumn rite is nothing like those I took part in for the Ravenswyrd Forest or even in the Seelie Court. There are no celebrations nor involvement of anyone at Yregar but Tyton and myself as we contend with the voracious hunger of the land.
The power it takes from us is more than I've ever experienced before, and the moment the connection finally ends, my vision is spotty. I choke down the bile that creeps up my throat as waves of nausea overtake me, carefully taking control of my body and not looking up to meet Tyton’s eyes until I'm sure I'm not going to vomit. He looks just as stunned as I feel, his face green and his mouth turned down as he swallows a few times, but his eyes are clearer than they have been in many days.
“Is it supposed to feel like this?” he murmurs, and I sigh as I shake my head.
“It’s been too long since the last rite here at Yregar. Each rite will probably feel like this for decades to come until the balance is restored and the stores within the earth are replenished.”
He frowns, rubbing a hand over his chest as he contemplates the emptiness within him. The deep recesses of his powers are now spent, and there’s a long road of restoration ahead for him as well. It’s as simple as resting and eating well, the same as recovering from any injury or exhaustion, but the ache within is different. A mournful loss at the depletion of power.
As I pull myself to my feet and look around at all the high fae standing and staring at me, poised and ready to strike, my situation becomes startlingly clear. My own power hasn't been emptied quite as much as Tyton’s has, but I’m more vulnerable now than ever before. Even the close proximity to the leather-bound iron plate of armor strapped over Tyton’s chest is far more unpleasant than it usually is, pinpricks of pain rippling over my exposed skin. I have to fight not to cringe away from it, not to expose my weakness for all to see, and I'm careful to look nothing but composed as Princess Airlie steps toward us.
Her voice is low but firm as she says, “It’s complete? There's nothing left to do now but wait?”
A statement posed as a question, her eyebrows inching up as a hopeful air emanates around her. I nod with a sage smile, careful not to look at the scowling faces of the princes behind her. Tauron in particular looks as though he's envisioning a blood-soaked death designed just for me.
I’m too drained to put up much of a fight, and it’s the most precarious position I’ve been in since I stepped foot back in the Southern Lands.
“The earth is preparing to sleep over the winter to repair itself and bring forth a fruitful spring. Prince Tyton did well. It's a difficult task, and not one to take lightly.”
Airlie’s eyes flick toward her cousin, but he's still scowling at the ground as he rubs a hand over his chest. Her eyes are calculating as they shift back to me, noting my own lack of reaction. I hold my blank expression and motionless body carefully.
I never played cards amongst the Sol Army the way that other soldiers did to pass the time, but I watched my friend Hanede hundreds of times, and I know he’d call my own act a perfect deception. I can hear the pride in his voice now, and my chest aches with such a sharp clawing sensation that my breath catches. Grief and longing choke me as I yearn to hear that voice once more, far off in the Seelie Court and out of my reach now, the wheels of my fate having finally begun turning.
Reed steps toward me, and I bow my head to the princess once more, then walk back to the healer’s quarters slowly so none of them can see the wobble in my legs. Though I’m careful with every step about the placement of my feet against the cobblestones, my legs are like jelly, even the awful pinching of my toes forgotten from the numbness that’s flooded me.
