Page 81 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
Then the crowd jostles us, breaking the moment, and I catch myself on Caed’s arm without meaning to.
“Sorry,” I mumble, hand fisting in the soft fabric of his shirt.
Then I give up, holding his arm like I used to in Fellgotha. It’s just easier.
Right now, the fae have no idea that their Nicnevin is among them, and that leaves me as just a smaller-than-average high fae with tired wings.
In contrast, Caed is a warrior with enough bulk to withstand the push of the fae straining to get to the top of the stairs.
When we crest that final ascent, it opens out onto a huge platform suspended in the uppermost canopy of the forest, with nothing but the glimmering stars above us. The lights glittering from other treetops are nothing compared to the celestial canvas, and I crane my neck to see more.
“I’d never seen the sky before Danu summoned me to take the oath,” Caed murmurs, pulling me over to one of the hundreds of thick rugs laid out and sitting cross-legged beside me. “It was night when I stumbled out of the cave, and I thought we were just inside another mountain. Imagine how dumb I looked when the sun came up and I thought the world was catching fire.”
I smile, folding my knees beneath me. “You were young.”
“Twelve,” he admits. “I’d already killed several times by then. I thought I was hot shit because I was good at it. Imagine my face when I first saw a barghest. It was pure luck I made it north and found a way home.”
I turn away. “I wish you hadn’t. It would’ve been simpler if you’d stayed with the fae. You wouldn’t have been banished to the deep caves…”
“And I’d never have met Bram.”
The name tears at something inside me, picking at the raw edges of a wound I thought I’d managed to close and tugging it open until I lose my breath.
“He saved my ass,” Caed admits, openly. “A tunnel wyrm was literally about to eat me, and my swords were doing almost nothing to it. I threw my hands up in a panic, and his fox caught sight of my mark. It’s probably the only reason he saved me.”
He holds out the box to me. “Here. Open it.”
“I think we’re supposed to wait until after the lanterns?—”
“Nah, this way’s better.”
I take the box with shaking hands, lifting away the lid to find two glass balls nestled securely in black paper.
“Left one,” Caed murmurs, and I take it out obligingly, giving him back the box with the other sphere still inside.
For a second, there’s nothing but glittering silver and black sand inside, but then it starts to warp, becoming a pair of male figures.
Caed is smaller, lankier, and sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, and the male in front of him is awkward, twisting his hands in a way that catches further on that wound and pulls painfully until my breath abandons me.
Then the ball echoes with a voice, and I have to wipe away the moisture beading at the corner of my eyes.
“Lad, you’re not going to last ten seconds in the Guard if you can’t tell me which courts are seelie and which are unseelie.”
“But we’ve been at this for hours.”Young Caed’s voice hasn’t yet broken, and that draws a shocked smile from me.“I already know all the rivers in Faerie, and I mastered my letters last week. Why can’t we stop for the day and make traps instead?”
“Because I only have a year to teach you enough fae customs that you don’t accidentally get your Nicnevin embroiled in a war on your first day on the job.”Bram shakes his head, but his tone is soft and patient.“Trust me. You want what Danu showed you? You’ll have to be better at being fae than me to take it.”
Young Caed shakes his head and huffs.“Fine. But after this, I want to go fishing again.”
“Lad, stabbing the fish with your magic is not fishing.”
“You’re only saying that because your way barely catches any fish.”
Bram shakes his head, and the entire memory dissolves into sand, only to reform a second later and play all over again.
“I thought, if you liked the lanterns, you could use the other sphere to record it.” He glances up at me, then curses at the sight of my face. “If you stab me, púca, I’ll stab you right back.” His hands cup my face, the rough skin of his thumbs delicately wiping away tear tracks. “It was a stupid idea. I should’ve picked?—”
“If you say a sword”—Goddess, does my voice have to shake quite so much?—“I will throttle you. This was… this was perfect.”
