FORTY
SAGE
I close my cottage door and sigh, feeling lighter than I have in forever. In spite of everything, he was there. Again. He had my back. I think I’ve totally let myself fall for the guy.
It’s so dumb.
I peel off my dress, wash my face, and pull on a pair of stretch pants with skulls on them and a baggy Nirvana shirt. I smile to myself, thinking of how I felt his breath catch when I kissed his cheek. I climb into bed, curling onto my side, hugging my pillow, and marvel at his steadfastness.
Then my fingers touch something cold.
And I remember.
I pull the glass owl out from under my pillow, and all thoughts of Faelan slip away as I roll onto my back, holding it up, studying it in the bright moonlight that’s coming through the window. My little Fionn.
Thoughts of the evening float away as I run my fingers over the bird’s face, tracing its features, its speckled feathers. And then I grip it in my hand, pressing it to my chest. Thinking of the comfort of a cold mountain keep, the comfort of a king. Knowing I’ll be with him soon.
Very soon.
I would say that our world on this icy mountain has returned to how it was before my surrender, but that would be said only to comfort myself. Because I . . .
I am not the same.
However much he is.
Every evening after supper, he still walks me to my bedroom door, telling me that I am his, and then he leaves me without protest when I push his advances away. As before, he doesn’t force his will. He never touches me without invitation. And I still don’t know if I should give such a thing again.
However much my body longs for it.
Every night after I crawl into bed, I lie wide awake for hours, arguing with myself, contemplating sneaking through the back passage to his room and climbing into his arms where this hunger can be satiated.
I have wished many times that I was another girl, one who could embrace this cage. Then I could settle into the cold in the arms of this beast. But the child of fire in me resists; it yearns for green life and struggles with the idea of giving itself over.
Still, the strangest thoughts come to me now, about him, about the two of us together. As if this were more than a physical hunger I’m feeling. Like how I miss the sound of his whistling when he doesn’t come out with me on my daily ride, or how comforting it is to smell his leathers when he arrives home after a long day in the village.
And how I miss the feel of his arms gripping me tight . . . even though it happened only that one magical time.
The thought has come to me that I could be happy in this life.
I cast it away and remain in between. Forcing my hopes into submission.
Because I will be free of this one day. I will. I’ll return to the green of my wood with Lailoken, and I’ll be home again.
And this will be nothing but an icy memory.
My eyes open slowly as I surface from the dream, the emotions in me still raw, the chill of the snow still lingering in my bones. The sun is shining in soft beams across the bed, the morning light filtering through the gauzy yellow curtains.
I stare at the dust motes in the air and sift through the dream as I emerge from it. So much turmoil and resistance. Fighting the hunger, the yearning. Yearning not to be alone. And I wonder why.
Why am I pushing the king away?
My nerves spark, realizing my mistake.
No—it’s Lily. Not me. I’m not doing anything.
A shiver works through me as I realize how deep I’m getting. The dreams are too vivid right now, lingering in the morning air, lingering inside me.
Even as I try to bury it, it sticks to my bones.
I have to focus on the present. Only the present. I can’t let the dreams, the emotions, sink in too deep and mess with me. No matter how much I want to cling to it. It’s not real.
It’s dreams. Dreams of the dead.
The next few days roll by in a steady rhythm of late-morning “power practice,” as I call it, with Faelan, then afternoon laziness by the pool with Aelia and whichever friend she’s let tag along, ending with dinner with Marius and ditzy Barb.
But in the night, I shift. I become another soul, living in the cold, my best friend a monk, my lover my enemy.
I don’t want to admit it, but with each morning that comes, I’m starting to think that there’s a part of me that is Lily now. I feel her as she sits on the fringes during the daylight, waiting to be set free. I know I should keep her at arm’s length; I should be trying to keep the dreams separate. But I can’t.
Yesterday, I started to ask Faelan where my favorite glass combs had gone. But I don’t have any glass combs. And then I remembered: in my dream the night before, the king had gifted stained-glass combs to Lily and they were missing. She’d asked him if he knew where they were. Just like I almost asked Faelan.
The mistake nagged at me the whole day. I decided I couldn’t keep pretending the dreams were helping. I wasn’t finding out anything new about what happened to the king, or how he died, or why Lily went crazy. I was just letting her play around in my head.
I went looking for Aelia to talk to her about doing the spell, the one I’d walked away from a few days ago. But when I found her, I changed my mind again.
I really should just tell Faelan what I’m feeling, but he’ll worry. And lecture me.
Anyway, he probably knows. He keeps watching me like I might grow horns. I feel like I already have.
I just want to pretend it’ll all be okay. I don’t yearn for Kieran anymore. I don’t care when his gifts come. In fact, I haven’t opened any of the tributes from any of the Houses since my murder party.
Aelia, of course, tells me every day what shows up for me, but I blot the list of gifts out of my head, letting the sound of the pool waterfall muffle her words as much as I can. Apparently, I now have a couple of houses, three cars, and a ton of bags full of things like electronics, soaps, oils, candles, towels, and robes—I could open my own Bed Bath & Beyond about now. I asked her to donate the gifts to a local homeless shelter. What am I going to do with twelve robes, one in every natural fabric known to modern man?
I’ve been invited to several private clubs, VIP rooms, concerts, concertos, plays, sporting events, and even a picnic in Paris by Finbar. I now have box seats at the Met in New York City, season tickets to the Hollywood Bowl, and a regular table at the House of Blues in Vegas.
But I couldn’t care less about any of it. The only thing I feel is the ticking forward of time, shoving me closer and closer to the Emergence. Only two days left. Pressure is building in the house, in Faelan, and in me.
There’s an unspoken shadow over us all with these dreams. Everyone knows they’re affecting me. Marius is the only one who asks me about them, but I’m trying with everything in me to keep them separate, so I usually give half answers.
They all watch me like a doomsday switch is about to go off in my head.
All I want is to get past it and move on. I have no idea what I’ll do when the moment of my Emergence comes, and whenever I try to wrap my mind around it, I just want to get to the after.
This night of destiny can’t come fast enough.