THIRTY-SEVEN
FAELAN
Aelia gets everything set up in the living room in the main house for the new spell. The freshly mopped marble floor glistens. She had the servants rearrange the couches to make more space and created her circle on the floor out of a mixture of salt and chalk dust, rose petals sprinkled around the rim for an extra guard. One of the side tables is set up as an altar, and she’s arranged bird bones and marlstones in a lunar pattern for the gravity of the spell to hold, all around a rye candle to center the energy more effectively.
Aelia may be a flake in most things, but in her magic a spark of genius shines through.
She has the small scroll laid out on the couch, the tiny Gaelic script covering every inch of the vellum. She refers to it, and then motions to me. “You can’t be in the area of the spell, Faelan. Your energy will muck with the weaving. Go stand over there.” She points to the French doors near the kitchen.
I do as she says, standing in a spot where I can still watch everything that happens in case something goes wrong.
Aelia arranges Sage at the center of the circle and asks her to focus on the memories, to think of the last remnant of what she saw and hold it in her mind. She reads over the scroll before moving to light the candle.
She takes a match out of the box. “Close your eyes and imagine the last moment where you experienced a memory,” she says to Sage. “Be a part of it again, and repeat what I say in your head.”
Sage closes her eyes and takes in a shaking breath. Her brow pinches like she’s in pain.
“Okay, I’ll begin.” Aelia strikes the match, flame flaring to life. She whispers in Gaelic: “This bond must tear. All threads snapped, frayed, severed, upon the transfer of light. Let the weaving come undone once this claiming is complete.” She lowers the match to the candle.
“Wait!” Sage says, her voice full of fear.
Aelia moves the match away from the wick. “What? What’s wrong?”
Sage shakes her head. “I can’t do this.”
I step forward. “What are you saying?”
“I can’t do this.” She turns to me, looking lost. “I don’t know what I’m feeling. I just know this is wrong. I can’t.”
Aelia waves the match in the air to put it out and turns to me. “I think the memories have already threaded too deep.”
No, that can’t be right. “It’s too soon for her to be that far gone.”
“She’s clearly protecting them,” Aelia says, motioning to Sage.
“No, she’s not,” I snap.
Sage steps from the circle. “Yes, I am. And don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
I run a hand through my hair, trying to figure out what’s going on. Yesterday all she wanted was to get away from this. “But, Sage, you can’t be serious—”
“I can, Faelan. And I am.”
“She sure seems serious,” Aelia adds, not being helpful at all.
“You’re getting too wrapped up in it,” I say, urgency filling me. “You’re just confused—the memories can trick you. They merge emotions and personalities. It’s very dangerous.”
“No kidding,” she says. “As if I don’t know that.”
“Why not be free of them then?” I ask.
She folds her arms across her chest. “Look, I get how recalling all these vivid memories, or whatever, could screw with my head. That’s become very clear to me. But there’s something about what’s happening that feels right. It’s a part of me—I can’t explain it.” She starts to pace, the slap of her flip-flops the only sound in the room. Aelia and I watch her for several seconds until she finally continues. “I need to know everything. I can’t reject information. I’m a part of this story.”
“She’s making sense,” Aelia says.
But to me it sounds like Kieran’s manipulation is finally sinking in, and the blood memories are taking hold. This can only go one way if she lets it in and allows it to become a part of her. Aelia has no idea the damage this could do to our House if Sage ends up turning to the Morrígan.
I meet her pleading gaze, knowing she’s completely wrong in her thinking. But how do I convince her? Until this moment, I’ve never wished to be like my brothers, but I could use a little of Finbar’s conniving spirit right now.
As it is, I can only hold in my fury and speak the truth.
“It’s a mistake not to do the spell,” I say. “You’re wrong, Sage.”
She just shakes her head, determined.
Tension looms in the air as Aelia cleans things up. Sage helps her, believing she’s right in her decision not to do the spell. I move the couches back, then walk out, having said my piece. Once I’m back at my cottage, I hesitate at the door, wondering if I should even stay here right now—my emotions are far too raw. I’m more angry than I’ve been in a long time. I’m going to do something foolish if I leave, though. And I can’t abandon her.
I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don’t hear her come up behind me until she says, “I need to stop running, Faelan. From everything.”
I release a breath and rub my face. Then I turn to her.
She’s a few feet away, cautious. “I’m tired of being afraid of everything,” she says, her voice wavering. “My whole life, I’ve always thought I was so tough, but really I’m a coward. I only look for an out, a way to escape. I never face anything.” Her eyes glisten in the sunlight. “I need to face this.”
I want to shake her. She’s so far from a coward, she has no idea.
“Don’t be angry with me,” she says.
“I’m not sure I can watch you fall, Sage,” I whisper, my voice nearly breaking.
She blinks.
I step closer, reaching out to brush a copper strand of hair from her eyes. “I care about you.” I let the words sink in, into me, into her. And then I say, “Whatever you choose, promise me you’ll be careful.”
She nods, tears filling her eyes.
I turn away and shut myself in my cottage.