Malak yanked her into the corridor, but her thoughts were far from the cold pull of his hands. She lingered in that hidden space—where their hearts collided, tethered by a bond neither of them had chosen.
The softest mercy, or perhaps the cruelest grace.
It blurred until Elara couldn’t tell if the warmth unfurling inside her chest was healing something broken or feeding the fracture.
She wasn’t sure which scared her more.
The Sidhe were alreadyon their feet when Elara and Malak reached the tunnel, their eyes locked on her as she made her way down the damp, narrow corridor. Malak’s hand pressed against her back, urging her forward with the occasional shove, but she barely noticed, her focus elsewhere—on the others.
As she passed each cell, her voice was a low whisper, barely audible over the steady drip of water from the ceiling. "Bí réidh," she said, her words slipping through the iron bars.
"Bí réidh.”
Be ready.
Because she was going to get them out. And now, she knew how.
Her cell loomed ahead, cold iron waiting, but this time, Malak didn’t need to force her inside. She walked in without resistance, the familiar clang of the bars shutting echoing behind her. Malak’s footsteps faded into the distance as she scanned the darkness, searching for him.
Her gaze settled on Reynnar’s familiar form, standing tall behind the bars. His broad shoulders were tense, his muscled arms crossed over his chest. And yet, despite his intimidating presence, there was something in the way his gaze softened when it landed on her. She quickly looked him over, searching for any new bruises, any fresh wounds—but there were none.
“Slán sábháilte fós, an ea?34”
His voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge to it.
Elara’s lips twitched, but she didn’t smile. “Is amhlaidh duit.35”
Reynnar froze for a heartbeat, then slowly, a grin spread across his face, fangs gleaming. That flash of pride, of approval, made her stomach flip.
The weeks in the Pit had stretched endlessly, but one small reprieve had kept Elara grounded—listening to Reynnar speakTírrísh. The way the words rolled off his tongue, the patient rhythm of his teaching, gave her something solid to hold onto. She had practiced whenever she could, fumbling through phrases, and piecing the language together bit by bit. Then she found the Hunter’s journal, its scrawled phrases and unfamiliar script pulling her into long nights of tracing, memorizing, anddrilling the language into her mind. Her speech was still broken, rough around the edges, but she pushed herself relentlessly, because this wasn’t just about communication anymore. It was a connection—a way to show Reynnar that she was fighting for the Sidhe, that she saw them. Every fractured sentence was a declaration, a promise: she wasn’t like the ones who had taken everything from them.
And when Reynnar smiled at her like that it was worth every lost hour of sleep.
“Not bad. Maybe by the time we get out of here, you’ll be fluent. Or at least enough to insult me properly.”
Elara shook her head, only catching half of what he said, but she was almost certain he was teasing her. She stepped closer to the bars that separated them, leaning forward as her fingers curled around the cold iron.
“I need to ask you about the Aelfhenge.”
Reynnar’s grin faltered, the playfulness in his eyes dimming. He moved closer, his broad form almost shadowing her through the bars.
“The gate,” he said, his voice low.
“What can you tell me about it?”
He leaned in, close enough that the bars between them barely seemed to exist. He dipped his head down, his breath warm as it brushed against her ear.
“There are three sets of stones,”he began, the cadence of his voice turning rigid, like he was reciting from some long-buried memory.“One for each of the goddesses—Áine, Rhiannon, Epona. Each is tied to the forces they command: Time, Death, and Life. Their means of traveling through the realms after the Great Divide.”
Elara’s heart raced, her mind scrambling to keep up.
Reynnar seemed to notice her struggle, his words tapering off as he studied her face. He waited, that familiar flicker ofpatience she’d come to know well, until she nodded for him to continue.
"Their stones were positioned based on their domains, calculated to align with the lay lines of the earth, the places where reality thinned, where the boundaries of our world and theirs touched."His voice dropped lower.“Their stones aren’t random. They form a perfect geometric alignment, spread across this earth, and mine. The positions correspond to each other, like coordinates in a vast grid. A perfect trinity. Triangulated—always equidistant. One set here, one in Tír na nÓg, the last... somewhere else. Always three points, always in balance. They exist in every world, layered on top of each other like threads in a weave.”
“Time. Death. Life,”Elara repeated under her breath.
He nodded."Each stone is a marker in both space and time—fixed, yet bound to the ebb and flow of the goddesses' powers. You see, they didn't just travel through the realms. They are the realms. Time, death, life... they governed those forces, held them in balance. The stones are mere conduits, arranged according to their dominions. Rhiannon'ssit at the points closest to where the sun dies each night. Epona's stones blossom where the earth’s veins run deepest, where the land gives life to all things. And Aine... Anie’s are aligned with the stars, tracing time itself like a thread across the sky.”
