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My lip curled in disgust. “Did you think I would leave her there? Her sister and son deserve to bury her properly. She deserves to behome, even if it is in death.”
Feron’s head drooped. “You are angry with me.”
I scoffed and stepped back. “Anger does not do my feelings justice.” I gritted my teeth as I looked at him. “Ten thousand years is not enough time to learn that you cannot control the way a secret festers?”
“It was not my secret to tell.” Feron’s words were shaky, as if even he didn’t believe them.
“Fuck that.” The words were sharp enough to make Feron wince but he did not turn away from me. “You had a duty to our people to make sure that Damien didn’t have leverage over us. You witnessed what he’s capable of when he knows his opponent’s weakness. You knew he was worse than Aemon ever was. I warned you.”
For the first time, I glimpsed fear in Feron’s face. He was no longer blessed with his youthful glow and quiet joy, instead I saw him for what he truly was: an ancient Fae terrified that he would live through the last days of his people. “You are right. The blame lies with me.”
I took a deep breath, my gaze locked on the way Feron’s knuckles bulged over the top of his cane. I straightened my back and met his violet gaze. I wanted to throw more sharpened words his way, make him feel each one until my grief gave way to something more useful. But that is what Damien wanted. That would be playing into his hand once again.
My throat burned and I thirsted for wine. It was too easy to place the blame on Feron. Damien had not won because he had known a single secret, he had won because all of us had kept the truth from one another.
“Yes, it lies with you,” I said, my voice hoarse and quiet. “And it lies with me for not telling you all about the dreams sooner. And it lies with Collin for the same. And Nikolai, and Syrra, and Vrail, and Riven, and whoever else could have spared Maerhal’s life if they had only taken the time to tell the truth.”
I sighed. The truth was little comfort now.
Feron turned toward the Myram tree where a group of Elverin had joined Syrra in preparing Maerhal’s body for burial. The ritual would happen over the course of several days. Feron cleared his throat. “We shall mourn her properly.”
I scoffed. “We have no time. We leave for Elvera at first light.”
Feron frowned. “Keera, there is a funeral to plan and none of us are in any state to fight.”
“And I am?” I crossed my arms, the heat returning to my words. “The seals did not wait while I was drowning in guilt. They could not wait while Riven was supposedly dying in your care. And they do not wait now.” I started walking to the spiraled branch of the Myram where Gerarda was whispering to Elaran. “We can mourn the dead after tomorrow. If we haven’t joined them.”
Feron did not speak for a long moment. My heart thrashed against my chest but I did not balk. He finally nodded. “I will prepare the others.”
“Good.”
I only slept for a few hours, but I could feel my magic pulsing under my skin when I woke. My sleep had been dreamless, thanks to Rheih’s elixir. The suns still shone outside as faint cries carried up from the grove below. News of Lash’s and Maerhal’s deaths had reached the city.
My heart ached. I didn’t have the energy to move let alone grieve them. All I had to do was survive until tomorrow and perhaps my grief would take me too. The thought felt easier and took the weight off my chest.
I inhaled slowly, stretching my lungs so they took more than the shallow breaths they wanted to. My nostrils filled with the scent of parchment and fire smoke wafting in through the small window of my burl.
“I know you’re there.” I didn’t say his name because I didn’t know what to call him.
Killian dropped in through the window. He only wore a white tunic with the arms stained from ink and his black trousers. He hadn’t had time to stitch the seams of his jacket that had busted when he transformed into Riven. He had visited a healer because his swollen eye had settled and his cuts were stitched.
“I wrote you a letter.” He ran his palm through his hair; it was covered in ink too. “A lot of them.”
“I don’t want to read them.” My words were cold just like the icy tension in the room.
“None of them were good enough anyway.” He perched on the armrest of the chair.
I sat up. His eyes didn’t widen at my bare chest. I hadn’t bothered to put on a nightgown or cover my arms. All my secrets had been told. I remembered the way Killian had not even flinched that day in the portal when my sleeve had torn. The scars couldn’t be a shock if you already knew they were there.
I brought my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them. “That day we rode into Myrelinth the first time. That was you.”
Killian nodded.
I huffed a breath. “That was you the entire time? The speech in the Singing Wood. All those meetings after when you told me Riven was gone.”
Killian swallowed and nodded again.
“Why?” My nose wrinkled to stop the tears. I had already cried enough. “Why not tell me?”
