Page 15 of The Shadowbound and the False God

Lyre scoffed and his voice dripped with derision when he snapped, “One does not merelyask a godthese things, Captain. And this,púca, is exactly why I am needed. I have studied the Low One, worshipped Him, communed with Him, since I was a boy. You may be able to weave for Him, but you do not know Him. Not as I do.”

Rodney raised both hands in mock defeat. “My sincerest apologies, most magnanimous High Prelate. Your wisdom is truly—”

“Knock it off, the both of you. Or you two can stay here and Raif and I will go alone,” Aisling scolded. Then, to Lyre, she asked, “What do you think He might want?”

Lyre stood and straightened his robes with the press of his palms, dragging his hands over the rough fabric in long strokes. “When I meet Him, when I finally stand before Him, I will know.”

Rodney suppressed a sarcastic comeback with a cough, but he couldn’t hide his annoyance. In the span of minutes, Lyre had not only outed him as a Weaver, but had made himself indispensable to Aisling. The Prelate knew what he was doing; he was far better at this game than Rodney cared to admit. Amongst all of them that had been swept up in the Red Woman’s prophecy, Lyre seemed to be the only one who had come out ahead.

Both Raif and Lyre had their own preparations to complete, and following their unresolved planning session in the armory, they skulked off into the depths of the Undercastle to do so. Aisling sat now on the edge of the dais at the foot of Kael’s empty obsidian throne. Her head was lowered as she methodically unpacked and repacked her bag. Each time, there was something that didn’t make it back in: a third sweater, an extra pair of socks, a set of spare boot laces. She was attempting to distract her mind with the mechanical task, but Rodney knew by the way she bounced her knee as she worked that it wasn’t doing the job.

Abandoning the track he’d been pacing between the pillars, Rodney went to sit beside her. He leaned back on his hands and tipped his chin to peer upwards. The naturally-hewn cavern stretched and stretched above them, the ceiling so high itwas shrouded in darkness. Only the very tips of the longest stalactites were visible if he squinted.

“Lightening your load?” he asked, glancing at Aisling from the corner of his eye.

“I overpacked,” she said quietly. “I didn’t have a chance to make a list.”

“You packed fine,” Rodney assured her. “Though I’m not sure about this.” With a teasing smile, he held up the umbrella she’d removed in the second round of cuts.

“You didn’t even pack a raincoat; you’re going to wish I had kept that.” There was a hint of humor in her voice—slight, barely noticeable, but he was satisfied to hear it there nonetheless.

“I’m sorry for doubting you earlier,” he said sincerely. “About closing the Thin Places, I mean.”

Aisling jaw tightened briefly before she could respond. “It’s okay. I doubted myself too.”

“I shouldn’t have reacted that way. You’re giving up a hell of a lot more than I am.” When she didn’t answer, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder then added, “It won’t be forever, though. When all this is said and done, we’ll find our way back home. I promise.”

She turned to look at him and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” he said after a moment. Shifting forward, he dug around in his own sparsely-packed bag that he’d dropped between his feet. He pulled out a sealed white envelope and passed it to Aisling. “Here.”

She took it from him and turned it over between her hands. “What is it?”

Rodney watched her work carefully to open it without tearing the paper. She upended the envelope and dumped several clusters of dried berries into her palm. “Rowan berries. They’re what I make the quicken tea from.”

Aisling groaned, but the corners of her lips tugged into the beginnings of a smile. “Please tell me they taste better than the tea.”

Rodney shook his head. “Worse, really. But they’ll protect you better this way, I think. I hope.”

“And this?” She withdrew the second object from the envelope.

“Rent check,” Rodney said. “First of the month.”

Aisling looked at the check in one hand, and the shriveled red berries in her other. Carefully, she curled her fingers and funneled the berries back into the envelope. Then, she ripped the check in half.

“I told you I don’t want your money,” she said, finally smiling—the first smile she’d given him in a month. The grin Rodney returned was full and wide.

Everything around him was dark. Everything inside him was burning.

But beyond the darkness, and beyond the burning, there was nothing.

So his shadows grew to fill the emptiness.

Their departure from Wyldraíocht was unceremonious and quiet, the group walking single file through the silent halls of the Undercastle while the Unseelie Court still slept. Only Elasha, the apothecarist, waited at the base of the spiral stairs to see them off. She gave each a kind nod when they passed, but Raif hung back. As Aisling rounded the first curve of the steps, she watched the captain place a gentle kiss on the inside of Elasha’s wrist. Eyes shining, she pulled his hand down and pressed it to her stomach. He flattened his palm against it, spreading his fingers wide and holding it there for a beat before he let it drop to his side and turned from her. Her blonde curls shifted forward when she lowered her head to hide the tears that spilled over her cheeks as Raif began ascending the steps behind them.

“Did you know that was a thing?” Rodney asked quietly. Aisling shook her head; she hadn’t. Her heart ached for Elasha, and for Raif—and what might have been their unborn child. If she thought it would have swayed his decision, she might have told him not to come. But Raif was a soldier, first and foremost,and unfailingly loyal to his king. What he felt for Elasha would always come second to that.

Just as the rest of her own life, now, would always come second to the fate that was written for her.

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