by Kate Ristau
“Is that her room?” Áine asked, pointing at a blue door.
“That’s it.”
“Why is the door blue?”
“Each of the doors is a different color,” Moira replied, leaning against the wall. “It just makes it a little easier on us. And more confidential. Your aunt is in the blue room, and has been since she got here. Since it’s in the corner, it’s a little bigger than some of the others, which is nice when she has visitors.”
Áine frowned. “Does she have visitors often?”
“Just one. About once a week Seamus comes to visit her. From the Church. He’s a strange man.” Áine’s heart skipped a beat, and she tried to keep her face expressionless. It had to be Creed. “To be honest,” Moira continued, “I don’t really like him that much. There’s just something a bit off about him. But I’ve seen Keva around him. Sometimes, she almost seems to come out of it, before slipping back under. I always thought maybe he could bring her back to us. There seems to be something between them.”
Something was there for sure—it just wasn’t what Moira was thinking. Áine cringed at the thought.
“That’s why he still had hope,” she continued. “Your grandfather. We told him she had almost come out of it, and he thought, he thought maybe one of us could...save her. But after all these years...I didn’t think so. But...I didn’t want him to lose hope either, you know?”
Áine smiled and nodded. Her father had never lost his hope in Áine either. He never lost his faith that he would see her again, even when the Shadows descended. He must have kept that same hope alive for Keva. “How is Keva doing today?”
“The same,” Moira sighed. “Always the same.” She pulled her card out and paused. “Listen, she’s restrained for her own safety. So please, for your safety too, don’t loosen her straps, even if she seems to calm down. She can be violently unpredictable. Every couple of months we back off her medicine to see if there’s any change, so she is a little less sedated right now. Usually we keep her pretty far under...for her own sake. We’re seeing if maybe she’s calmed down a bit right now. We’ll know for sure in a couple of hours.
“You are allowed an unsupervised visit, so just press the button by the door when you want to leave, or if you need anything. Unless...did you want me to stay?”
“No—but thank you. I think I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Just push the button if you need me.”
Moira slid her card by the side of the door. There was the low buzzing noise again, the door opened, and Áine heard Keva scream.
Eighteen
Áine’s eyes immediately fell on her sister’s face. Eyes closed, she thrashed from side to side on the bed. Her scream was weak and raspy, little more than a whisper from her mouth after all of these years. But her lips were tense and stretched; her face, flushed dark red, strained with black circles crowding around her eyes and nose. Her forehead was deeply creased, and her hair was shockingly white, with one long dark strand that held Áine’s eyes while she jerked from side to side.
So old. Where was the little girl Áine dreamed about? Where was her sister?
Áine heard the door close behind her as she slowly approached the bed. Her mind was a mix of emotions—excited, confused, angry, but beneath it all, hopeful—as she moved a chair to sit beside her sister’s bed.
“Keva,” Áine said, touching her shoulder. She focused her mind and willed the Eta to respond. “Anaminu Eta.”
No response. Keva’s Eta were as cold as the grave.
“Keva,” Áine said again, focusing on the Eta that had to be in her body somewhere, trapped beneath the spell. “Anaminu Eta.”
Her sister stopped thrashing.
“Keva, mo cuishle,” Áine said, searching out the Eta that flowed through her body. She felt them burst to life. They were powerful—so strong—but wrong somehow. “Anaminu Eta.”
Her sister stopped screaming.
“Keva, anaminu Eta.”
Her sister opened her eyes.
“Keva,” she whispered.
Áine watched as the terror faded from her face. Her brow relaxed, the wrinkles smoothed. Her mouth slowly closed. Her green eyes lightened, then suddenly shifted into focus. Their eyes met.
“Áineta?” Keva whispered.
“Yes, it’s me. It’s me.”
Áine looked at her sister, and she finally recognized her. In the depths of Keva’s eyes, beneath the shadows, she saw the little girl who had held her in the darkness. Áine leaned in and hugged her tightly.
In that moment, for the first time in her life, she felt happy. Truly happy. Not even a shadow lingered in the back of her mind. I found her, she thought. “I found you,” she said.
