In the end, he had been wrong about Tarrah. But he’d been right about the thing controlling her mind.
Reyna seemed distant and haunted, though he could scarcely blame her. He could not imagine what she had seen in that pool, nor could he know how she’d felt when she’d returned, only to be attacked by a fae she’d come to trust. He couldn’t help but wonder if it had reopened a wound he thought they’d healed. Had Tarrah’s betrayal reminded her of his?
He hoped not. But if it had, then he would once again prove his devotion to her. He would go to the ends of the world if that was what it took.
As they journeyed back to the portal, Reyna filled them in on what had happened in the pool. The pit, she called it. The birthplace of the gods. Lorcan listened to her every word in shock and awe. The Dagda was not a god but a Fomorian. He’d been a follower of Seelie himself, and he’d taken the power from the pit. He’d never intended to create a religion of devoted fae to worship at his feet. But the fae had been amazed by his powers. They’d declared him a god. So, he had left Tir Na Nog behind to get away from it all.
Reyna had learned all of this in the pit, but there was still much she didn’t know. Where had the power come from? Could it be returned to Tir Na Nog? And why had Unseelie been so desperate to kill her?
“You said you were given a choice,” Lorcan said quietly when they were half a day’s march from the waterfall. “Unseelie’s power in exchange for a piece of your soul. Did Seelie demand anything in return?”
Reyna gave him a sad, haunted smile. “He asked me to prove my selflessness.”
“And how did you do that?” he asked as a terrible unease swirled through his gut. This muted, downcast Reyna was nothing like the fae he knew and loved. Something had hurt her down in that pit, and he had a mind to turn back and rip that power apart, piece by piece, seam by seam, until it gave her happiness back. Even Wingallock seemed forlorn, flapping his wings mournfully in the skies above.
“There is nothing you can do, Lorcan,” she said, as if reading his mind. “It is done.”
“What is done?” he asked, his voice rising in frustration.
Reyna stopped and pressed her palms against his chest. She gazed up at him with those silver eyes. Once, they had stared at him with hope. Now, her irises churned with something else. He wanted to make her see that everything would be all right. He wanted to hold her tight to his chest and tell her that nothing else mattered. They had each other. He’d never leave her side. But something stopped him. Something in the way she held back.
“When we return to Tir Na Nog, I will explain everything. After we’ve found a way out of Findius, so that I can go home and save my kingdom. I have to fight the Ruin where it began, and it began north.” She sighed and glanced around her. “But I do not wish to speak of it here. The forest is inviting, but I do not trust the trees. There are eyes and ears we cannot see.”
Lorcan frowned. “What does that mean?”
“There are others here,” Nollaig whispered. “Some prisoners who have survived all these years, no doubt. They are very curious about what we are doing here.”
Lorcan stiffened and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, thumbing the gold. He gazed at the trees, searching for any sign of life. But there wasn’t even a whisper of movement in the thick of it all.
“We ought to hurry,” Nollaig added. “Some of the prisoners here were convicted of cannibalism. I would prefer not to get eaten this day.”
Despite Nollaig’s worries, they made it to the waterfall without incident, and Reyna’s newfound power prevented them from being trapped in Inishfall. Soon, they were back on familiar lands, standing on the rocky outcropping of the Shadow Court’s jagged mountains.
Night had fallen, and the harsh winds swept through the rocks. They made camp for the night, holding off any forward trek until they’d decided what to do. Findius was full of treachery and mad minds. But the realm’s low fae needed him, perhaps now more than ever.
“What do you wish to do, Lorcan?” Reyna asked, poking a stick into the fire as she stared into the flames. He frowned, watching her. She’d never before seemed keen on fire. In fact, she avoided it like the plague. Now, she seemed enthralled by it.
“My father sent assassins to kill me,” he said as if that answered everything, but it didn’t, and they both knew it.
“He is a wicked, cruel king.”
“Tarrah said he sacrificed eight thousand lives because of a vision he thinks he received from Unseelie.” A hot fire licked down his spine just at the thought of it. He had always thought his father cruel, but this was far past anything he would have expected, even from him.
“And he would likely sacrifice many more if he believed it would give him the power he craves.” She glanced up from the fire. The flames danced along her ice-kissed skin.
“You should stop him, Lorcan.” Nollaig suddenly spoke up from where she’d quietly been listening to the exchange. “You’re free now. You can.”
An ache formed in the middle of Lorcan’s chest. “And then what? This will still be an exiled kingdom with no hope of survival past half a dozen years, if that. They will have no ruler. Any lord that rose up to take his place would no doubt be just as cruel as him. Maybe less mad but just as cruel.”
“You are the prince. You would take the throne.”
“What?” He laughed around a sickening lump in his throat. “I could never do that. I—”
I only want to be with Reyna. She would never be happy if she stayed in the shadow realm. She needed fresh air and ice and cold. Hair tumbling down her back, her horse charging through a snow-drenched woods. He could not imagine her truly happy anywhere else.
And beyond all that, there was the Ruin. It had begun in the ice kingdom. So, that was where she needed to go.
If he stayed in Findius, he would have to watch her leave. He would have to endure the shattering of his heart. The people of the Shadow Court needed a steady ruler. Someone to right Bolg Rothach’s wrongs. But if Lorcan was the one to do it, he would have to…
Selflessly sacrifice his own happiness.
Realization slammed into his gut like an iron fist. Slowly, he stood, clenching and unclenching his hands and desperately trying to hold on to the last bit of composure he had.
“Reyna,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice as he stalked toward her. Her words echoed ominously in his mind.
I had to prove my selflessness. She had looked so sad, so defeated. Like the power had broken her heart. Now he knew why.
She stiffened, the stick stilling in the flames. He felt Nollaig watching him, clearly confused, but she had not been inside his thoughts, piecing the puzzle together and understanding everything all at once.
“Reyna, what did you give up?” he said in a low voice he knew was edged in danger.
She pressed her lips together, and the color fled from her cheeks. “Judging by your expression, you’ve figured it out.”
Anger clawed up his throat, slashing it raw. “I need you to tell me. I need to know I’m not going mad. Because I cannot believe that you would do what it is I think you’ve done.”
Sighing, she twisted away from the fire and stood. Her face was a storm of emotion. “You do believe it. Because it was the only choice I had.”