Page 196 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
“Even if we can’t be together unless we’re in some dwarven stronghold? It might be hard to rule Faerie from there…”
“I won’t be queen for a long while yet,” she whispered. “I hope. And we might be able to find a way. And if we couldn’t… yes. Still then. It wouldn’t be easy, but if you’re in, I’m in. Five flimsy decades or five centuries. I’ll take whatever of you you’re willing to offer me.”
“And what if it’s everything?”
She looked up at him, his eyes glassy and close. She could feel the warmth of him next to her, the ghost of his weight—and the weight of his words—falling into her. “I… really want to kiss you now.”
“If we need to touch for the ceremony, it might as well be on the lips, right?”
She moved closer. He inched back.
“I hate risking your life like this every time.”
“I feel like I risk everything every time we touch anyway,” she told him. “Risk unravelling completely, burning up, falling into a void. I don’t care as much as I used to.” She reached out to touch his face. “Today or a thousand years from now, I want to die touching you.”
Caer shuddered beneath her touch, eyes rimmed with silver. His hands slid to her face, breath rapid, like a horse getting ready to bolt. Aislinn held him steady.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I think I might have forgotten to say it, but—”
Aislinn slammed her lips against his, thoughts blurring, unravelling under the soft, perilous pressure of his mouth. “I love you, too,” she murmured into him. “My heart is already yours.”
Her hand fell to his chest, fingers skirting his skin. Caer took a deep breath.
“Are you ready?” she asked him.
He nodded.
Hot, white light started at her fingertips. Aislinn forced the feeling outwards, deeper, feeling her own chest burn, like a hot knife in butter. Her magic dug into his chest, passed his ribs. His heart thumped beneath bone and skin and muscle, golden and—
Scarred.
No.
She pressed deeper, unwilling to give up, but it was like a wall had shot up between the arrow and the target. She could not get at it.
No, no.
Her magic hammered at the wall, at thenothingthat coated a part of Caer’s heart. Hers beat fast and hard, like it was trying to break out of her chest and join his.
But it couldn’t. Her heart wanted to be his, but his…
She couldn’t reach it.
“Ais,” Caer whispered, “Ais, stop—”
“I won’t!” She strained again, groaning, panting, her lungs aching, her chest raging. She had to give him this, she wouldn’t let him go unprotected—
“Ais!” Caer pulled away from her, clutching his chest. The force sent her spiralling to the floor, gasping.
Caer stared down at her. “Did it work?”
“No,” she said, voice trembling. “It didn’t. I just… I couldn’t…” She pulled herself to her feet, not looking at him. “This is my fault. It’s because I’m only half fae, because I’m rubbish at magic—”
Caer moved to clutch her arms, but could find only flesh. His hands hovered nearby. “Or it’s because of my stupid, rotten heart. We don’t know.”
“I know that your heart’snotrotten, that it’s the loveliest heart I’ve ever known, that I…” Aislinn leant against his chest and sniffed into his shirt. “There’s nothing wrong with your heart,” she whispered, desperate to claim it.Not in the ways that matter.She traced a finger over it, not touching.
“Will you ever stop blaming yourself for everything?”
