is still plain on his face. I’m not sure how much he actually liked Kellan, but he definitely didn’t like killing him. To the very last, he tried to avoid that ending.
But when push came to shove, he chose me.
My head swims, exhaustion and emotion welling up inside me. Then a determined impulse pierces the rest, driving me onward.
I half-limp, half crawl around Kellan’s limp body to come up beside Sylas. His head has drooped as he reaches to shut his comrade’s eyes. I hesitate and then extend a shaky hand to touch his shoulder. My voice comes out in a raw whisper. “I’m sorry.”
The fae lord’s gaze jerks to me. He blinks at me, looking momentarily, unnervingly dazed. A furrow creases his brow. He opens his mouth, and I have the sense that he’s summoning his voice from deep down inside.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’m sorry you had to—I’m sorry it ended up like this.”
His mouth twists, not a smile but maybe a shadow of one. “It was a long time coming. The worst you did was speed it up a little.”
He hefts himself to his feet, and for the first time I notice the other men in the room. August and Whitt come up to join their lord. They must have been here all along—they’d have heard my cry and the scuffle at the same time Sylas did. They hung back while he decided what justice to deal out, as I guess he would have wanted.
Sylas considers the partly open door and the leather pouch that fell from my hand next to it. “I don’t suppose you’d enlighten me as to how exactly you removed the magical seal from the lock?”
I suck my lower lip under my teeth. That’s not just my secret but August’s too.
The sight of the pouch must tip the younger man off, though, and he’s loyal enough to own up. “It must have been—I didn’t think—I was only trying to give her a way to fend off Kellan after he kept harassing her—”
Sylas turns his impenetrable stare on August. “Just spit it out. What did you do?”
August winces. “Salt. I gave her salt. Only a little.”
Whitt lets out a hoarse guffaw. Sylas’s lips pull back with a hint of a snarl, but his voice stays even. “We’ll deal with that blunder later. For now, we’d best prepare our cadre-fellow for his final send-off.”
20
Talia
They perform the funeral indoors in the same room where Kellan met his end. From snippets of overheard conversations I’m not totally included in, I gather that isn’t typical, but Sylas thinks it’s best not to reveal Kellan’s death to the rest of the pack just yet because of the questions it would provoke.
Thin morning sunlight streams from narrow skylights in the vaulted ceiling. Sylas and his remaining cadre stand around Kellan’s body, wrapped now in a thick gray shroud in the middle of the space. The leafy fronds of a fern-like plant circle the corpse, their cut stems giving off a pungent herbal odor. The blood that spilled by the door—his and mine—has been wiped from the floorboards.
No one asked me to witness this ceremony. I could have stayed in my bedroom or tucked myself away in the parlor as if it wasn’t happening. But I can’t shake the gnawing awareness that Kellan died at least in small part because of me. My presence pushed him over whatever edge he’d been teetering on into territory Sylas couldn’t accept; my escape attempt brought those tensions all the way to the surface.
I might have thought of him as a monster; I might not be the slightest bit sad that he’s gone, but I won’t pretend away his death or my role in it. The others should know I’m not that much of a coward. Sylas should know how much I really do recognize his grief.
I stayed here rather than running, and I still think that was the best choice I could have made, but I don’t want the fae lord to regret it. I’m still not sure exactly what last night’s events are going to mean for me going forward. For now, I’m here, watching from the far side of the entrance room, present but not participating.
Sylas, standing by the head of the corpse, lets his powerful baritone carry through the air. “As lord and cadre-fellows to Kellan of Oakmeet once Thistlegrove, we honor the last of his time in this world and convey him to his end. He has stood