“Yes, she can use my magic. And I’m… conflicted.”
Carrick nodded, but I could see the turmoil in his eyes as he tried to decide whether to dig into my well-being or get more information about a potential threat.
“She has better control than I do,” I said in an attempt to assuage his obvious concern.
“That is not exactly reassuring for me,” he admitted as his fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm against his bicep. “Why are you so conflicted?” he added, my well-being evidently taking precedence over his safety concerns.
I slumped forward to brace my elbows on my knees and hung my head. I had not realized how much I needed him to make that choice until he made it.
“She is immune to my power. I can never… hurt her with it. And she can stop it from hurting other people.”
The hint of concern lingering in his eyes softened as he perceived my meaning, and then the rest of the tension in his arms eased. He forgot about the threat for a moment and focused more fully on what I was telling him.
“She could be a safe place for you.”
His observation felt like a swift kick right in the gut, but I forced myself to nod.
“Do you remember long ago when you taught me to meditate when my magic threatened to overwhelm me? You said to envision a place where I felt calm,” I began.
Carrick seemed unsure of the sudden change in topic, but he gave a nod. “I remember.”
“Well, I began envisioning a woodland cabin. I have spent so long building it in my mind that it is as real to me now as any place I have ever been. I know the shape of every tree around it. I know where the river behind it flows deepest, and where the fish hide. I know it smells like lavender and wild grapes in early autumn and like rosemary and elderberry later in the season. I know there is a creaky plank in the entryway, and the way the sun hits the bedroom window every morning. It is so real it feels like I could have built it with my own hands. And not once in all this time have I ever questioned why I chose such a… human home to build this imaginary sanctuary, rather than in a yurt. Until now,” I amended.
Carrick stayed silent, but I could feel his attention was fixed upon me.
“There has always been a female weeding in the herb garden. She is always faceless and nameless. She cooks over the stone hearth in the kitchen and hums a familiar tune I can never quite remember. She is always dressed in purple dresses, and there are always so many…”
I shut my mouth before mentioning the children I had always sworn I would never have. Children I had never wanted to risk cursing with a monstrous power. But they were always there in my dreams, in or around the cabin, always laughing and playing. I still hadn’t fully processed it in the hours since Nuala left the room. But I had spent some time trying to recall their faces in helpless curiosity about how many there were and whether they were boys or girls. But they were as faceless as that female had been until Nuala confirmed her identity. I was sure I had seenboth boys and girls before and in different combinations over the years, so perhaps such details were still vague.
“I have been dreaming about her there for hundreds of years and never imagined it wasreal. But she is different in my dreams,” I added, my eyes drifting to the curtain where Nuala sat in the front room. “Softer and warmer.”
“Well, of course she is. One would presume the female in your dreams has known your love. Nuala has only ever known darkness and pain,” Carrick pointed out solemnly. “You disagree?” he asked when I flinched.
“No, it is just… What if I don’t know how to be that male for her? I never did figure it out for Aodhan.”
Carrick’s brows pinched, and I already knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.
“You did not fail Aodhan—” he tried to assure me.
“Ididfail him, Carrick!” I interrupted in exasperation with his insistence to absolve me of this guilt.
I was shocked when my uncle pushed off the desk and squatted down right in front of me so I was forced to meet his determined gaze.
“Aodhan failed himself, Rian. He was unwilling to let go of the past. You did everything you could to help him,” Carrick insisted firmly, shoving a finger in my chest when I tried to look away from him. “Have you forgotten the hours we spent talking through options to help him sleep? Because I have not. I have not forgotten how you went to every apothecary and healer in the Four Courts to find a remedy for him. Just as I have not forgotten how hard he resisted your every attempt to talk. Every herb and tonic you brought back for him. Were it not for his nightmares, you might never have even known what haunted him,” Carrick reminded me, and I shuddered at the reminder.
I could still hear the heartbreaking things that Aodhan would shout in his sleep. The way he woke so violently, punching and screaming while I tried to calm him down. How I’d often have no choice but to physically restrain him before he hurtme or himself. I’d had to erect wards around the bedchamber to protect everyone else when he would unleash his magic in a blind panic. And he would not let me touch him for days or even weeks after one of those nightmares. He withdrew from the other riders and lashed out at everyone even more than usual. And I had to watch them pull away from him until I was the only one desperately trying to keep him tethered to the world.
“He was sick,” I tried to defend my lover.
“And you could not have loved him hard enough to cure him when he was committed to his own destruction,” Carrick maintained.
I felt a dangerous flicker under my skin. The sleeping beast had awakened again at the first sign of my anguish, but thankfully, it was only a rumble.
“I was not always good to—”
“And neither was he always good to you. You cannot shoulder all the blame all the time, Rian. Other people must also take their fair share,” he insisted sternly.
I released a shaky breath and sat back from him just in case my magic slipped my control. I was silent for a long time as I grappled with his unwavering conviction.
