TWENTY-TWO
SAGE
As he reads over more of the squiggly lines, I drink my water and study his profile. He’s less tense, like he’s leaning into it all. I’m not sure if that should make me relax too, or put me more on guard.
Once I’ve had enough of a pause, we move back to our spots, and he has me close my eyes and go over the events in the alley again. And again. He asks me to try to be more aware of my body, my pulse, when the emotions come. Each time we go through it, he asks me to tell him more of what I was feeling last night, more of what happened. I don’t tell him everything Kieran said, or how those silver eyes hypnotized me, but I try to be as honest as I can. Each time, the heat wave takes over later than the time before. The cadence, as he called it, stretches out several more seconds until, on the third try, he tells me to open my eyes, and I watch the last of the flames slide over my arms before sinking back into my skin.
“Remember what your energy is, that it’s fire,” he says. “You need to become familiar with the element, inside and out.”
The orange glow crawling over me is surreal. It’s impossible to truly process what I’m seeing.
Fire. Coming from my own body.
There’s the strangest mix of thrill and terror in my gut.
After the fourth time, I’m totally exhausted. Faelan finally lets me take another break, pulling over a chair for me. As I drink more water and snack on some granola, he picks books out of the stacks on the desk and flips through them, then hands me a couple.
“We can’t waste time,” he says, “so let’s go over some of the hierarchy before tonight. It’s going to be too overwhelming at the ceremony without it.”
That doesn’t make me feel good. I’m already trying to pretend like it’s not all happening so I don’t have an anxiety attack. Faelan really needs to learn some social skills. I open the first book and see it’s in another language, like the big one.
“Can’t I just wing it tonight? I need sleep.”
“You’re fine,” he says, completely unsympathetic. He hands me a flat gray stone with a hole in the middle. “Now read.”
I look at the stone in my palm. There are swirls etched on the surface. “Is this some sort of riddle?”
He takes it from me and holds it up to his right eye. “Through the stone, read the book.”
Oh. Wait . . . what?
He hands it back to me, and I turn the rock in my fingers, then look through the dime-size hole down to the open book in my lap. The unrecognizable language shifts and becomes English. “Whoa, cool.”
“It’s an adder stone—or a hagstone, depending on who you ask. It reveals hidden things. Eventually you won’t need it, but for now it’ll help.”
I take it away from my face, and the script goes back to gibberish.
“Read as much of that as you can,” he says. “It’ll go over the power structures and how they work in our world. Basic, but vital.”
I start reading, popping a chunk of granola in my mouth every few minutes, and Faelan begins organizing the books on the desk. Eventually, he pulls up a chair beside mine and digs into one too. We read in silence for an hour or so before I start asking questions. He answers patiently but keeps directing me back to the text.
After another half hour, I think I’ve figured out the hierarchy of this place a little better. Maybe.
Apparently, there’s a high goddess named Danu who had a lot of children, five of whom became her favorites: enter the Penta. There are a bunch of other deities in the pantheon, but none are as powerful as those five. And since the children born of Danu can’t have kids with other deities for reasons of power balance, as Faelan explained it, they created their lineages with the humans. And now there are demigods and demigoddesses. Like me. Like Marius and the raven guy, Kieran. And, apparently, Faelan. And even within the demis there are rankings: a firstborn is a king or queen while the subsequent siblings are princes or princesses.
Faelan gets annoyed when I start laughing as I read.
“So . . . am I seriously a princess?” I ask, trying not to fall out of my chair.
“Yes,” he mutters. “Perhaps you could consider acting like it?”
That just makes me giggle more.
There’s also this group called the Cast who seem very shadowy. If I’m following it right, these beings were created to keep the demigods and demigoddesses in line. It began long, long ago, when the mother goddess, Danu, anointed and made seven humans immortal, choosing them for their mercy and wisdom to watch over her grandchildren and keep the Otherworld and its children hidden from humanity. These seven immortal humans are now known as the Cast. They stay in some sort of parallel universe, rarely crossing over to this side, usually sending envoys to speak their will. They sound a bit like untouchable government officials.
