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The blood in her face drained.
His silver hair, tainted with blood, served as a reminder of Finnian’s earlier attack. He glared at her with an unmatched darkness, urging her to provoke him. As if he needed an excuse to carve his knife into someone.
Fear wrapped around her and squeezed. In reaction, her imagination conjured up countless sickening ways he could inflict pain upon her.
Mira disappeared from where she stood. She reappeared in a wispy puff, clutching the back of Finnian’s head, his stomach pressed to the floor, with the heel of her shoe lodged at the base of his spine.
Her infamous whip melted into a puddle of water, splashing and mixing in the pool of Finnian’s blood. “You decided to dip your bloody fingers into a pool with the deadliest shark among us. I am afraid you now have a target marked on your back.” She crouched down closer to Finnian’s head. “Never return to my kingdom, Finnian. If you do, I will not hesitate to summon Lord Cassian myself.” Her voice was a lethal warning.
And with that, the High Goddess of the Sea whipped around, materializing out of the hall.
Finnian crawled up onto his arms, and let out a long, gut-wrenching bellow. Spit flew from his mouth. The veins in his neck strained as the sound shook the palace walls.
Naia brought him to the bench in the garden and cleaned the trail of blood dried along his jaw. Then she inspected his right ear thoroughly, fighting him as he batted her away, assuring her he was fine.
To his own denial, Naia could not quarrel with him. The wound on his jaw had not healed, and blood continued to ooze from within his ear canal.
“It will heal,” he murmured.
It wouldn’t. She knew it. He knew it. For it should have already. But they didn’t speak of it.
She provided him with a fresh set of robes and a few of her favorite treats from the kitchen. There was no time for sentimental goodbyes. If Naia had it her way, they would’ve visited the watering hole one last time, but Raksa was like a hawk, watching them from the entrance of the palace.
Finnian was to leave at once—and never return.
Naia’s tears spilled with unflagging persistence. She smiled through them. “Find a place where you feel comfortable, yes? No shacks in the woods or graveyards. Somewhere with a bed and a fireplace. You need to keep warm. And don’t go months without eating. I hear the Mortal Land is stocked full of delightful foods. You should try a cow-steak. I hear it is divine over an open flame.”
Finnian patiently listened while she rambled on without interrupting her. Mindfully quiet, staring at her, as if he was taking the time to memorize her face. It had her heart submerging into what felt like razor blades.
This won’t be the last time. This won’t be. It cannot be.
“I think they simply refer to it as a steak.” His palm came up to cup her cheek, and he gave her a crooked smile. “Come find me when you are free of this place. Only after you have explored a little. You deserve to experience the freedom you crave so.”
The lump in her throat swelled, and she wiped the moisture from her eyes, shaking her head. “You know I cannot leave.”
“Who says you cannot?” Finnian gently brought his forehead to hers and held it there. It spoke a thousand words they never dared to say to one another.
I love you, Finny.
He turned away and his figure disintegrated into a thousand scarlet particles shimmering in the sunlight.
Naia hung her head, concealing the traces of tears sneaking down her cheeks.
Grief, an ever-present companion, gently tore through her chest, taking residence within the trenches of her heart.
21
SIBLING REUNION
The Present
Theon and Naia dropped into a large, dimly lit room.
“What do you think?” Theon asked. “Does this look like Finnian’s home?”
Beneath her feet was a stone floor. Portraits hung on the brick walls of gloomy floral arrangements and decomposing animals with mushrooms and nature sprouting from their bellies. Surrounding them above were several stories, each level high rise, built like a compound. An entire floor dedicated to bookshelves, from what little she could see in the distance. Grimoires and novels Finnian had collected over the centuries.
“Finnian!” she shouted out. “Come face me!”
