CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Helia’s favor.

We were home, at my house in Cainsville. Gabriel was with me in the yard, bundled up against the cold dawn. Ricky hung back with Lloergan at the pond, both giving us space as he treated the hound’s injuries. Lloergan had fled when the throng of minor sluagh attacked—she’d remembered the first time she’d met its kind, the attack that took so much from her. But she hadn’t run far before she circled back and fought, saving her pack sister and making the minor sluagh decide they had better things to do than battle a couple of cŵn.

As for Helia…

When Helia and Alexios asked me for a favor, I’d waited for something momentous, like Ida’s request. They deserved it, after all, for everything they’d done. But what they asked for…

Gabriel and I stood in the back corner of my yard, in a particularly untended patch, one that had been empty of everything but brambles and weeds. Now there was a tree, a strong young linden. Alexios crouched at its base, his hands against it, whispering to it. Then he rose and turned to us.

“That was Helia’s request,” he said. “To root here in her death. Now I’ll make mine. I’m asking for the same. To root here, with her.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Whenever you think the end is close—”

“I’m not waiting for the end. I’m bringing it to me.” A faint smile. “Which is why I didn’t dare ask while she lived. We’d have argued. We hated it when we argued. But if she’s done, so am I. There’s no place in this world that won’t remind me of her, and I don’t want to be anyplace that she isn’t. May I go now? Here?”

I opened my mouth to protest. I had to protest, had to try to talk him out of it, but Gabriel said, “Of course,” and Alexios nodded, and he stood, one hand on the linden tree, leaning toward it and whispering as we walked away to give him privacy.

When we came back, I had two lindens in my yard, one straight and true, the other leaning toward it, a branch wrapped around its trunk. And I cried. I’d managed to stifle my tears with Ida, but now I cried—for Ida, for the dryads, for everyone we’d lost, everyone who’d given themselves in that final battle.

I stood in that yard with Gabriel’s arms around me, holding me against him as I cried.

I was back inside the house. Ricky had gone to help Ioan deal with the loss of a Huntsman and hound. Gabriel and I were with Rose in my parlor. Veronica, Grace, and Patrick were there, too. I’d never seen any of them quite as somber as they were that morning. Ida was dead. Walter was also dead, a traitor whose true story would never fully be known.

I thought about that. Mostly, I thought about it in relation to Ida. I remembered those noises on the stairs to the belfry when the sluagh had been talking about Walter’s betrayal and his death. That had been Ida, I realized, listening to confirmation of her mate’s treachery and his murder. What had that been like for her? He was her lover, her consort, her partner for centuries, and he’d turned on her and on Cainsville, and she would never know why. She died not knowing why.

I think that makes her more “human” to me than anything. It makes me grieve more, and I wonder if her sacrifice was in part to rectify the damage he’d done but also because, like Alexios, she’d lost her life partner. For her sake, I hope that, in those final moments, she was able to tell herself he’d done it for Cainsville—that, in a twisted way, he’d still done it for them.

But we weren’t talking about Ida or Walter or what would happen in Cainsville now that they were gone. We were talking about Seanna. We’d found her, sleeping as soundly as when my mother had been poised over her with a knife. All that drama, and she’d never woken. She still hadn’t, deep in her fae-induced sleep. Now we had to decide what was to be done with her.

“So what happens with her mark?” I said. “The elder sluagh is dead, but it’s still there.”

“As it will be, unfortunately,” Veronica said. “The death of the sluagh only means that one specifically cannot take her soul. She’ll still be collected, by other elder sluagh. However, now that the one who marked her is gone, I can remove it.”

“And removing it means she won’t be taken?”

Veronica glanced at Patrick. There was a long moment of silence.

“It doesn’t mean that?” I said.

“It does,” Patrick said. “But if you take away the mark, you give her back what they stole. Give her back her humanity.”

“Then that’s a no-brainer, right?” I glanced at Gabriel, sitting beside me on the sofa. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be the one talking. In fact, I probably shouldn’t even be part of this discussion.”

Gabriel’s hand reached for mine. “No, you should. What happens to her affects you, should she somehow regain her humanity and still decide to hurt you.”

“She wouldn’t,” Veronica said.

“But it does affect you, Liv,” Rose said. “If it affects Gabriel…”

She let that one hang, but we all knew what she meant. If this decision affected him, it would affect me. And it definitely affected him.

Gabriel said, “I believe, then, it is, as Olivia called it, a no-brainer. To restore her humanity—and annihilate that part that might seek to harm Olivia, either for petty pleasure or for profit—seems only positive. But the fact you haven’t merely told us you’re doing so suggests it isn’t that simple. I certainly hope you aren’t asking because you think I would want her marked, as punishment for what she’s done to me.”

