Page 34 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

“Fireflies?” Aisling asked curiously.

Instead of taking her to the library, when Kael came to her door that evening he said cryptically that he had something else he wanted to show her. He led her down and down a narrow, winding passage that opened up into a damp cavern. Lichen covered the ground and crept up the stalagmites towards rivulets of water that dripped from the ceiling. Ahead of them, tiny glowing balls of light drifted lazily. Some alighted near pools of water, while others danced through the still cavern air.

He looked down at her, one eyebrow raised slightly. “Those are wisps.”

Aisling peered closer at the floating orbs. She couldn’t discern any form beneath their glow. “They’re faeries?”

“They are the echoes of faeries, the part of them that is left behind when they move on.” As one ventured nearer to the pair, Kael stepped lightly forward and caught it in his hand. Aisling winced, sure he’d crushed it. When he made his way back, he grasped her wrist and drew it towards him then cupped his hand against hers. Aisling saw the faint glow move between their fingers as the wisp passed from Kael’s palm into her own.

“Methild will fetch you a jar if you’d like. You can use it to light your room.” His hand lingered there for a beat, his skin cool against hers, before he closed her fingers around the orb and let go. It struck her just how gentle the whole exchange had been—she wouldn’t have imagined his hands to be so careful, or to be capable of something so delicate. She ignored the way it made something flutter in her chest.

Aisling raised her fist to eye-level and peeked in. The wisp rested on her palm, though she couldn’t feel it there at all. The light it produced was warm and golden. She stretched out her arm and uncurled her fingers one by one, until the wisp floated from her grasp and drifted back toward the others.

“They cannot tell the difference, you know. They’re not entirely sentient,” Kael said from behind her where he was leaning against the wall. “They’re little more than remnants of magic.”

Aisling watched them for a moment longer before turning back to Kael. “How do you know there’s nothing left of the faeries they were before?”

Kael cocked his head slightly to the side, his eyes shifting between Aisling and the wisps. “I suppose there is no way of knowing.”

“Then you shouldn’t keep them. Living things shouldn’t be held captive,” she said pointedly.

He smirked, amused. “Are we still discussing the wisps?”

“Partly.”

“Did you truly expect to deceive me without consequence?” Kael pushed off of the wall with his shoulder and watched Aisling closely as she carefully stepped over the loose stones.

She ignored his question; she had no good answer for it. Instead, she considered how to redirect the conversation towards something more productive. The first time she’d seen anything other than ice in Kael’s eyes, however briefly, was when she told him about her mother. She’d opened up, and he’d let his guard slip a bit. She could do so again, now, while they were alone and she had his attention.

“I used to feel captive on my island,” she said. “When I was young, thinking of my mother being able to escape to someplace beautiful. The stories she’d tell me when she came back, the pages and pages of sketches she made of the Fae she encountered...I was jealous of her. Then when I stopped believing, and she died, it felt like even more of a prison.”

“Did you leave it?” he asked thoughtfully.

Aisling nodded. “For a while. I was angry and bitter, but I was lonelier in the city. As much as I didn’t want to believe in magic, I couldn’t help looking for it. I never found any there.”

Kael hummed. “Is that why you returned?”

“No. My father got sick; I came back to care for him until he passed. Being back made me wonder whether I should have left in the first place.” Aisling looked back once more at the wispslighting the cavern. She missed her home desperately; talking about it now made her heart ache.

“You cannot grow without leaving behind what is comfortable.” There was kindness in his words, a softness to his voice. Hearing it there was satisfying, almost comforting. It warmed her to him. After a moment, Kael began walking again. He kept his pace slow until Aisling caught up.

“Do you ever leave here?” she asked.

Kael nodded once. “On occasion.”

“Where do you go?”

“To battlefronts, mostly. To our borders.” As though imagining it as he spoke, Kael’s fingers toyed with the dagger he carried sheathed at his hip.

His curt, non-committal answers frustrated Aisling. She wanted more from him. She asked a little more forcefully now, “That’s how you grow then? War?”

His only response was a darkly grim smile. Aisling didn’t look to see whether it reached his eyes. She wished she was better at this—at the game—like Rodney. He’d have come up with ten different ways to drive the conversation in the direction he wanted, and likely at least nine of them would have worked. But Kael hadn’t yet hardened to her, so she pressed on.

“Why are you giving me this freedom?” she demanded finally.

Kael glanced at her then cast his gaze back ahead. “You are far from free.”

“I’m not in the dungeon, and I’m not chained to a bed or locked in a room.” He was right, though. Aisling was a prisoner—of Kael,of the Undercastle. Of the prophecy that had sent her here in the first place.

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