THIRTY-FIVE
SAGE
I really don’t want to go back to the Cottages. The closer we get, the harder it is to breathe.
I should be relaxing into the idea of finding a way out of this now. My problems are all solved: my power is contained, I won’t hurt anyone, the dreams will eventually be gone. Yes, I’ll have to deal with them for a while, but I can do that anywhere. There’s no reason to stay and be tortured by this crazy Emergence choice anymore—because how does a person choose their destiny in one week? That’s ridiculous.
And I could get free from it tomorrow if I wanted. Be back to depending on myself again. Simple.
But deep inside, I know that I won’t. I won’t leave this time. I won’t run.
The old me is seriously pissed, and confused. I can’t understand why I’m not willing to leave this behind all of a sudden.
“What’s going on, Sage?” Faelan asks as we leave the 10 freeway and merge onto PCH.
I’d like to know the answer to that myself. I watch the silver blue of the Pacific appear beside him and swallow the rock in my throat. We pass shops, beaches, houses, and I can’t find a way to say what I’m feeling.
“What, Sage?” Faelan asks again, his tone growing tense.
I shake my head. “Can we stop?”
“What?”
“The car.”
“Why?”
“Stop the car!” I snap, shocking myself. And him.
He steers the Audi to the side of the road, pulling off at a vista point and parking so we face the ocean. He turns off the engine. Then he watches me cautiously as several seconds of silence pass. When I can’t take it anymore, I open the door and get out, walking to the edge of the bluff and trying to get oxygen into my lungs. I gulp the sea air and swallow my rising tears.
The crunch of rocks and dirt underfoot sounds behind me.
The ocean rages below, and the salty mist clings to my skin as the breeze carries it past.
“I don’t want this,” I whisper, to the sea, to Faelan, to my goddess mother, wherever she is. “I don’t want to be this.”
Faelan stays quiet beside me, staring out at the water, the wind tousling his hair.
“I’ve been wanting to run away,” I confess. He doesn’t respond, so I add, “I was pretty much out of here as soon as I learned to get my powers under control.” Shame fills me, and I have no idea why.
Maybe because I’m a coward.
“Where do you plan to go?” he asks, surprising me.
I shrug.
“You know they’ll find you, right?” he says. “Next time it’ll be Kieran who takes you under his wing.” He turns from the water to face me. “Is that what you want?”
“No!” I say quickly.
“Then what do you want, Sage?”
I can only shake my head as my throat goes tight. Because I don’t know. What Marius said before we left his office hit me hard. My whole life all I’ve wanted is a home, peace, safety. I want to be able to trust someone.
But I don’t even think I’d know how to do that. How can I ever be sure it’s real?
Faelan touches my wrist, and I look down as his fingers slide over my palm and weave through mine. I stare at our joined hands, and everything inside me settles. I look back out at the water and take in a shaky breath. Release it.
Then I lean over, resting my head on his shoulder. Together we watch the ocean churn.
The sun is setting in bright orange and violet by the time we get back to the house. We part ways silently, Faelan going to his cottage, me to mine. We haven’t said anything more, but nothing needs to be said. Marius put the offer on the table, an offer for a family, for a home. Faelan echoed it in his own way. Now I just have to decide what to do with it.
I set the small scroll on the coffee table next to the one that Faelan gave me. And I notice something sitting beside the ring left from my morning cup of coffee. A black velvet bag.
I stare at it, not wanting to touch it. I know with sharp clarity why it’s there and who it’s from.
I shouldn’t know so definitively, but I do.
The bag is sitting on a black envelope with a silver seal. It’s tied with a satin strap, diamonds on the ends. I pull the envelope out from under it and turn the square over in my hands. The seal is pressed with a complex design of Celtic knotting, a bird at the center: a raven. I bend it and it makes a satisfying snap.
A silver ribbon spills out of the envelope, a large rusty key tied to the end. When I tug on it, the paper contents pull smoothly from the envelope. I study the key as I unfold the black paper; it looks Victorian, like something out of a Brontë novel. But then I swallow a gasp as I realize the paper’s not just paper. Small silhouettes of birds and trees and swirls are cut out in an intricate piece of artwork to create a frame coated in gold leaf.
At the center, in proud silver script, it says:
My Love,
A small token from the House of Morrígan: a villa in Spain, fully stocked and ready for your pleasure. The steward will contact you in a day or so with the paperwork. Whatever you choose for your future, it’s yours with our affection.
The sunrise is breathtaking over the vineyard.
Additionally, this bag attached carries a personal gift, a small token from me. I hope to have a chance to explain its meaning soon.
K.
My heartbeat thunders in my head. I pick up the velvet bag, pulling off the satin ties with shaking hands. Then I tip the sack over.
A smooth white figure tumbles out into my palm. A delicate milky-glass owl.
My throat tightens.
I touch the cool surface tentatively with the tip of my finger, almost expecting it to move, it looks so real. So like the owl in my dreams.
“Fionn,” I whisper, an ache filling my chest, missing him.
Missing a bird I’ve never known in real life.
It’s three inches tall, each speckled feather painted with intricate detail, a shadowed spot on the breast where the arrow struck. The head is tipped to the side, as if in curiosity. The large black eyes glitter knowingly.
It’s stunning. And I want to ask Kieran why, why would he give this to me? How does he know about my Fionn? No, not my Fionn. Lily’s Fionn.
But it’s no use. I felt the bird’s soft feathers; its talons gripped my gloved arm. I loved Fionn. Somewhere inside me, I loved him.
The memory rises of the king touching the bird’s still form, drawing it back from death. I watched his warrior form collapse into the snow, my heart stopping in terror. I sat beside his bed. I prayed for him, for help from the goddess. I gave myself to him. I gave everything.
And it was horrifyingly beautiful.
Something caresses my cheek, lifting me from sleep. It slides down my neck and makes a circle on my bare chest, a rush of remembered heat flowing through my bones.
I open my eyes slowly, almost afraid of what I’ll see when I face him again.
He’s lying beside me, playing with a white feather, turning it in his fingers, holding it up to the rising sunlight spilling through the casement. When he realizes I’m awake, he turns his head and a slow smile tips his mouth.
I blink at him, my pulse skipping as I look into those silver eyes, remembering what was woven between us in this bed.
He stays silent, rolling close, kissing my lips delicately. His hair brushes at my cheek, his fingers caressing my jaw.
I remain still, unsure, searching his features as he moves away.
So many questions are gathered in my head, too many doubts, fears.
I barely know what to feel.
“My sun,” he whispers, kissing the tip of my nose, “my fire. Don’t be afraid.”
“You’re well?” I ask, thinking of my desperation to bring him back only a few hours ago and how I took from him. How I haven’t taken for so long, and never from someone so full of rich power.
“I am well.” His thumb slides over my collarbone. “But I hunger for more.” His eyes meet mine. “Do you?”
The memory of his icy energy filling me, coating my insides as we made love, as I fed, sends a shiver through me. Of course I wish for more. My skin aches with longing at the thought. But I shake my head, needing control right now. Needing to understand what’s happened.
My whole world shifted in a moment. I need my feet under me again to make sense of it all.
“I would have a bath,” I say, sitting up. “And perhaps some quail eggs.” I move to the edge of the bed, but his fingers trap my wrist, stopping me.
“Why do you run, my love?” he asks. “Am I still so repulsive to you?”
“I wish to be alone,” I say, trying to keep the tremble from my voice.
He releases my wrist, and a traitorous part of me aches with the loss.
But I shove it aside and gather my clothes, clutching them to my chest as I slip from the room.