“You’re certain?” Tearlach’s voice was deceptively low, but his fury was evident in his advancing strides.
“I am.” Esme gave a single nod. “Lord Luxovious used—”
“Lord Luxovious?” he growled. “That thing wasn’t a man, much less a lord.”
“All right,” she acquiesced, no more willing to relive Lord Luxovious’s memories than Tearlach was to hear them.
It had only been a matter of minutes since Esme had stumbled back onto solid ground. The memories she’d witnessed in the Sacred Pool of Navlin had presented one disturbing revelation after another about the former Lord of Kearney.
So far, she’d only conveyed to Tearlach the most unnerving memory she’d accessed down there—that Lord Luxovious had been singularly responsible for provoking the uprising that had led to the Dark War and the slaughter of thousands. She’d yet to reveal everything he’d done before that, nearly a thousand years prior.
Tearlach’s chest expanded as he took a slow breath, flexing his hands like it might keep them from curling into fists.
Esme knew that his thoughts had strayed to the war. She’d seen the horrors herself, through Lord Luxovious’s eyes. Visions of battlefields bathed in blood and ash…the kingdom overrun by creatures wielding powerful, dark magic…
Tearlach and the others never spoke about the gruesome things they’d witnessed in the battles against Lord Luxovious’s underlings. All Esme knew was that out of Tearlach’s faction in the north, only four had survived.
Esme shook the nightmarish images from her mind and glanced up, finding Tearlach visibly calmer. It was a trait he’d long ago mastered, one that concealed the turmoil she knew was churning just beneath the surface.
The desire to reach out for him was so strong Esme nearly tripped forward. She could still feel the echoes of the emotions he’d let slip through their connection when she’d first emerged from the cavern.
With a steadying breath, she sifted back through the memories she’d bartered for. Objects of power forged by Alastar’s hand…Lord Luxovious imbuing them with dark magic…hundreds of channels sealed off in an instant…false gods and narratives…high-priestesses controlling the world’s magic…
“The channels,” Esme started. “They weren’t destroyed as we thought. Only closed off.”
Tearlach’s shoulders loosened a bit. “Good. That’s good.” He nodded.
“It is,” she agreed, though that was the only piece of non-distressing information she could offer.
“Now?” Esme looked through the branches to where the sun hung high in the sky. “Shouldn’t we return to camp?”
“We’ll wait until nightfall. Wake the others in the morning.” He pulled a canteen from his pack.
They’d left her entire royal guard—as well as Myles, who’d guided them into the mountains—in a state of deep sleep the night before. With Tearlach’s magic, they wouldn’t wake until he released its hold. It was a power Esme was none too comfortable with, having had it wielded against her more than once when she’d refused greatly needed rest. But the situation, unfortunately, called for it.
Much as Esme wanted to trust everyone in her retinue, the information she’d uncovered with Tearlach and Cadwyn regarding the channels—namely that there’d once been hundreds scattered throughout the kingdom—had been somewhat conflicting. Until they were able to verify the truth, and whether or not there was even a possibility that the channels could be restored, it was best not to spread the information.
However, her unintentionally lengthy stay in the cavern beneath the ancient tree would delay the official purpose of their journey.
“What about the meeting with the priestesses? They’ll be expecting…” Esme trailed off, her mind clouding with confusion. She could remember asking Sully to send word when the unordained priestesses replied to her request. And he’d delivered—
Oh no. He hadn’t. She hadn’t seen Sully since the morning they’d left Meallán.
If the women of the Triskele hadn’t responded to her letter, there’d be no one waiting at the temple when she arrived.
“I’ll send someone on ahead, alert them as to our delay.” Tearlach tossed his empty canteen into his pack, then ducked under one of the low-hanging branches.
Esme followed, shielding her eyes against the sun. The darkened clearing beneath the canopy would’ve been more suitable for sleep, but she’d wager that Tearlach hadn’t veered more than a few feet away from the wide, twisted trunk the entire time she’d been trapped in the cave beneath the tree.
It wasn’t until she settled beside him that she realized just how exhausted she was. Still, she resisted the temptation to close her eyes, fearing Lord Luxovious’s memories would return the moment she did.
When Tearlach’s breathing evened out, Esme eased back against the branch. After a while, she allowed herself to sink further into the tranquility that surrounded them, finding her mind blissfully blank.
“What was the cost?” Tearlach asked softly.
