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“It’s Balor’s head,” I told him anxiously, then rushed out, “You don’t have to look at it. I just… I didn’t want to leave it with… the rest of him. Just to be sure he was really gone.”
Lonan was still staring at me in shock. “You killed Balor?”
“Yes. Fioda kept me on seelie for seven days, and I left the moment I could to come here. But… I found him first.”
His gaze dropped back down to the bag. “Where was he?”
“At the edge of seelie. Waiting for you.”
Lonan grimaced, his mouth twisting with revulsion before his expression smoothed out into the blank mask I remembered well. Voice soft, he said, “Let me see it.”
“Are you sure?” I asked nervously. “I could just… bury it. Or make a fire and—”
“I’m sure.”
I nodded and fumbled with the sack, untying it from my belt. After glancing up at Lonan again to check he hadn’t changed his mind, I loosened the drawstring and held it out to him.
To my surprise, he reached into the bag instead of just peering inside. Balor’s face was frozen in a ghoulish death mask when Lonan pulled the head out by its white, blood-streaked hair.
He held it aloft between us, his face still emotionless as he stared at it in silence for a long time.
Then he dropped it unceremoniously back into the bag. “We’ll burn it.”
“Okay.” I was still nervous that I’d made a mistake, so as I hurriedly tightened the drawstring again, I said, “I’m sorry if… Should I not have?”
Lonan cupped my chin in a rush and kissed me hard. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I know you did it for your parents, but… thank you.”
“I did it for you too.”
He gave me one more kiss before turning to reach for a long rectangular box resting on the floor beside his throne. “I have something for you too.”
“What about Cethlen and Bres?” I couldn’t help but ask as I watched him lay the box across the armrests of his throne. “Where are they?”
“In their rooms. Cethlen is locked in. Bres is always too drunk to find the door. There’s something wrong with him.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“We will talk about it later. I’ll tell you everything.” Lonan stepped aside and gestured at the box, his face grave as he looked at me. “Your arm.”
“My—” I stopped and stared at the box. “My… arm is in there? She still had it?”
“Yes.” Lonan’s voice was tight. “I didn’t want to do anything without knowing what you wanted. And…” He looked down at the box. “My father’s ring is still on your finger. I want you to have it. But I think you’re the only one who can take it off.”
“What do you mean?” Hesitantly, I stepped forward and lifted the lid.
It was grotesque to see my arm resting there, as alive and strong as it had been the day it was cut off. Months ago. And on the middle finger was Lonan’s ring—old and tarnished, all those tiny animals twisting together to form the band.
“I can’t take it off,” Lonan said. “It won’t let me. Look.”
He reached down and gently touched the hand. I jumped as the fingers instantly curled up into a tight fist. There was something uniquely horrifying about seeing my own severed arm moving as if it was still attached to me.
“God, this is… really fucked up.” I scrubbed a hand over my face, then gestured at the sack now resting on the floor. “It’s like we’re… exchanging body parts as gruesome wedding gifts to each other.”
“Yes,” Lonan agreed, his voice quiet. “It is fucked up. But once this is done, I will make sure that you are never exposed to so much death again, Ash. You’ve seen enough.”
“So have you.”
Lonan’s shoulders rose in a brief shrug. “It’s a part of me. More than I realised before.”
