* **
The first beams of sunrise peaked over the horizon as I opened the door to the entrance of the inn, and—
A young fae ran right into me.
“Oh, sorry sir!” he cried out, stepping backward out of my way. It was the same youth we’d passed the night before on our way in—Kortan. He waved at a much older fae sitting at a table. “I was trying to watch my Gran to make sure she was comfortable enough, but I should have looked where I was going…”
His voice trailed off as he took in my appearance, probably intimidated by my sword and my… not-smiling expression.
I glanced at the table he’d pointed at. “What is wrong with your grandmother?”
A wave of anxiety filled his face. “Nothing, sir. She’s just old and gets sore a lot.” Was he worried about me or her? He reminded me of me, before I’d spent years pursuing power and living a life that didn’t belong to me. He reminded me of my time on a farm—another life completely, but one that still lived in my soul, even if it was buried under centuries of pain and power…
Unlike the queen, who’d never known the love of another fae.
Kortan’s worry brought me back to the moment, and I asked the obvious question. “Have you tried using your magic to lessen her pain?”
“Oh, I’m not great at healing magic, sir.” He dropped his gaze to the ground at the shame in his lack of knowledge. His obvious discomfort at not knowingenough to help someone he loved hit me like a warhammer—
And something in me broke.
The last few days had chipped away at the emotional suppression I’d used for centuries—the queen’s surprising trust and kind gestures constantly slashed at the hardness I used like a shield.
But this boy. His grandmother. Their relationship. The way it reminded me of the one person I’d loved. It was like a series of chinks weakening a glass until finally, without warning, the cup splits apart. In that moment, when this youth openly admitted his own weakness, a rip tore my soul open and wrenched out the compassionate person I’d once been.
I drew a ragged breath as a new Andar—an old Andar who cared about people more than power—shook off centuries of oppression. My own oppression of myself had been even more cruel than what Brintontoven had done to me. He’d imprisoned a power-hungry monster. I’d smothered a good person with a cruel one.
But not anymore. Not today. I set a hand on Kortan’s shoulder. “My name is Andar, and I am very good with healing magic. Would you like to introduce me to your grandmother?”
His eyes widened, and he practically skipped to the table with the old woman. “Gran!” He tried to speak softly, but an excitement made his whisper carry across half the dining room. “This is Andar. He says he’s good at healing and can help you!”
His grandmother shifted her gaze to mine and, with the self-restraint of experience and age, her eyes widened the tiniest bit. “Andar,” she said in a near-whisper, “are you perhaps from Veran?”
My stomach sank. I should have thought of this—anyone old enough to know me would not want my help with anything.
I met her gaze anyway. “I was. I have not been welcome there in some time.”
She stared at me, silently meeting my eyes for seconds that felt like hours, and then the wrinkles around her eyes deepened. “And do you want to help me today?”
I nodded. “I do.”
Kortan tipped his head. “Have you two already met? Am I missing something?”
His grandmother smiled and faced him. “We have not met before, but I knew of Andar many years ago. There are not many fae stronger or more capable of manipulating magic than he is.”
Kortan looked at me like I was some kind of hero. “And to think I just ran into you!”
Instead of correcting his over-inflated opinion of me, I simply lifted a hand toward his grandmother. “May I?”
She smiled bigger. “You ask permission?”
I bowed my head. “Believe it or not, I regret most of the actions that made me famous. I… cannot promise to be perfect in a moment, but I do not want to use my magic on others without permission.”
I settled my hand on her head and let magic scan her body. The frailties of old age vibrated against my power. I could heal many things, I could delay many things, but I could not stop the natural progression of a body aging out of this life. I blinked back the tears that wanted to escape as I recalled my own Gran’s body slowly shutting down many, many years ago. I hadn’t been on the island when her body finally gave up its grasp on her soul, and when I’d received word of her passing, I’d buried the sorrow of not being there into the same mass grave I’d built for a quickly growing collection of other regrets.
“It’s not unexpected, Andar.” Gran’s voice interrupted my thoughts. Not my gran. Kortan’s gran.
I’d pushed back the tears, but I could not keep the gravel out of my voice. “I’m sorry.”
