I give her an understanding smile. “I know. It was the same with Finn’s grandmother, Moira. No one knew she and Dad were friends because of the secrecy around their specialty.
“They both had visions of the Light King trying to usurp your title using Lugh’s spear, so they put plans into motion to try and change that. To protect you and all of Faerie. And part of those plans meant he had to leave us. But it was the hardest thing he ever had to do.”
She looks to Finn for confirmation, and he nods. “It’s true, Your Majesty. I have Moira’s journal detailing everything, including how she entered into a fake affair with Cormac in order to steal the spear, hoping that would change the visions.”
We take turns filling her in on what Moira and my father did with their friend Barwyn, the lengths they went to in an attempt to alter the future, including the solved mystery of why my Armas is made of Luna instead of Ember. When we get to the end of our fantastical tale, I take over.
“The lost sire guarding the spear was Dad, but by the time we got there, Edevane had found it and used it to kill him,” I say with fresh tears spilling onto my cheeks. “We had just enough time for him to give his memories to Finn and for me to say goodbye.”
Aine’s chin trembles, the rigid mask of stoicism cracking under the weight of our revelation. Her eyes glisten as she processes the truth about her mate’s sacrifice.
“My Garyth,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “All this time, I thought he abandoned us. I should have had more faith in him than that, but I could not see past my own pain.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t exactly fault you on that one.”
Finn squeezes my shoulder gently, offering his silent support. “Garyth loved you both and Devlyn fiercely. In his final moments, he did what he could to make sure you knew that.”
Aine takes a deep breath, her eyes closing momentarily as she gathers herself. When she opens them again, a new resolve shines through the grief.
“We must do everything we can to ensure the sacrifices made by our loved ones were not in vain. The Light King must be stopped.”
“Way ahead of you on that one,” I say, because snark is my default setting with my mom. Something I’ll have to work at, probably in therapy, but that’s a Future Me problem. Thankfully, Finn rolls right over it so we don’t get stuck in our old patterns.
“Your Majesty, do I presume correctly that you losing the Power isn’t common knowledge among your people?”
“You are correct. Cathal is the only one who knows that my only magic is my court-born power and my abilities as a conjurer. Pathetically paltry compared to what they once were.”
“Good. I’ll let the others know that the information doesn’t leave this room. Edevane knows something’s up with your magic because he’s been coming and going from Faerie undetected. But he must still believe you have the Power, or he wouldn’t be targeting you.”
Then he looks at me, his expression pre-apologetic for whatever he’s about to say that could ruffle my feathers. “But we should come up with a new battle plan that doesn’t involve you.”
Consider my feathers fucking ruffled.
“Absolutely not, Verran. Don’t even think about benching me for this. Even with my limited abilities, I’m an asset to the team. Edevane’s not going to target what he thinks is a dysfunctional Mystic, and like you said, his goal will be getting through us to get to my mother.”
“Taryn—”
Aine stands, her regal disposition once again firmly in place. “This is where I take my leave, as I have never alleged to understand the logistics of war.”
As she glides her way across the room, the door opens on its own with her lesser magic in preparation for her dramatic exit. But when she reaches the threshold, she pauses to turn back and share an afterthought.
“If I were to offer you a piece of advice, Prince Finnian, it is this: telling my daughter she cannot fight alongside those she loves never ends well.”
THIRTY-NINEFINNIAN
The battlefield stretches before us, an expanse of green dotted with trees, the hills framing the valley, and the shimmering lake lying in wait. We’ve prepared for this moment, every move planned and rehearsed. Now, it’s time to put that plan into action.
Over the past few days, Taryn worked hard to teleport large obstacles on either side of the army’s path leading up to where we plan to fight, gradually decreasing the width they have for their formations. We also dug out holes along the edges of the valley and placed cauldrons of water in them, then camouflaged them with a sparse layer of brush.
During the battle, Taryn will be able to use them in various ways. She can make the water boiling hot and then manipulate it into a powerful stream to burn and stun the opposition, or she can create fog to provide cover for any of our people who might need it.
Cathal is in position on the hills with all but thirty of his warriors, who are down here with us for the frontal attack. We’re all here except for Connor who’s tracking their progress in wolf form, so we’ll know when to make our final preparations.
Taryn stands beside me, fierce determination in her eyes, which is all I can see through her golden helmet. After a lot of back and forth, we found a compromise that satisfied my need to ensure she didn’t have the spear’s sole target on her back and her need—and right—to be on the battlefield with the rest of us: we’re all wearing the customary Ember armor that makes us indistinguishable from the Néit warriors.
Since Taryn learned she’s in possession of the One True Power, she’s been hesitant to open herself up to her magic any more than she already has. Of the few times I convinced her to try, it immediately overloaded her. She yanked it back each time and slammed the door shut. Not even adding more rope to her body helped her feel like she could contain and control it.
Last night, as we were lying in bed, I could tell something was weighing on her. When I asked her what it was, she told me she finally realized the difference between the two times she’d lost control of her powers.
“The first time wasn’t from me using the magic. It was a result of being overwhelmed as the Power transferred from my mother to me,” she said, her voice pensive. “But the second time…gods, Finn, the second time was so much worse. It was the day I found Dmitri. I knew I had to get him out of that place, but we were vastly outnumbered. So I opened the door to my powers, hoping it would give us enough of an advantage to escape.”
I didn’t know what she was referring to about where Dmitri had been, but I wasn’t going to interrupt with questions. And as she said before, it’s not her story to tell. I held her tighter, encouraging her to continue with what she wanted to share and reminding her I was there for her.
“I decimated everything around us. Structures, livestock…people.” The hand she had resting on my chest curled into a fist. “Most were evil, but some were innocents, like Dmitri. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. It looked like a nuclear explosion, everything flattened and turned to ash.”
She turned her face up to look at me, past hurts and future concerns swimming in her eyes. “I’m so grateful you’ve helped get me to where I can use a portion of it safely. But that’s why I can’t access it fully. Because I wouldn’t only vanquish the enemy. I’d vanquish everyone.”
“I understand,” I told her. “And I won’t push you to do more than what you’re comfortable with. We’re going to win this battle by using our combined strengths and strategy. We’ve got this.”
With her worst fear allayed, she snuggled in closer to my side and fell fast asleep. I, on the other hand, was up all night worrying about my worst fear—the vision I had our first night in Faerie of her being killed by Edevane.
I fought with myself on whether to warn her about it, but ultimately, I’m afraid of speaking it into existence or causing her to lose her focus worrying about something that hasn’t happened.
I’ll keep a close watch for any details I saw in the vision and do my best not to stray too far from her during the battle. Other than that, I’m praying like hell that everything we’ve done to prepare, including her wearing the Ember armor over her rope harnesses, has been enough to alter events in our favor.
“Our scout’s back,” Conall says, nodding to where he spotted his brother.
Sure enough, Connor’s loping over from a small copse of trees, his massive body covering ground quickly. Just before he reaches us, he magically shifts back into his fae form, jogging the last few steps.
