Page 201 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Cerridwen smiled. “Practise, young prince. I am older than I look.”
Mortals aged slower in Faerie, he remembered. Perhaps that was something to look forward to if they didn’t die tonight—that even if he couldn’t share Aislinn’s heart and live like one of them, he’d have longer than he originally anticipated. He might not be allowed to stay in Avalinth anymore, but maybe something could be done about his powers—
Somehow, eventually.
Five flimsy decades or five centuries.
He’d love her for all of it, even if he could touch her for none of it.
If they survived today.
A shot of fire went up from the main gate—the display from one of the fae knights. Most of the soldiers were already there, and the ones standing by turned towards it.
Aislinn raced forwards, carving a path through the grounds. The others followed, sticking to the shadows as well as they were able, until they reached the balcony.
Once more, the others hopped inside, or vines were created to help the ascent, fizzling out as soon as they reached the baluster. Caer ascended last, feeling the barrier clamp down on his powers the second he passed over it.
The party slipped into the throne room, but Caer grabbed Aislinn’s arm. It was the first time he’d been able to touch her freely in two days, without being terrified he was going to hurt her.
It might be the last time.
He pulled her mouth to his. “In case there isn’t another opportunity.”
Aislinn’s eyes glistened. “If I could lie, I’d promise you there’ll be another opportunity, that we’ll share more kisses than there are stars in the sky. Innumerable. Uncountable.”
“Such a shame you can’t lie.”
“A shame indeed.” Her fingers ghosted his chin. Her lips brushed his once more. “Until the end,” she said, drawing her weapon.
And perhaps even after that.
They followed the others into the throne room. A handful of guards were posted by the door. Cerridwen had downed two before they even turned. Aislinn took out another, Beau struck a fourth, and the fifth was left for Caer. He choked them into unconsciousness.
Another set sprung forth from behind the throne, spears at the ready. Two were mortal—men Caer knew from home.
“We don’t have to fight,” he told them.
One hesitated. Caer tried to place him. He was a young man—no older than he was. “Rhys, right?” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to let you go back to your family in one piece.”
The other guard was not so cooperative. “For the king!” he declared, and raced forward.
Caer barrelled into his middle, tackling him to the floor. He grabbed the hand holding the spear and smashed it to the floor. His helmet tumbled off. Caer whipped a dagger from his belt and placed it against the man’s chin.
“Your loyalty is commendable,” he said, “but Owen isn’t worth dying for.” Caer wondered, if he was fae, whether he’d be able to speak those words. Once upon a time, he would happily have died for his stepfather.
Once.
“Where isyourloyalty?” the knight spat. “He’s doing this for your mother!”
“You can’t bring back the dead,” Caer insisted. “Not as they were. You knew my mother, yes? Would she approve of this?”
The knight paused. “Disloyal brat—”
A spear shot through his eye socket. Caer scrambled back as the man writhed and flailed and finally stilled, like a spider in flame.
Cerridwen yanked out the spear. “We don’t have time for reason,” she said. “Come on.”
The other guard had vanished. He could have run for help or been one of the other bodies piled in the room—Caer didn’t wait to check. He followed the others to the vault door, Aislinn inputting the code.