Esme’s breath hitched. She held it for a second, letting it out slowly in hopes that she might fool him into thinking she’d fallen asleep. Though she knew it would never work.
After a moment, she twisted to look up at him. “One of my memories for…one of his.”
Tearlach stared down at her, unblinking, his jaw tightening.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was unexpectedly rough, and Esme wondered how many of their shared moments she’d given up.
Breathing in a warm, familiar scent, Esme knew immediately that she’d drifted off to sleep curled up next to Tearlach. Slowly, she opened her eyes to the lilac and emerald colors of the Loinnir Lights playing across the smooth lawn of his shirt. Night had fallen and they needed to head back, but she didn’t move, mesmerized by the glow of light dancing and swirling, growing brighter, then fading.
The lights were far more brilliant above the ancient tree than anywhere else in Tremaene—yet another reminder that the magic of their world was locked away, their land becoming more and more barren with each passing day.
And finally, she understood how it’d all happened.
She shoved the thought away, refusing to let that monster rob her of another precious memory.
Returning her attention to the hard planes of Tearlach’s chest, expanding with each powerful breath, she wished they could stay a little longer. Just a few more minutes, she pleaded silently.
“Did you sleep?” Tearlach’s voice rumbled through her, making the skin at every point of contact they shared shiver with awareness.
Reluctantly, Esme pulled away. She straightened her clothes and replaited her braid before turning back to face him. He held up her pack, his hands grazing her arms as she slid them through the straps. Even through her shirt and the protective layer of fine mesh chainmail she wore beneath, she could feel the heat of his touch.
Without speaking, they wended their way through the thick foliage between the ancient tree and the ridge that obscured the small oasis, then climbed the mass of vines that covered the rock face. At the top, Tearlach halted her and offered a pouch of dried fruit.
Her thoughts instantly scattered.
A dull pain radiated at her temples.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t recall when last she’d eaten; it was the gesture itself that bewildered her.
She stared down at his outstretched hand. There was something eerily familiar about it. He’d handed her food before—countless times during their journeys—but she couldn’t stifle the feeling that she’d somehow…forgotten something. Lost something.
She glared back at the tree. How many moments had she sacrificed?
“They’re not lost,” Tearlach said softly. “Whatever it took from you, you’ll find again. We’ll help you remember. I’ll help you.”
She worried her lower lip between her teeth, thinking back on her years in Periwen. Even when she’d thought she’d been alone, Tearlach had been there.
She only wished she’d known at the time. Not because it felt like a violation—having someone watch over her without her knowledge—but because, for all those years, she’d thought she was alone. When Tearlach had been right there, so close.
Esme looked up. His dark eyes tangled with hers, and she knew he was thinking the same.
“Are you going to remind me of the time you trapped me on the ladder?” she asked, hoping to ease some of the tension swelling between them. “Because I can assure you, I remember that quite well.” She forced a tight smile.
The determination in Tearlach’s eyes remained.
“No,” he said simply, taking a step toward her. “I’d tell you about the time I watched you build the fence around your garden, how you were intent on weaving every branch yourself instead of hiring help in the village. Then I’d tell you about the ducks who congregated in the pond just past your orchard, and how you’d calm them whenever they grew agitated. Usually after a storm. I’d remind you about the way you’d hum to yourself when you picked apples or when you walked through the forest.”
Esme swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.
“I’d tell you about the way your hair would fall loose after you tended to your plants for hours on end in the late summer heat, how it would curl at your temples. How your face could be smudged with dirt, but your eyes were always bright and glittering.”
He took another step, and Esme’s face grew warm. The intimate recollections should have made her feel exposed, vulnerable, but they only made her feel…seen. Cherished, almost.
“I’d remind you of the dresses you’d wear every time you dared to venture into town, nervous of other people’s judgments.” His eyes trailed down her body as though imagining one such dress. Her skin prickled in response. “I’d tell you how it never mattered what you wore.” He paused a moment, then added in a near whisper, “You were always beautiful.”
Her breath caught. She pressed her lips together as declarations threatened to tumble forth.
I didn’t leave her behind. The words Tearlach had said late one night, back at the palace, echoed in her mind.
He took one more step, then reached up to brush a lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. She inhaled a shuddering breath at the feel of his fingertips grazing the tip of her ear before they trailed softly down her neck.
“Always beautiful,” he said again with reverence.
Her lips parted on a tiny gasp. Tearlach’s gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes devouring the movement of her tongue as she wet her lower lip. Slowly, he lifted his eyes back to hers. The weight of his potent attention made her blood run hot.
