A memory of the giant ancient tree whispered around me like soft leaves—its rough bark beneath my fingertips, the chime of its unearthly music as it sang to me through time and space.
“And then?”
“All you must do is swear yourself to my Sept—to the Sept of Feathers. There are oaths of allegiance. Vows of prostration. But—” A muscle feathered along his jaw. “But the simplest way for us to be bound is a handfasting.”
“Irian.” I glided my fingers along his jaw, a tendril of delight vining through my dread. “Are you asking me to be your wife?”
“No, colleen. I am asking you to be my widow.”
My throat ached. “I can’t do it.”
“You can. You must.” He brushed his lips across my mouth. The kiss tasted like unsung songs. Unspoken regrets. Unshed tears. “I need you to be ruthless, colleen. The girl I met all those months ago—the one who believed that pain was only useful if she was the one inflicting it, who believed her love was nothing but destruction—I needhertomorrow night. She must do for me what no one else can.”
I choked on a thousand words I wanted to say to him. Stumbled over a thousand lifetimes I wanted to spend with him.
“We’ve only had a month,” I pleaded, as if he could change things. “It wasn’t enough time.”
“It was more than I ever hoped for.” His hand rested across my collarbone, his thumb fitting in the hollow where my pulse leapt. “Youare more than I ever hoped for. You, I have loved. You, I have lived for. And you, I will die for.”
A tear slid down my cheek. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”
“Then do not.” He bent, kissed the tear from my cheek. Kissed the corner of my eye, where more tears trembled. Kissed my mouth, lingering on my lips. “Do not even say good night. I will still be here tomorrow.”
His eyes blurred dark. With desire. With memories of lost things. And premonitions of things found, only to be lost again. He deepened the kiss, and I let him, tangling my arms around his neck. He shifted on top of me, bracing his weight on his forearms.
We moved against each other slowly in the dark. But time wasa thief, stealing the night from us. Dawn touched the horizon with blue as I curled against Irian, spent, satisfied, but roiling with fury and sorrow and an infinite sense of wrongness.
Why did time keep turning, when the man I was falling for was about to die? Why did I have to be the one to save a realm—tworealms? Why not let magic run wild and consume it all?
My heart was breaking. And part of me wanted to break the world along with it.
Chapter Forty-Six
Ngetal—Reed
Late Autumn
Ipushed open the doors of Dún Darragh with a crash.
That morning, I’d tried to keep myself occupied in Tír na nÓg. But no matter where I turned, all I saw was him. All I could think about washim. I’d walked aimlessly through the forest, only faintly surprised when my steps led me to the Willow Gate.
The barrier was weak as torn silk. The full moon would not rise for hours, yet I crossed easily into the human realms, dim and drab and commonplace after Tír na nÓg’s splendor. The chilly morning was gray like dried sage as I hiked back to the fortress.
Today felt like an ending. An end to a year. An end to the hopes Rogan and I had carried with us here from Rath na Mara.
I needed to say goodbye. To my garden, going fallow in autumn’s chill. To Rogan, who, like me, would not leave the Feis of the Ember Moon the same person he’d come. And, of course, to—
“Corra!” I whirled on my heel, impatiently dredging the fort’s gloom for whichever carving the fickle sprite would deign to inhabit this time. “Corra, wake up!”
For the space of a breath, the broad flagstones trembled beneath my feet and the great hall split in half, cracking open like an enormous egg. My breath was gold dust, and the air was sapphire. Laughter chimed, bright as a bell. A breeze curled sinuously between the broad ribs of enormous trees. I tasted sweetness on my tongue, and the tang of scorched metal.
And then it was just me and creeping shadows and a fox uncurling from a nap, sharp-faced with reproach. “Even airy fairy beasties need rest, chiardhubh.”
“I take it you didn’t miss me?”
“Missing and missing,” said Corra, mournful. And then impertinent. “While she was kissing and kissing.”
“How do you even know—” I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. “Where’s Porridge Face?”