“No,” Veronica said. “We know you wouldn’t. The problem…”

When she trailed off, Rose said, “Memories.”

I looked over at Rose, seated on a chair, hands wrapped in her lap. She straightened and said, “The problem is memory. If they return her humanity, I’m guessing that means she’ll remember everything. How she treated her parents, her family, her friends. All of that would be bad enough. But what she did to her own son…?” She shook her head. “It will break her.”

I looked from Veronica to Patrick. “Is she right?”

“About the memories, yes,” Patrick said. “About breaking her…I didn’t know Seanna as a child. It’ll be hard on her, yes, but—”

“It will break her,” Rose said firmly.

“Rose is right,” Veronica said. “If we restore her soul, we break her mind.”

“What kind of a choice is that?” I said. “How the hell is anyone supposed to decide—?”

Gabriel’s hand squeezed mine, cutting me short, and he said, evenly, “Is there another option? And, yes, I suppose we could take her mark and then give her a merciful death, but I don’t believe we could ever agree to that. Is there another choice?”

“We can take the mark and make her comfortable,” Veronica said. “Use fae compulsions and such to let her rest and dream pleasant dreams. She’d have periods of lucidity, where she would be calm, but she would never be about to live a normal life. It would be, I fear, a form of institutionalization.”

“She’d stay in my building,” Grace said. “We’d look after her, Veronica and I. You’d be free to visit if you wanted, but that would be up to you.”

“No,” Rose said. “She’s my kin. My responsibility. If Gabriel agrees to this, I would look after her. In my home.”

Grace shook her head. “Our compulsions will work better in my building. She’ll be happier there.”

“But—”

“If you wish to be her caregiver, I won’t stop you,” Veronica said. “Yet Grace is correct—Seanna will stay in the apartment building. Under your care, but living there.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You did nothing to cause this, Rose. You shouldn’t feel obligated—”

“I don’t. I want to do this.” She met his gaze. “I’m asking you to let me do this, Gabriel.”

He nodded, and silence fell.

Two days of holing up in my house with Gabriel. Taking the time I needed to recover.

I hadn’t been injured—not physically—but I felt more exhausted than the times I’d actually been shot or stabbed. It wasn’t even a melancholy exhaustion, but more one of relief. I’d made my choice with the Tylwyth Teg and Cŵn Annwn. I had yet to tell anyone other than Gabriel, but it was made, and all I wanted to do now was hole up in my house with him, feel the ground finally steady beneath my feet before I had to finish this. Commit to a choice I’d rather not make.

I had other obligations as well, and after those two days I was ready for one. Time to see Pamela. She was out of the hospital now, having recovered from her mysterious ailment, with no one ever realizing she’d left her hospital bed.

I had something to tell her, something important, but I would have postponed it longer if she hadn’t summoned me.

I took my usual place, and she’d barely sat in hers before she said, “I’m confessing.”

“What?”

“I’m telling the court it was me. You’re getting your father back, Eden. That’s what you want. That’s what I owe you. What I owe both of you.”

I stared at her. “You’re offering…”

“Yes, and please don’t ask if I have an ulterior motive. There are no strings on this gift, Eden. I want you to be happy, and this is the one thing you lack. So I offer it. No, I give it. Freely.” She started to rise. “I’ve already asked to speak to someone. It’ll be done today. That won’t get your father released instantly, but I have evidence. He’ll be out as soon as it can be done. I would like to speak to Gabriel about that.”

She walked toward the door, and I looked at her, speechless.

Then, as the guard was about to take her, I said, “Mom?”

She stopped. Just stopped, as if not sure she’d heard right.

“You don’t need to do that, Mom,” I said. “You have the appeal. I was coming to tell you that. You and Dad. Gabriel was notified yesterday. The appeal has been granted, and it’s strong. It’s really strong.”

She turned and looked at me, her expression unreadable. Then she shook her head. “I don’t want strong. I want guaranteed. For him. I’m going to do this, Eden. Please let me—”

“No.”

“I’m asking—”

“No. I can’t stop you, but I’m asking. Let this go to court. Please. If you can get out…” I took a deep breath. “I’d like you out.”

Silence. Such a long silence. I could feel her gaze on me, assessing. Then she said, “And how will Gabriel feel about that? He may prefer my option, given what I did to him.”

“He’s never cared. I’m the one you hurt.”

She flinched at that, but I didn’t regret it. It had to be said.

“Let him get you out,” I said.

“All right,” she said finally. “But if it doesn’t work, I will confess.”

I got up and hugged her. “Thank you.”