Page 120 of Sweetling
“But you still have your magic, right?”
“I do. It flows in me as it ever did, yet it feels…freed. It isn’t my lifeblood, no, but still inherent.”
She nodded slowly. “Your kind is the only one I’ve heard of that doesn’t eat. Everything else has to at some point. I know your kind is unique, but it doesn’t make sense for you to be so different, if that makes sense.”
“It does,” he assured her. “Feeling hunger…it is the natural state of all life. For whatever reason, I think my kind began to rely on magic too much. Perhaps it started slowly—using magic to stave off hunger in dire times, to keep the blood flowing during sickness. Magic can do so much, and there are few who’d resist the temptation to use it to save themselves, or someone they loved.”
There was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep Molly safe—magic or no. Countless fae before him likely felt the same about theirazaiand families.
“Perhaps they even used it to extend their lives,” Allarion mused.
Molly stiffened in his arms. “Do you think without—?”
“I will be perfectly fine,” he said, “I promise. We have always lived much longer than other beings. And, although magic may extend it, I think perhaps in the end, over so many lifetimes, it is killing us.” It couldn’t be natural to live so long without eating, without having a heartbeat. When he recalled how his face appeared just a few days ago, he seemed almost skeletal compared to his form now.
The fae were a lithe, willowy people, but perhaps they weren’t supposed to be. At least not so much as they appeared. So many were painfully thin, ribs prominent and cheeks sunken. In the faelands, this was just what it was to be fae. But perhaps…over lifetimes, the fae were starving.
“Like Amaranthe,” Molly whispered.
Allarion drew a long breath. “Yes.” She used warped magic to extend her life, to break the cycle of queens—but perhaps she wasn’t the first. Perhaps her actions merely exposed the rot that had been festering for so long.
Turning onto her front, Molly laid atop him, wrapping her arms around his middle. He drew his legs up, cradling her body with his.
The fae were ill, sickened by their own magic and a queen who refused to cede her place in the cycle. The enormity of the realization made him shudder, and he sank further down in the tub.
“Don’t despair,” Molly whispered against his neck, sensing where his thoughts went. “There’s time yet for your people. One step at a time.”
Allarion pulled in a deep breath, steadying himself.
Indeed, that was the only way.One step at a time.This hadn’t happened in one cataclysmic event but over time in increments. Healing would have to be the same.
For now, it was enough to be here, healing in his mate’s arms.
Their existence might have been perfect—were it not for the earthquakes. Allarion had heard of aftershocks, and he thought perhaps the region shook with them now. Although, each seemed stronger than the last.
The next quake happened in the middle of the night, while he was dozing and holding his sleeping mate. All the little items in the room began to wobble, and the undulating rumble shook the bed.
Allarion threw himself over Molly, tucking her body under his as the shaking went on and on. She yelped when items went clattering to the floor, and the house rattled its shutters with fear.
He sent his magic down into the earth, feeling the weft and warp of the native magic woven with his own. The forest trembled, uncertain and frightened by the shaking. All it knew was that the tremors came from the south.
When the shaking finally stopped, it took a little time to calm Molly, and then even longer to calm the house. The shingles clinked with agitation, and as Molly crooned to it, Allarion rearranged everything that had fallen, broken, or shifted.
He spent the next day searching the estate, but other than a few more felled trees and a disgruntled family of beavers whose dam had ruptured, there was little damage. That was something to be grateful for—and though he was, a shiver of suspicion crept up his neck.
The second shake came two days later, about an hour after luncheon.
Allarion stumbled as quickly as he could to the garden, losing his footing over the shaking earth. He found Molly on the ground, fallen on her backside and eyes wide in surprise.
He went to help her regain her feet, but she instead pulled him down to her. On the ground, they rode out the shaking.
Around them, birds cawed and tree limbs shook. Those that still had leaves to shed flung them off, and pinecones came toppling down like bristling projectiles.
A great crack rent the air, and they turned in time to see a great pine tree shudder before its roots gave, the force of the shaking too much for its trunk. It came down in a great crash, limbs tearing and sending a spray of dirt into the garden.
This shake lasted for an interminable count of twenty before finally relenting.
At first, he didn’t quite discern it, his own body quaking.
