Page 58 of Sweetling
I did. Yet I am the only one keeping that vow.
He clenched his fists, resisting again how much his mount’s words sounded like truth. If he let it, the words would rend him in two.
Allarion was a fae of his word, and he would fight to his last breath to fulfill Maxim’s vision. Ravenna would live her life free of Amaranthe’s tyranny; her parents’ sacrifice would be avenged. But no fae could resist the pull of anazai—they were fated, destined. To give up Molly entirely would be to abandon all that was good inside him.
His honor or his mate.
It cannot come to that.
Bellarand blew out an irritated breath. Whipping Allarion’s flank with an indignant tail flick, the unicorn headed back toward the forest.
We don’t need her. The estate accepts you, and your magic will soon finish bonding with the land. She is hindering us. Give her up, Allarion.
He watched his mount and one of his oldest friends walk off, aggravation rubbing his soul raw.
I can’t.
Molly couldn’t decide what to do, and the indecision ate at her. She hated this uncertain person she’d become over the last few days, but crawling out of the hole she’d found herself in proved more difficult with each passing day.
The easiest thing to do would be to leave. Not even have Allarion take her back to Dundúran but just pack up her things and strike out on her own. She at least knew she could walk to Mullon within a day—there were inns there where she could stay for the night, or perhaps even find work.
However, her face was known there, and the thought of all the gossip passing behind cupped hands made her skin crawl. She could bear it for a night, she supposed, but after that…
Where did she go from there?
The answer didn’t immediately come to her.
She spent her time uninterested in much of anything, although she did put effort into avoiding Allarion. He gave her her space, which she appreciated, but still, whenever they crossed paths, Molly had to contend with the despair that positively radiated from him. A kicked dog or hungry kitten couldn’t have looked sadder, and she hated knowing that she’d made him feel so.
Her indignation and righteous anger might have sustained her had he not given her back her choice. It was one thing to rail against oppression and coercion—it was entirely another to fight against indecision.
One afternoon, growing despondent over the sounds of Allarion chopping wood, Molly found herself wandering down through the house. She hated the little mournful sounds the house made, and guilt tugged at her heart when it opened every door before she came to it, trying to anticipate where she headed.
The one door it didn’t open was the only one she wanted.
Molly approached the cellar door holding her breath. When it didn’t open on its own, and doing so herself revealed a plain cellar of old barrels and unused equipment, she closed the door and thought a moment.
Heart in her throat, she traced the symbols she remembered Allarion making when he brought her here. In amazement, she watched the places she’d traced burn with a blue glow before sinking into the grain.
With apop,the door clicked unlocked.
Molly cracked it open to reveal the cellar of wonders.
Without Allarion’s magical spheres of light, it felt more like a cave, a hoard buried deep underground. Molly lifted the lantern she’d brought, and the light caught in all the thousands of gems and jewels and coins. Nearer ones sparkled in the light, while those further away almost glowed.
Drawing in a deep breath, Molly sat on the threshold stoop and just…stared.
No one she’d known in her whole life could ever have imagined such a fortune. And he said this was only part of his wealth. The idea was staggering.
Leaning forward, Molly plucked a coin from the floor and turned it over in her hands. It carried a bit of heft to it, being solid gold, and had motifs stamped into the faces she didn’t recognize but thought the words looked Pyrrossi.
Choosing another, she found coins of all kinds, stamped with different rulers and legendary heroes from all three human kingdoms. There were even some older than Caledon itself, from before it’d split from Eirea hundreds of years before.
Some of the pieces of jewelry looked old-fashioned as well, and some not in any human-made shape or style.
Where these could have come from she couldn’t fathom, but then, if the fae lived as long as believed, perhaps it wasn’t surprising that this wealth tracked through the ages.
And there was another thing for her to worry about—if Allarion truly was immortal, or at least ancient, what could that mean for them? Would he remain the same even as she wrinkled and grayed? The span of a human lifetime must have seemed so fleeting to a fae—no wonder they hardly interacted with other folk.