At the very bottom of the pack are the aptly named underlings. These are beings that were created by the Penta. Some were once human but changed, like shades, while others were born as what they are, like selkies, pixies, and alfar. According to this book, wraiths are made from emotions. From the descriptions, they sound a lot like poltergeists. I know firsthand that they’re definitely terrifying.
Then there are the children of a union between a demi and a human, like Aelia and her coven. They aren’t considered underlings—they’re in a sort of side category that some people call witches. I remember Aelia calling herself a druid, which the book says are the priests of the Otherworld.
Hilarious. Aelia, a priest?
After a few more minutes, the words on the page in front of me become vague and too confusing for my foggy brain.
My eyes wander and land on Faelan.
I know I should turn away, but I can’t seem to find the energy. He’s really nice to look at. It’s like being in the presence of a lovely painting or sculpture—you have to admire the artistry. So my gaze trails over the angles of his profile, across the strong curve of his shoulders as he leans over what he’s reading, before I become mesmerized by the way that strand of hair stays tucked behind his ear, refusing to fall.
I want to scoot to the edge of my chair, get closer to him so that our shoulders will brush. But I stay where I am, baffled by my thoughts. I can’t tell if the urge to touch him is coming from my human side or the side of me that burns down houses.
He looks up, like he senses me watching.
I take the opportunity to ask a question that’s been rolling around in my mind since last night with Kieran. “Do I really have a sister?”
He goes still.
“Is that a bad question?” I ask.
He shuts the book with a thwack and sets it aside. “I’m not sure this is the time for that. It’s a long story.”
“It shouldn’t be a story, it should just be yes or no,” I say.
“If only it were that simple.”
That sounds daunting. Aelia made it sound like this sister was a horror. Kieran made it sound like she was amazing. I don’t trust either of them.
“Her name was Lily?” I prod.
His gaze skips to mine. “How did you know that?”
“That dark prince,” I say.
Faelan leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Of course Kieran would bring her up.” He shakes his head, annoyed. But then he says, “Her name was Líle Ó Braonáin. She was a force. She was . . . stunning,” and I think there’s affection in his voice.
“Is she dead or something?”
“She’s been imprisoned in the Pit for several hundred years.”
Unease settles over me. “That sounds bad.”
He nods. “It is. It’s similar to the legends of the biblical hell.”
They sent my sister to goddess hell? How can that be a thing for someone so powerful? “What’d she do?”
He rises to his feet, wandering over to one of the small trees lining the other side of the greenhouse. He runs a finger along one of the larger green leaves, turning it yellow, then orange, then amber. It breaks free and floats to the ground.
I watch, confused for a second before I realize he’s feeding.
“I never believed that she was fully to blame,” he says, “but her crime was severe. I’m not sure how to talk to you about it. So much of what happened never made sense.”
“No secrets, Faelan,” I say. “I need to know everything that I can.”
He touches another leaf, looking nervous. “Yeah. Agreed.”
That’s not what I expected him to say. I thought he’d argue.
He moves back to the table and pulls what looks like a scroll from behind a stack of books. “Just know that I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. But it’s not something I can speak to, not really. Not with clarity. It was the fourteenth century when she was accused of killing the king and was taken by the Cast. I was young at that time, only twelve years old. I hadn’t reached my majority and was still being kept out of the court for the most part—as Otherborn, we age the same as a human until we reach the eighteenth or nineteenth year, and then the usual entropy of aging slows to a crawl.”
Again, the idea of being immortal hits me in the gut. I’m not going to die. And I’m eighteen, which means I’m going to stop aging now, basically. Completely nuts.
He continues, unaware of my turmoil. “It was a fluke that my brother allowed me to be present at the queen’s feast that year. So what I know firsthand of your sister is from the limited awareness of a boy. And when I met her, she seemed very sad. I would never have thought her capable of murdering her Bonded. But they claim it’s what drove her to madness and caused her to poison the earth, creating the seed for the scourge of the Black Death.”
My gut twists, realizing what he’s saying. She was a killer. A mass murderer. My God, didn’t the plague kill tens of millions of people?