At first Keva’s frail body felt cold beneath her touch, clammy and stiff, but she slowly warmed as Áine held her close. Áine could feel Keva’s heartbeat slowing down, and the tension releasing from her chest.
“You?” Keva asked.
“Yes,” Áine laughed. “Me. It’s me. I’ve missed you so much. Are you okay? How do you feel?”
Keva’s eyes began to cloud over. Struggling to find the words, she instead widened her eyes, then closed them and shook her head violently.
Áine remembered how she had felt in her dreams. The terror. The longing. How could she even express it? She understood everything as she looked into her sister’s eyes.
“I know,” Áine said. “I’m so sorry. Please, I want you to know I would have come back for you if I had remembered. If I had realized. But I didn’t know. They never told me.” Áine tugged at the belts around Keva’s wrists and began to pull the intricate banding apart as she mumbled, “I would have tried. I would have come back. I just didn’t know.”
Keva nodded her head and whispered, “You didn’t know.”
“Yes! Our father—”
“No!” she yelled. Her eyes flared, and she pulled at the bands holding her down, her body tense beneath Áine’s hands.
Áine flinched at the sudden surge of rage, then reminded herself what Keva was feeling. Keva only knew that moment of violence—she didn’t know what had happened. She didn’t know everything their father did to try and save her...to save them both.
Smoothing her hand through Keva’s hair, Áine hushed her softly. “Please, let me tell you. Please.” When she calmed down, Áine pulled up her face and looked at her carefully. Keva nodded, her body still tense.
“I know what happened when we were little. I know a little of what you’ve been through. But, Keva, you need to know there’s more to our father. More than that terrible decision. More than the fire. He, our father, he saved us, he saved me, in the end. I want you to know that. He gave himself up so we could get to you. So we could find you and take you away from this place. He told me he regretted every second of what happened, every moment. Keva, he tried to bring you back—back from the darkness. He really did. But he didn’t know how. He made too many mistakes. And he was so incredibly stupid.
“We lost her, we lost our mother, because he was weak. Because he couldn’t see beyond the glamour. She was under a spell, just like you were. And he couldn’t see it.
“But he’s paid for his mistakes many times over.” She remembered him sitting on the couch, shadows swimming through his hair. How would Keva ever understand? All of her life had been focused on that one choice, and all the pain it brought. Would she ever really get away from it?
Áine looked into her eyes, but Keva turned away from her. Her eyes flooded with tears as she whispered unintelligible secrets.
“He tried to be strong for you,” Áine said, stroking her white hair. “He tried to make you safe. To fix what he had done. But he couldn’t. And he had to live with that. Until—” Áine’s voice broke as the image of the burning cottage burst in front of her eyes. She tried to cast it from her mind, but the fires of her father’s cottage soon mixed with her dreams of her mother, the scorching flames searing her pale flesh.
She shut her eyes and held Keva close, not
knowing what to think, what to say. Every thought she had, every word, led her back into the flames. With her eyes shut, she focused on the weight of her sister in her arms, and the fire slowly receded from her mind.
After a while, she raised her head and unworked the last of Keva’s bands. With a sigh of relief, Keva raised her hands slowly, touching Áine’s chin and cheeks. Her touch was gentle, questioning and uncertain. She ran her fingers over Áine’s eyes and through her hair, as if she couldn’t decide if Áine was real or just another nightmare. Finally, she nodded, satisfied, and settled her hands back in her lap, flexing her fingers.
“He’s gone now, Keva. It’s just us. Listen, you don’t need to forgive him. I just wanted to make sure you understood what he did.”
“She does need to understand,” a dark voice added.
Áine whirled to face the door and saw Creed with a satisfied smile on his face. Her mind reeled. How did he get through the lobby? And how were they going to get out?
As if she was mirroring Áine’s thoughts, Keva raised her hands to her face and broke into a scream, “No! Not again! Don’t let him do it!”
“Keva, calm down,” Áine pleaded, trying to hold her still.
