as much. And then it melted.” Rania’s mother shook her head. “Imagine what would happen to the Fae’s armory if you paid it a visit.”
Hadrian nodded. “I thought of that. It might all melt.”
She nodded mildly. “She thought of it first.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’m dead. There are no consequences any more for sharing a truth that others would prefer to keep secret or deny.” She reached out and touched his hand, her fingertips close to that ring. “And I think you have the ability to bring joy to my daughter, as I never did.”
Hadrian wished he could console her, but he didn’t know what she’d done or not done. He stood up, filled with purpose. “How do I get back to Fae?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s not in my power to give life to anyone.” She sounded a lot more philosophical about that than Hadrian felt. She gestured with a fingertip, making a little spinning motion in the air, and the fireflies zoomed toward her. They circled the tip of her finger so closely and flew so quickly that Hadrian could only see a globe of golden light. Was it an illusion that there seemed to be a sphere within the orb of light?
He looked closer and thought he saw a spider in the act of killing a wasp. “The gem of the hoard!” he whispered, recognizing it. As soon as he spoke, the fireflies dispersed and the illusion was gone. He looked at his companion in confusion but she smiled.
“Just think what else you could freeze, if you were free of this place,” she mused. Her eyes were filled with a challenge and that expression reminded Hadrian of his mate.
“I have to get back.”
“If you can.” She reached out for the ring again and her voice caught. “If you see him, ask him to dream of me. In that realm, we might meet again.”
Hadrian nodded agreement.
She stood up then, her expression serene. She brushed off her skirt, then tipped her head back to smile at the fireflies. They surrounded her more tightly, flying in close circles as she raised her hands. So many fireflies buzzed around her hands that Hadrian could only see a blur of golden light. Their glow became brighter, as if they became more numerous, then slowly, ever so slowly, the cloud of insects began to lower toward the ground.
He thought he’d see her hands as the glowing cluster of fireflies descended, but he didn’t. It was as if the insects—or their golden light—consumed her. They flew more frantically when they obscured the view of her feet, then they suddenly spiraled upward, creating a blinking trail of light in the darkness.
Rania’s mother was gone.
Hadrian turned in place as the line of fireflies trailed into the distance. They weren’t bright enough to illuminate anything, but he was disappointed when their lights winked out, one at a time.
He was surrounded by darkness again and this time, it felt cold.
His situation was frustrating. It was unfair that he could have made the difference in the battle against Maeve, but that he hadn’t known it until it was too late to actually do anything. He hated not having influenced the outcome. He hated the possibility that his fellow Pyr would be eliminated because he’d failed them. The talons he’d made were destroyed. His firestorm wasn’t satisfied. Rania’s quest was incomplete and her brothers were still cursed. She would probably be in thrall to Maeve forever.
It was way too soon for him to die.
Hadrian started to walk, because that had to be better than just sitting and feeling sorry for himself. Regret weighed him down, but he kept walking. He couldn’t help but think of all the things he could have done differently and how he’d seize opportunity, if he could just have another chance.
He thought he was imagining the faint glow of white light when it appeared in the distance. He considered that it might be a lure or a trap, that Maeve might not have exhausted her store of tricks. But he walked toward it anyway, unable to deny the spark of hope that the sight gave him.
Then he felt the coldness in his cheek again, the chill that had haunted him since Rania had given him the kiss of death. The place where she had first touched her lips to his cheek burned a little, exactly the way frozen fingertips do when first exposed to warmth again. It stung as it hadn’t in a