“The Cast allowed for only a single verified record of the queen,” he says. “There have been theories written, novels, even a collection of poetry, but most of what we know today is hearsay.” He pushes aside a couple of books and sets down the scroll he’s been holding. He unrolls it a little, glancing over the faded script. He rolls and unrolls it a couple more times, looking for a passage. “The Painted Annals aren’t ever the full story—nothing is, really—but they’re the only full written account I’ve found of her birth, with sporadic, pivotal tales that reach into the year she was arrested. Everything else is rumor and stories told over centuries by unreliable mouths. Not many alive today knew her personally, and she was a very private soul. I definitely think you should read all the accounts; I’ll give this first one to you so you can see for yourself, without my influence or anyone else’s.” He rolls up the scroll and hands it to me. “It’s set to open at the birth announcement.”
I take it from him, not sure what to do with it. I’m pretty positive I won’t like what I find inside.
“There’s more that we . . . that we need to talk about,” he adds, his tone getting tense.
The scroll is heavy in my hands. Looking at it, I’m not sure I can take much more. “I hope you’re kidding.”
“It’s about the Introduction tonight.”
I shake my head, standing. “No. Enough’s enough.” I’ve definitely reached my limit.
His voice lowers in warning. “It’s important.”
“Yeah, well, so’s my sanity.” I tuck the scroll under my arm and snatch my bag of granola from the floor, heading for the door. “I’m done.”
“Sage, you need to—” he starts, but he cuts off as I walk past. “Listen.” And he grabs at my arm, stopping my escape.
I go still, staring at his fingers gripping my elbow. They’re pressing in, insistent. “What’re you doing?” Warmth slinks from his touch, spreading to my shoulder. “Let go.” My gaze moves up to his face.
His features are tight before realization seems to flood him. He releases me, stepping back. Then he looks away. A few tense seconds tick by, and the memory of Kieran choking me returns full throttle, before Faelan adds again, “This is important.”
I should just walk out, but he’s obviously nervous because of whatever he’s got to tell me. “Spit it out, then.”
He hesitates for a second but finally says, “During the ceremony tonight, you’ll stand in front of the Houses for the Introduction and choose your protector.” He pauses, his feet shifting nervously. “You’re meant to pick me. And you’re to make it clear to everyone that you trust me, that this was your choice.”
That seems like a rich demand at this point. “Is it really my choice?”
His brow furrows. “Of course.”
“I asked Marius at dinner if he could do the protecting thing. He didn’t act like that was okay.”
That seems to knock him sideways a bit. “You asked Marius? Why?”
Because Marius is safer, I want to tell him. He doesn’t make me all fluttery in my chest every time I look at him. But instead I say, “You didn’t seem very . . . relatable. And then last night that dark prince, Kieran, said he was throwing his hat in the ring too. It’s all completely confusing. I’ve got no idea what I’m supposed to do.” Before I can stop the honesty, I add in a whisper, “And I think I’m sorta scared of you.”
He really doesn’t like that. He repeats tightly, “I scare you?” His fingers curl into a fist at his side. “I saved your life. Twice. Even though you nearly killed me. But Kieran did kill you—and somehow I’m the one who scares you?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say. “This whole thing is a mess. I never asked for any of it.”
“Neither did I.”
I stare up at him. Somehow he’s suddenly only inches away. My heart pounds a little louder in my head. I swear he’s stealing all the air in the room.
“Can I just get some freaking time to think?” I ask under my breath. There’s way too much going on here between him and me right now. With his eyes on me like that, I can’t tell if he wants to strangle me or kiss me.
He opens up space between us again, his gaze shifting back to the ground as his shoulders sink a little. “Right. I’ll tell Marius that it’s possible you’ll choose someone else tonight.”
Even though he looks stricken by the idea, he’s not pushing me into something I don’t want. But maybe he’s relieved I’m giving him an out; he never wanted this to begin with.
Then why does he look pissed enough to crack bricks with his teeth?
“You should go,” he says. It’s obvious that any understanding we built during our training today has evaporated. “Aelia will come by your cottage and help you get ready for the ceremony. We’ll leave around six. It starts at sunset.”
I watch his stiff features for a few more heartbeats and then quietly say, “Okay,” before I turn and walk away.