“Let her scream all she wants,” Creed said. “She’s got a lot to scream about, you know. Your father wasn’t some hero who saved you both. A knight in shining armor. He was weak. A coward, even in the end. He would have sacrificed you both if he had the chance.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Áine said, holding Keva close as she thrashed beneath her arms. “And he didn’t. He saved us.”
“Shadowgirl, don’t be so blind. Open your eyes. Oberon once told me that naiveté refuses to recognize true darkness, always believing it lives in the light. Think about it. Your father wasn’t your savior. He was a coward.”
Áine stared at his red-rimmed eyes and the scar that tore his face in half, and fear pushed up and through her. She tried to push it away, but the flames, the fire, had torn her mother apart. They had pulled her from the cottage and out to the pyre.
Like a cold slap, it suddenly hit her. Her mother—she had scratched him. He had been there—he had pulled her out the door with the rest of them—and she had torn his face in half.
He wasn’t invincible. Someone had hurt him. Her mother had. Even as they dragged her to her death, she had fought him with everything she had.
Áine jumped to her feet, pulling her sister up behind her. She shook, but not with fear. Rage swelled inside of her, aching for release.
“I don’t need to open my eyes, Creed,” she said. “They are open. And you know what, I see more than you know.” Áine felt more focused than she ever had, felt the power of her words, and the Eta all around her. “I know what true darkness is. It’s unquestioning obedience, hiding behind orders and skulking in the shadows of edicts and commands. It’s knowing no regret. Believing you are always following the righteous path.”
Creed straightened his shoulders. “I stick to the old ways, girl, where honor, courage, and fealty are the only sources of righteousness.”
“Yes, but real righteousness, real honor, sometimes requires disobedience. Sometimes you have to question those you follow. Especially when what they ask you for...” She pointed toward Keva, and her voice softened. “You ruined her life. Year after year. You had a choice. You had a different path. And you chose wrong. You should have refused the task, challenged the Queene—instead of just doing whatever she told you to. You just can’t unbend your knee, can you?”
“You are nothing but a child! How dare you question my loyalty, my honor? You know nothing about me!”
“I would never presume to question your loyalty, Creed. But, you’re right. I am questioning your honor. What’s left of it. You, Creed, you’re the coward.”
Creed flinched. “A coward?” he whispered, slowly shifting away from her. “I am not a coward. And no matter who you think you are, you have no right to use those words. Don’t you talk to me about courage. You know nothing about it. You and your whole family. Your father killed my brother, and then hid behind his Shadowmagic. He was nothing but a stuttering fool. And believe me, he deserved a darker end. But I followed the old ways. My justice was swift; my knife is red. He’s marked with the sign of the beast.”
She fell back against the bed, his words pounding into her. The sign of the beast. She didn’t even think—she should have known. Her father would wander the Hetherlands forever. He’d never be at rest.
“You had no right,” Áine said.
“No right?” Creed asked, a small smile slipping onto his face. “I had more than most. His mark will fade once he earns his freedom along the path of pain and suffering. Those are the rules. Those are the old ways. He was weak. So easily bound, just like before.”
“What do you mean?” Áine asked.
“When he stood by and watched your mother burn, little girl. When I riled up that crowd of worthless Shadows. When I filled him with rage. He’s just like all the other Shadows: weak. So easily used.”
“You...he...” Áine couldn’t find the words. Her father. He didn’t do it. And she let him...
“Wait,” Keva said. Her voice was soft and raspy as she stepped in front of Áine. “You...a spell...you let them kill her?”
His face softened. “Keva, I had no choice. Niamh was out of control. And the Queene—”
“And all these years,” Keva said, her voice growing stronger, “You came here. Asked for my hand. Asked me to come. Asked me to kneel...when she—”
“Yes,” Creed said, breaking eye contact. But then he straightened his shoulders and looked up again. “I did. And I don’t regret that choice. If Niamh had had her way—”
“Niamh?” Áine asked. “Why do you keep saying her name?”
