Page 125 of Echoes of the Raven
VALERIA
“You have no right. Let her go. Do not touch her. My child is Castellan. She was born here!”
Naeror Qhen - Fae Outcast - 21 DV
After Jago and Galen leave, Rífíor closes the door, making the room feel even smaller.
I’m alone with the Fae King,I think in disbelief, then quickly realize this moment is meaningless compared to so many others. I’ve insulted him, sparred with him, slept with him.
Oh, Gods!
“How do you feel?” Rífíor asks, pointing at my side.
I press a hand to the wound and feel absolutely nothing. “It’s… fine. I feel fine, as if nothing happened.” I’m reminded of something Francisca said. “The innkeeper, she said that you paid the price to make me better. What did she mean?”
He shakes his head as if it’s of no importance.
I raise an eyebrow and wait for an answer. I’m tired of his reticence. I understand it now better than ever, but I’m done with it.
“I would like you to explain,” I say in a tone that brooks no argument.
He sighs. “The healer was a dwarf.”
“Aaand?”
“He was from a clan known as the Nightmend. Their magic is rustic. They must draw the energy for their spells from somewhere, so he drew it from me. That is all.”
I incline my head to one side. “What do you mean he drew it from you?” Slowly, he lifts his shirt and shows me his abdomen. A scar mars his side that wasn’t there before. Realizing something, I lift my tunic and confirm that it matches mine perfectly.
“He used my pain to heal you,” he explains.
“What? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
He takes a sit on the chair in the corner. “Nightmends are few, even in Tirnanog. I am grateful he was here.” He pauses. “Even as you lay dying, The Eldrystone ignored my wishes. Without him, you would have died.”
He stares at the floor, looking so tired, as if all the things he’s been running from have finally caught up with him, and he’s decided to give up the fight. Watching him like this makes me feel for him.
“Thank you,” I say. “For saving my life even though… it cost you.”
“It was nothing.” He shrugs.
“Not… to me.”
He looks up and meets my gaze. His throat bobs up and down.
“Or to me,” he admits, surprising me. “I would…” He shakes his head and looks away.
I want to finish the sentence for him, fill it in with the words I would like to hear, but that would be like dreaming awake, so instead, I ask, “You would what, Rífíor?”
His jaw tightens. “My name is not Rífíor. My name is Korben.”
“I don’t know Korben.”
And I don’t know Rífíor either. He’s a lie upon a lie. Yet, I wish he was real, as real as his touch and the way he shudders in my arms. Rífíor… I can hold close, and maybe one day, let into my heart.Korben is a male in history books and encyclopedias, a mystical shifter of untold power, victor in ancient battles, no more real than a fictional character.
In one fluid motion, he stands in front of me. “You do know me, Valeria. In here,” he taps his chest, his black eyes intense as they drill into mine. “I have always been the same. I was always true to my people, my duty. Everything I have done has been for them. I am ashamed because I failed them. In Tirnanog and in Castella. This is all my fault. And all I have been trying to do is fix the pain I have caused them. It is the reason I sowed chaos with the veilfallen, the reason I stole, the reason I lied to them… to you.”
The words don’t come easy to him. I don’t think he’s used to this type of honesty. Was he always this way? Or did something change him?
