“I know about her heart.” Jaren rubbed his throat, his anger already fading as he shifted his attention to Tyriel and Aryn. Grief flooded him, washing away the anger, his ire, everything, until the urge to weep overwhelmed him. “She went malnourished, bound by iron, for months. The iron poisoned her while the starvation drained her. And…” He stopped and sighed, looking at the leather pouch he still held, stuffed full with foraged roots and mushrooms to brew yet another tonic for her. One that might well be pointless. “And none of that did nowhere near as much damage as what she did to herself when she ripped her magic out.”
Now both Irian and Aryn pinned him with diamond-hard glares.
“Explain,” Irian demanded.
“We are magic, enchanter,” Jaren said, jabbing a thumb at his chest. “Magic is embedded in our very cells. The only reason Tyriel still lives is because she’s half-fae. But even the Wildling blood in her…the Wildling race has more magic-users than any other human race in this world. Tyriel’s mother was an earth witch. Her grandfather? A seer. Nearly everyone in her matriarchal line was gifted. We know. We looked. So even the Wildling blood that’s keeping her alive? She’s missing something crucial there. It’s why she’s so unique among us. Her magic works in ways the fae have never seen and it’s the Wildling blood that makes it so. You take away her magic…in essence, you take away her.”
Jaren staggered then, under a scream that somehow pierced the psychic plain.
He clamped his hands over his ears in reflex, although it did no good.
Irian gave him a skeptical look before turning to the human he’d bonded with and speaking.
Jaren could hear nothing, his entire body shuddering as that scream echoed on and on.
Then…nothing.
Head ringing from the backlash, he dragged in air. It didn’t do much to ease his vicious headache, but that would pass in time.
“Elf?”
Irian’s surly growl had him looking away from Aryn’s rigid back and he met the enchanter’s gaze, saw the plea there.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly and he felt those words in the very pit of his soul. “All we can do is get her to Averne, and to her father. The healers there may yet be able to help.”
Irian’s visage soured even further, then broad shoulders sagged. “She is weary, she tells Aryn. Too weary and inside she is riddled with cracks and broken edges. And she tells him not to ask her to fight. How do we handle that?”
Jaren looked back at Aryn, understanding how the man’s pain had somehow pierced the psychic plain as it had moment ago.
“We find a way to fight for her. Or…” He felt his own heart crack and knew if she died, there would forever be broken edges inside him, for failing her. “We let her go, so she can find peace.”
Irian’s eyes blazed with denial and yards away, though he shouldn’t have been able to hear, Aryn’s shoulders jerked.
* * * * *
As the others slept, Irian drifted.
He let memories pull him back, centuries and centuries, until he was once more staring into dark sloe-eyes as he thrust deep within a woman’s body, loving the hot, wet clasp of her around his cock, but loving her smile, her laughter, her even more.
Her name had been Fael. They’d grown up together. He had loved her with all his heart and soul.
He’d never told her, though. They had both been Jiupsu but while he’d been born to a family whose line had been rich with magic, Fael had been mortal through and through.
Like his stubborn brother-in-soul, Aryn, Irian, too, had refused to bind himself to a woman. But while aryn had refused because he’d sensed how Tyriel’s power would keep her alive far after he had left the earth, Irian had refused to give his heart to a woman he’d felt was less than his equal.
She would have died and Irian had been the one who would linger in his prime for decades after she faded, perhaps even for a century or two before his strength started to wane.
She’d live a mortal’s normal lifespan and then be gone from the world. The thought of it had stricken him his very soul and he never told her of his love.
When she offered him her heart, he brushed away her love, offering suerta instead of a binding. They’d have a year together, he’d told her and then he’d give her a bridal package and help her secure a husband.
She’d smiled but refused.
A season after he turned her away, she’d died while traveling to accept the marriage offer of another warrior who lived on the far side of Jiupsu lands, several weeks travel from their home clan…where he’d likely never seen her again.
He’d been both relieved and enraged when he’d heard the news she’d left.
But only a day after they’d set off, one of the escort guards had sent his hawk back to the clan’s heart, clutching a red sash, a signal all recognized.
They were under attack.
The raiders had been cunning and sly, killing the guards from afar, planning to take the four would-be brides outland to barter off. But they’d been ignorant of the Jiupsu as many were, thinking only the men could weld magic. One of the women had been a firestarter and the other caused the earth to shudder and shake.
They held their attackers off for a time.
But they were only four and even trained with weapons as most Jiupsu were, they were young. One of the raiders took Mele, the firestarter, out. Then it was a matter of overwhelming the last three women.
By the time Irian found her, her spirit had been broken, her body bruised, torn and bleeding inside, death slowly laying its hold over her.
He had robbed them of decades together and he hadn’t realized it until they were left with mere moments, her spirit was drifting further and further away.
But she’d still smiled up at him as he lifted her gently into his arms.
“My warrior. My Irian. Did you fight well?”
“Fael, I’m sorry.”
“Shh, you did not do this to me.” A hoarse cough racked her, blood flecking her lips. “The men who did…are they gone?”
“Even now they are being run to the ground.” If any escaped the plains, Irian would track them down, one by one, and feed them their own livers before he ended their lives. “None will live long enough to dare harm another woman ever again.”
“Then it is good. And I get to see you again. One more time. I love you, my warrior.”
It shattered him, all over again. Why couldn’t she be bitter, rage at him? But not his sweet, loving Fael.
“I’m so sorry, beloved.” Tears fell down his face. “I love you, my lovely lady, beautiful, strong woman.”
“My handsome warrior, I love you as well. I have always loved you and always will. We will meet again. Our souls are one, they belong together. I will…” But the final words never came. Her eyes went dark and she was gone.
And then he was on the cliff, as a massive fire raged higher and higher.
A season had passed, one season as he made sure not one raider had survived the attack that had stolen her from him.
He’d shed so much blood, it turned the earth into a viscous clay.
And not all of the blood he’d shed had come from those guilty of any crime.
It wasn’t until the heat of his rage passed that he’d come face to face with what he’d done. He’d slaughtered those who hadn’t deserve it, those who had only been guilty of knowing the men who had gone on the raiding parties.