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Her aunt shielded her eyes from the light in the garden.
“We’ve had word that the fae are heading into battle,” she explained. “This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. It’s time to prepare.”
Her voice was soulless. Willow narrowed her eyes and tried to take a closer look at her aunty, but the woman turned away.
“What happened to you, I meant,” Willow said. “You look tired. Why don’t you come into the garden and spend time in the sun? Five minutes will make you feel better.”
“I can’t.” Rory retreated further into the shadows.
“Okay,” she said, shoulders slumping. “I haven’t spent my allocated time here yet. I have at least another hour.”
“You can return tonight,” Rory replied. “But for now, Nero needs you in the war room.”
ChapterForty
Leaf woke to a pitch-black room, his heart pounding and his senses racing. He lay there for a minute, taking stock of everything around him. No sound—just Nova’s steady breathing in the bed beside him. The wind whistled gently through the gaps in the window. He searched the darkest corners but found no threat.
Samhain had arrived today but without the usual fanfare. The women had briefly spoken about their pumpkin tradition but ultimately opted for some much-needed rest.
It had been three days since Clarke had the psychic vision about the battle. Despite braving their house and pounding on the doors, he’d not heard a peep from the Sluagh. No one was home. The scouts Leaf had sent to locate Maebh’s army had returned empty-handed. It didn’t make sense. She should be here… or near Cornucopia.
The moon was still low, so he’d not slept long.
He placed his palm over his sternum, felt his beating heart, and tried to recall if he’d had a nightmare but came up empty. He glanced at his sleeping mate, reached for her, but snatched his hand back with a frown. She’d had a few long days training with the other women, cramming as much as possible in this short time they had to prepare. He wished he had been the one to teach her. But she insisted he go where he was needed more.
Duty once again pulled him from what he desired most—time with Nova.
Leaf scrubbed his face and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His gaze landed on the unopened letter on his bedside table, the Prime’s wax seal unbroken.
He promised Nova he’d read it, but time kept passing. He feared his avoidance had something to do with intuition, something Crimson knew. But if he kept avoiding the truth, he would be back where he started—ignoring fate and making mistakes. So he snatched the letter and cracked the wax seal.
In the event of my death
Jackson, if you’re reading this, the fate you predicted has come true. You finally found the woman who makes you whole.
I wish I could be happy about it, but I am miserable. You left me. You left us. Now that you’re gone, who will keep us from tearing each other apart? Who will be the voice of reason?
If sighs could be translated into words, many would be on this page. I sigh because it is wrong to be angry at you. This is what we both agreed to.
I have nothing left while you were promised everything, but only my selfishness caused my fate. You listened to the Well. Maebh bargained. I ignored.
We never gave what it asked—unwavering trust. You did.
Over the centuries, our friendship kept me from sinking. Now that you’re gone, I will do as you did and trust. I will follow in the footsteps of someone I admired but have lost.
Your final words before entering the lake were this: My death will come after your heart returns, but so will my prayers be answered.
I spent centuries alone after that. I thought you were talking about yourself, but yesterday, you emerged from the lake. Your arrogance had multiplied. I laugh now, thinking about it. But then, your first words were that you were a Guardian.
You had no idea of your past. Too shocked to do anything but follow protocol, I asked what your new name would be. What would symbolize leaving your old life behind and embracing servitude to the Well? You looked up at the rustling trees for such a long time that I thought you might have lost more than your memories.
But then you answered, “Leaf. For what else has perfected the art of rebirth?”
You were not dead as I feared, but starting anew. I realized your last words spoken as Jackson Crimson were a reflection, and the voice had been mine.
If you’re reading this, then I am right. For once. Ha!
If you’re reading this, then finally, after thousands of years, you’re thinking about your own heart first. You found your mate. You never gave up on your Estrella or the artifact she will lead you to.
