Silence guttered around us like a dying fire. Until Eala leaned close, speaking to me softly and directly. Her breath gusted over my face, tasting of decay. This close, the markings on her skin looked like dark spiderwebs, twisting and shifting in the uneven torchlight.
“Can you not see? I have already created peace.” Behind Eala, Irian shifted his feet. Eala’s cracked-agate eyes were fervent with acurious need that took me aback. As if she was desperate for me to believe her words. Or, perhaps, desperate to believe them herself. “Beneath our mother, our father, and all the high kings of Fódla before them, this realm was in shambles. Thousands suffered while they engaged in petty squabbles and border disputes.Wesuffered—swapped and traded like coins on market day, cursed and manipulated to suit the whims of those who held power. But we have taken back the power, Sister. The control I exert over Fódla has only been to its benefit. I have purged corruption, halted petty wars, ended suffering. I have begun the difficult task of repairing a world that has failed its people—and me—one too many times.”
“You cannot make a fist and call it peace, Eala,” I ground out. “Nor can you deal death and say you have ended suffering.”
“I amcorrectingit,” Eala insisted. “Sacrifice paves the way for growth—surely we have both learned that much. I feel the weight of every death, every lost soul, every undone destiny. But it is all made worthwhile in resurrection—the old giving way to the glorious new.”
I stared at her. In a twisted way, my sister’s words rang true. One only had to look at Eala to see the toll her magic was taking on her. The more she forced her vision upon reality, the more reality resisted. But I knew—this was not growth. It was the opposite—autumn leaves withering to dust, a candle guttering in the wind, a tuneless melody fading to silence.
I curled my hands in my lap, willing my starshine to stay dim. Between my long sleeves and the soft candlelight, Eala had not noticed anything different about me. In contrast, I could not stop staring at the blemishes marring her skin. The more I stared, the more they put me in mind of long, strange feathers with skeletal barbules. My fingers twitched. Eala was but an arm’s length away—all I had to do was reach for her.
Only you can bring her to the light.
“I need you by my side.” Upon her pale head, Eala’s crown stared at me with winking menace. “You are my perfect balance.The shadow to my light. The ending to my beginning. Together we shall finish what I have started.”
An involuntary shudder coiled my spine. “How?”
“For too long, Fódla and Tír na nÓg have been artificially separated. Like us. Torn asunder, like us. Made to hate each other, like us. But they are meant to be one realm. Humans and Folk, one people. The Gates are a travesty, an abomination. We must tear them down to unite all.”
Gods help me, but I almost believed her.
“Tír na nÓg is even worse than Fódla. More violent, more corrupt, more power hungry.” Her long-nailed fingers steepled on the table, tense as bowstrings. “You should want this just as much as I do, Sister. We were both stolen from our homes against our will, held captive in realms we could not cross from; you were forged beneath the iron fist of a cruel queen, while I was cursed and misused, my life threatened every day I drew breath. Don’t you see? Were there no Gates, our misery would never have been possible. Don’t you want to save others like us, ground beneath the heel of fate? Don’t you wish for everyone to be free?”
Grief for an impossible childhood rose within me. I remembered jolting awake in an unfamiliar bed to the sounds of harsh screams. What had small Eala’s first moments in Tír na nÓg been like—alone in an unfamiliar world, scared, powerless? How different would our lives have been, had we not been children abused by the careless intrigues and hungry ambitions of others far more powerful than us?
Behind me, Irian made a sound of warning. My eyes flicked to him, then beyond, snagging on a bold checked cloak and a head of golden hair.
Eala spoke of being cursed and abused. But she was not a little girl anymore.
Hers was the voice that spoke the curses. And the hand that dealt the abuse.
“Free?” I choked out. “Like Rogan is free?”
Eala slammed her fist on the table, rattling my plate of uneaten dessert so it tipped off the edge. Seeping red rhubarb slapped a stain like blood on the tablecloth; the rancid, curdled cream dropped wriggling maggots onto the floor.
“We should never have been made so powerless,” I murmured. “I do not disagree with you. But look around you, Eala! How can you speak of freedom when you are wielding control like a puppeteer with iron strings?”
“There can be no freedom without control!” A note of anguish twisted her words into something breathless. “That is why we must stand together. To prove to both worlds that our purpose unites us—that under our joint authority, we can bring both realms peace. That is why you must give me your willing heart.”
I jerked back, instinctively.“What?”
“A heart is powerful magic—you taught me that. I could have had your heart before, had I wished it.” Irian growled, so low it was barely audible, but it hummed along my bones. “With yourwillingheart we can truly remake the world. Together, in our image. Human and Folk. Dark and light. Magic and nature. Together we will tear down the Gates and return balance to both our worlds.”
Horror was a living thing inside me, carving my ribs and gnawing at my heart. Perhaps my dream-father had wished me to save my sister. But I knew now what I had been uncertain of before—Eala was beyond saving. I inched my hand across the table toward her, willing my starshine to remain dim. Her frayed markings suddenly reminded me of my own sinuous thorn tattoos—only her barbs were longer, sharper, dipped in poison.
“If I did this for you, if I gave you my heart… what would I get in return?”
“Whatever you wish for, Sister. I shall make you queen of Tír na nÓg—to sit upon a throne of thorns or reign from a castle of black feathers. You shall slit the throats of the bardaí—of all who have ever wronged you.” A terrible new light sparked in her eyes. “Or you shall have Fódla, if you wish it. You shall rule from thiskeep and make all humans bend to you, their new Gentry queen. Mother shall bow before the bastard whelp her husband got upon his Folk whore.”
I flinched. I couldn’t help it. I dared a glance across the table, but Eithne might as well have been carved from stone.
“But, Eala.” The words were like glue between my teeth. On the table, between our wineglasses, our little fingers almost touched. “How can I rule either realm when I am dead?”
For the space of a heartbeat, Eala’s eyes flickered, dread and desperation making a death mask of her beautiful features before her composure snapped back into place. “Because my magic will resurrect you, Sister. You have died once before, have you not? You shall live again—and your rebirth will be holy. Webothshall live, and our worlds will be made whole in the doing.”
“Or maybe only one of us should live.” I closed the last inch between us, touching Eala’s littlest finger with my own.
Starshine exploded between us in a corona, crackling over her hand. Veins of darkness deepened along her forearm, obsidian through white marble. Eala jerked from her chair with a scream, breaking the connection as she yanked her hand away from mine. She stared uncomprehendingly at her blackened flesh, then slowly lifted her eyes to me.