Then something cleared in his vision and he straightened. Only then did Esme realize he’d been leaning toward her.
“We should…” He took in their surroundings, inhaling deeply. “Be on our way,” he finished.
“Ah—Of course,” Esme stammered, shying away, eyes stinging.
But as they started off across the rocky flats, her eyes kept straying to the broad expanse of Tearlach’s shoulders and his long, powerful legs striding ahead of her.
Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her mind from turning over every word, every look they’d shared. Tearlach felt something for her, she knew that with certainty. But he’d never acknowledge his improper feelings. Much less act on them. Such were things a guard wasn’t allowed to feel for his queen. And Tearlach would never compromise his duty.
While she might dislike it greatly, she couldn’t help but respect his conviction.
Besides, after all he’d been through—being cast out by his family, fighting in the Dark War, leaving behind the people he loved in order to protect her—Tearlach deserved a far less complicated life than the one she offered.
He deserved someone—
Like Sheridan, Esme suddenly recalled, her heart sinking. How had she forgotten about the woman she’d seen Tearlach with on more than one occasion?
“What was it like? Down in the cavern?” Tearlach halted her tormenting thoughts.
He slowed his pace to match hers as Esme thought about the sacred pool, welcoming the feel of comfort and warmth the otherworldly place had offered. Before Lord Luxovious’s memories had wrenched her mind into horrifying atrocities.
Swallowing past the bile that rose in her throat, she described it as peacefully as she could, telling Tearlach about the water that swirled around the central rock, the memories drifting through the cavern as if on a gentle wind, even the scent of magic that saturated the air.
“Didn’t know magic had a smell to it.” A smile crept into his voice.
She breathed in deeply. “It smells like apple blossoms and misting rain and dewy grass. Like springtime.”
Tearlach fell silent for a moment. “Springtime,” he repeated longingly, as if it were a place only they knew. And something about that helped her settle back into the easiness they’d long since established.
It’s better this way, she decided. Tearlach was her guard. She, his queen.
“Tell me everything.” He rolled his shoulders. “From the beginning. Every memory you saw.”
Esme stretched her neck from side to side and adjusted the straps of her pack, knowing that reliving each memory would be challenging. But it felt like if she spoke the heinous truths into the night air, they’d infect the entire mountain range. Instead, she allowed the foreign memories to rise in her mind, then opened herself up to the connection that bound her life to Tearlach’s, letting him see everything Lord Luxovious had done.
Each moment flickered behind her eyes: the dark magic and the orbs, the light from each of the channels going dark, the creation of the gods and their fictitious origins.
Tearlach could infer the rest. She wasn’t about to flood his mind with visions of a war he’d barely survived.
By the time the last of the memories faded from her mind, Esme’s heart was thudding violently against her ribs, her hands clenched in rage. She pulled in lungfuls of air as she awaited Tearlach’s response.
Several moments passed as they hiked along quietly.
Nothing? He had nothing to say?
Not so much as a comment about the Order? Everything their people had believed as truth for a thousand years had been nothing more than an elaborate tangle of lies…
And Tearlach had no reaction?
Esme resisted pressing him on it. Knowing that the burden of Lord Luxovious’s betrayal was no longer hers alone to bear was enough.
Her gaze lifted to the sky. She watched as the Loinnir Lights faded slowly, leaving only the bright moons in their wake. Both Mios and Neve were mere slivers, though not close enough to cross paths. That wouldn’t happen again for many months.
Her thoughts turned to the celebrations the darkest night heralded, when the kingdom would honor Aeveen, goddess of fire.
Only there was no goddess of fire.
There were no gods at all. No one orchestrating her life or anyone else’s. No grand plan.
In a single night, everything had changed.
As they neared camp, Esme stole glances at Tearlach. As expected, his jaw was set, his eyes dark. But there was an alertness in them that sent a chill down her spine.
When they crested the ridge, she saw why.
Her horse and Tearlach’s stood beside the remnants of a fire, alone.
“Where are they?” Esme breathed.
“Out looking for you,” Killian called from the far side of the valley.
Esme’s eyes went wide. Tearlach stiffened beside her.
Neither said a word as Killian rode over—the sharp angle of his brows and firm set of his mouth quickly coming into view. He was furious. And likely, so were the rest of her guards.
But as Killian swung down from his horse, Esme saw the clear relief in his sapphire eyes, softening his stern expression, if only a little.
Erica Sebree 