not let it go? Isn’t it time you released yourself from these shackles and came to me?”
“I…” Swallowing, he shook his head. “I cannot. I made an oath. I’m bound.”
“Bound to your guilt, lover mine.” She brushed his hair back, the gesture achingly familiar even after all this time. “So many years you have walked this earth, buried inside a metal body, carrying out vengeance for those who cannot do it themselves, with your broken heart and your aching loneliness. You made mistakes in your grief. But it’s time you let them go.”
“No. What I did...the lives I took, those are more than mistakes.” The warmth of her hands was a soothing balm on the ragged, open wound of his still grieving soul. He didn’t deserve her touch, or her comfort. But when he tried to pull away, she stopped him.
Her soft hands had become like velvet braces and he couldn’t break free. But, he didn’t try very hard.
“You’re right. You did horrible things,” Fael said, her thumbs rubbing the backs of his hands. “And you’ve spent thousands of years in limbo, trapped in that sword, going from one master to another as you tried to make amends. You’ve done enough.”
“It will never be enough.” He shook his head, staring past her while memories flooded him. “You left because I refused you. I threw your love away and you left. You never would have been out there if it wasn’t for me,” he said, rage blinding him.
“Untrue,” she said quietly. “I would have gone as escort and bride witness to Mele. She’d asked months earlier and I’d agreed. She was my cousin and dearest friend.” Her eyes softened even more as she stroked his cheek. “Because I was there, she didn’t die alone. Because I was there, neither did the others. It’s…a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. And you came for me, as I knew you would. So I wasn’t alone in the end, either. Again, my warrior…let this guilt go. My death isn’t on your hands. And the death of the innocents...you gave up thousands of years helping others find vengeance, protecting the lost. Your scales are balanced. More than balanced.”
All around them a gentle silvery light glowed and pulsed, and a soft wind played with their hair.
“‘I cannot change the enchantment,” Irian said, the weight inside him so heavy. But it was…different now. Was she speaking truth? Was he perhaps guilty of less than he believed? No. “The enchantment was spoken and cast. It must be fulfilled. The wrongs must righted, the balance found, Fael.”
Her lips, soft, warm, sweet as celatier wine, covered his and Irian groaned roughly, burying his hands in her hair and crushing her tightly to him.
But she broke the kiss and pushed him back when he tried to bring her mouth back to his.
“Your own guilt has affected the scales.” She shook her head. “If you’d just surrender that guilt and let it go, we could be together.” She touched his cheek. “Let it go. And come to me. Find me. Please, my warrior. Come to me. I long for you…”
* * * * *
Irian was jerked into awareness.
It was morning, the sky still gray in the pre-dawn light.
Around him, the others slept.
“Come to me…find me. I long for you.”
Fael. Sweet Fael. Ahh, so long. Is it possible? Was it possible that after this was all done, he could be with her?
Slipping out of the metal casing of the sword, he prowled around the camp before coming to a stop near the swordsman and the lovely Wildling-fae.
Like Fael, Tyriel had captured a piece of his heart without trying.
Unlike Fael, she wasn’t for him, never would be, never had been.
He settled on the ground, keeping his presence concealed should anybody waken as he pondered the sleeping woman.
“We find a way to fight for her. Or…we let her go, so she can find peace.”
Jaren’s words echoed in him, a burr in his brain he couldn’t dislodge.
Fight for her. Irian considered that. Peace was something he had no experience with, although he longed for it.
But fighting? Well, that he understood.
Tyriel was drained, her body empty of the resources and magic she needed to survive.
Irian’s mind began to race. He could do nothing about her depleted resources. But the magic…well. Enchanters collected magic, hoarding it throughout their lives, in objects or charms, sometimes within themselves. A very few could even pierce the veil and step into the ether plane, where magic was rampant and wild.
Irian had been