“Why do you think? She wanted the Shadowlands closed off forever. The crossings sealed. All that power—left for anyone to find it. For men like your father to use. Titania—the Queene—she would never stand for that. And when she found out about Niamh’s daughters, she knew Niamh’s power would keep growing stronger. We had to stop her.”
“Niamh’s daughters?” Keva asked.
“Us,” Áine whispered.
She had missed it. She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid. Her mother—Nia. She was Niamh. The Queene of the Fairerlands.
“She left the Fairerlands and married that disgusting Shadow. Of course the Queene wouldn’t stand for it.”
His dark eyes lightened as he stared into Keva’s pale green eyes. “But the Queene’s offer still stands. Keva, I will give you one last chance; ask you one final time. Will you join me? Please? Will you swear fealty to the Queene?” He paused, and held out his hand. “She can give you back the years you lost. Make you young again. You’ll live forever, and you’ll be richly rewarded, and I...I will be pleased—more than you can imagine.”
Keva grasped a hold of Áine’s hand. Áine felt her wrinkled hand shake, but her voice was clear. “No,” she said.
“So be it,” Creed said, his hands closing into fists. “The daughters of Niamh, the last of the line of the Sea Gods, will descend into darkness. You will join her, join your family. And you will be doomed, like all those you left behind you.”
Creed smiled knowingly, fists uncurling, and Áine’s stomach churned. She had been so worried about what was right in front of her—her sister—she didn’t think about what she left behind. She thought Hennessy and Ciaran would be fine. Ciaran had more than enough power, and Hennessy was such a quick thinker. She thought they could hold their own. Why did she leave them alone?
“What did you do?” she asked.
“My Guardians are taking care of your friends,” Creed continued. “And with what I saw, they won’t last long. There’s no one here now but us—”
“Creed?” Keva interrupted.
His face betrayed surprise for only a second, and then, composing himself, he raised his eyes toward Keva, a restrained look on his face. “Yes?”
Keva stepped in front of Áine, pushing back Áine’s hands when she tried to hold her back. Her body straightened, and her white head rose. She stopped in front of him, just a few inches from his face.
“I hate you,” she said. “I would never choose to be with you. And you can’t control me anymore. Go away.”
Creed opened his mouth to speak, but she spat in his face. He raised his hand and struck her so hard she flew across the room and landed on the bed. Áine lunged after her onto the bed and pulled Keva into her arms. Blood poured from her mouth, and her eyes were glazing over. She was limp and unresponsive, but Áine could feel her shallow breaths slipping in and out.
“Eta, sema,” Áine whispered. “Sanema.” The Eta inside Keva flared then dimmed again. Áine could barely feel them moving. She glared at Creed, and his eyes blazed, deepening to a dark red.
“We’re finished here,” he said. He pulled back his cloak and stretched out his arms. His hands ignited, wisps of blue flame dancing around his wrists and licking at his fingertips.
Áine pulled her sister to her chest. She wouldn’t let him hurt her anymore. She focused all her energy, all her being, into two small words, and the Eta flowed through her veins as she called out, “Aresanté Eta!”
Creed tilted his head in confusion, and then reeled in anger as the small window beside the bed broke with a deafening crash. Tree limbs shot through the glass and forced the bars from the windows. The walls—cracking and seizing beneath the weight—released a tangle of branches and leaves. The branches reached toward the sisters, pulling at their ankles and twisting around the bed.
Creed hurtled a stream of flames. Fire exploded from his fingertips and ignited the small chairs beside them, but the trees protected the sisters, forming a solid wall between Creed and his prey. As one branch ignited, another took its place, like a shield holding back a vicious volley.
“Clever,” Creed said, shouting as he calmed the flames. “You have friends. But don’t worry. So do I.” Creed whistled with an ear-piercing screech. Áine heard a rustle of wings and a flock of crows burst through the hole in the wall. The tree limbs snatched at them as they flew by, but a few crows slipped through the branches and began to tear at Keva’s covers and rip at Áine’s face and hands. Áine tried to fend them off, and Creed saw his opportunity. He hurled himself toward the bed, just as the door flew off its hinges.