Contents ( 41)
- CAST OF CHARACTERS
- ACT ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- ACT TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- ACT THREE
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- ALSO BY NAFIZA AZAD
“Nobody clarified what her words meant. They all just assumed that she meant Mabh was dead… as she wanted them to.” Croi barks out a laugh.
“If Mabh is still alive, and I’m not saying she is for sure, but if she is, she has been hiding for the past seventeen years, waiting for the Saol ceremony to arrive before she makes a move. For what reason? What can she do?” Tinder wonders out loud.
What use does she have for us?
“I don’t know, but I am sure the Saol ceremony is going to be very exciting, and not for the reasons everyone expects it to be,” Croi replies.
The HeartStone needs to be present for the Saol ceremony to be successful, and for the HeartStone to be present, you need to deliver the SoulSeed to Uaine’s sister. Why are you dragging your feet on the errand?
Croi touches the pocket in her dress where the SoulSeed lies, wrapped in a tattered scarf. “You said it, didn’t you? We have too little time. We’ll be dead, so why should we care about the HeartStone?” Croi replies to her other self, more muted than ever before. She knows she is wrong, but she cannot suppress the contrariness that rises up in her every time she thinks about how the world will continue unchanged even when she’s no longer in it.
You… Croi can sense her other self’s exasperation. If we can help get the HeartStone back to the Caisleán, we should. Don’t you remember what we have learned? The magick cycle will be broken without the HeartStone, and if that happens, Talamh will fall, and if Talamh falls, so will the Otherworld. Do you really want the Otherworld to fall? Can your conscience handle it? Mine can’t.
Croi’s heart twinges, and a suffocating blankness fills her. She clears her throat and shakes her head. “There’s no point quibbling over this matter. I will do what I gave my word to. Anyway, the central hall, where Uaine’s sister is, isn’t even open yet. Once it is, which is tomorrow at midnight, I will hand the SoulSeed over and fulfill my end of the bargain. That’s all I have to do, isn’t it?”
It’s not like I was telling you to go search for the HeartStone under your bed.
Croi doesn’t dignify the comment with a reply.
The sun has sunk, and with darkness comes light; torches with living fire burn in the Tine pavilion, but out in the Caisleán buildings and grounds, thousands of fireflies keep the night at bay. The heavens are heavy with stars, and a pendulous moon commands the horizon. The fae are luminous, illuminating the surroundings with their glow. The Caisleán pulses underneath Croi’s fingertips, injured, yes, but still alive in all the ways that matter.
Tinder and Croi enjoy a light repast of bread, meat, and wishing water from the pavilion kitchens on the second floor. When they return to their rooms, they find Ceara and her handmaids in a flurry, getting ready for a banquet in the evening.