And then he was a newborn fae princess, wailing at the agony of light and cold when there had only ever been comfort and warmth. Then he was a Changeling child that went away: to Earth where no magic could tether him, and he was nothing again until... until now?
He wasFlorian. He held onto the thought like a lifeline. He was Florian, and the other was Thaddeus, and they were separate. Weren’t they? He was Florian. He wasn’t anyone else.
“You have to let me go,” was all he could repeat against the onslaught. “You have to let me go.”
And, finally, he did. Florian felt the tendrils of memory relax around him—a sensation of loss, of guilt, of yearning, of hope. He couldn’t make any sense of it, but pushed through anyway until his eyes flew open, burning in the white light.
“It’s him,” he gasped, sucking in a deep breath as if he had been drowning all over again. His hands were trembling in front of him, gripping hard at a single glowing thread that came from his chest—a pale, pale blue, almost white, the color of seafoam. The color of her eyes. The color his eyes had been when he died. “It’s Thaddeus. Her lover. It’s him.”
Elodie’s hands were wrapped around his wrists, watching him carefully with her gleaming purple eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered, for once sounding... unsure, maybe, though Florian couldn’t quite place it. His heart was hammering in his chest. It was impossible to focus on anything other than the tether to his chest, holding it tight as if he would forget everything that he saw the moment he let it go. “I saw... bits and pieces.”
His whole body ached, he realized, and his legs were quivering weakly beneath him. How long had it been since the process started? With a groan he sat down, blinking hard against the bright light. Elodie moved with him, so they were sitting across from each other. Her too-long limbs folded under her as she sat cross-legged, her eyes never leaving him.
“Curious,” she muttered. “A human shouldn’t be able to linger beyond death like this. Not this long.”
“I don’t think he was human when he died,” Florian panted, still trying to slow his racing heart. “I think she did it. It killed him, but she did it. Did you see—did you see after?”
“After?”
“After she changed him.”
Elodie frowned. “No. How could there be an after? Turning him into a fae was what started the Blight.”
“No,” Florian protested, shaking his head. “It was after. She tried to bring himback.” He could still see it clearly, looking down at his—no, Thaddeus’—body covered in blood. His pale, dead eyes were still open, as Soleil screamed for him to come back, reaching out with her hand to seize his soul out of the old magic where it began to dissolve.
It had felt like ripping, like burning apart, when she grabbed his soul. He didn’t know how it worked—how it caused the Blight—but somehow that was what triggered it, the light, the heat. It didn’t make sense, but he knew it was the truth.
“The little fool,” Elodie breathed, leaning back as she processed the words. “The first rule of old magic is that life can’t be restored once it’s gone. This isknown. And still she tried it...” She let out a long huff of a breath. “And of course the payment of breaking this rule must have been the Blight. She doomed countless others to death for her arrogance.”
That, at least, made sense: of course the first rule of magic would be that the dead couldn't be brought back. But Soleil had already tried the impossible and succeeded, when she first brought Thaddeus into the Veil. Maybe it was arrogance that blinded her, in the end, rather than love—but the thought made his heart hurt.
“What do I do now?” Florian whispered. He certainly had gained the insight that he had hoped for. It wasn’t some random Summer fae that had latched onto him, but Thaddeus himself, the next closest thing to Queen Soleil. Yet now that he knew, he was at a loss as to what to do with that knowledge.
“Well,” Elodie said slowly, thinking it over. “You know more about Soleil and the Summer Court than anyone else alive now. Surely that must be of use to you.”
“I... I guess so.”
“Let go of that, now,” she said, gesturing to where he still held the thread that protruded from his chest and floated up into the air. “He’s not going anywhere.”
“Will I forget?” Florian asked, frowning. Despite his worry, Elodie laughed.
“Of course not,” she replied. He nodded, and hesitantly, Florian started to release his grip on the thread. It had no weight, but as he opened his hands, there was a strange sensation as it snaked back into his chest. The pale thread quickly disappeared, but it didn’t feel like he lost any of the memories. He could still imagine Soleil standing in the faerie circle in the forest—could feel Thaddeus’ awe and anxiety as clearly as if it were his own.
“I think that’s why you’ve been using old magic all this time,” Elodie said suddenly, and he looked back up to her in confusion. “Whatever magic is keeping his spirit on this plane, binding it to you—it all just glows with it. You’ve been surrounded by it your whole life. No wonder it was what you instinctively reached for when Jerah tried to teach you fae magic.”
Florian sighed. That made sense, too, in a way.
“So I know more about her,” Florian muttered, leaning back until he was on the ground once more. He felt weak, his hands still trembling—he imagined it must have taken a lot of magic to accomplish. “But how is that going to help?”
“It may give you more insight into the Arrows,” Elodie said. “Or, when you eventually meet her, if she still remains in the Summer Court, you will already know her.”
“She won’t know me, though,” Florian said.
“Perhaps,” Elodie said. “But if nothing else, at least now you know. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes,” Florian sighed, looking away. “I guess I had hoped figuring this out would help me figure out what to do next. But it hasn’t really changed anything.”
