The last week had been mind numbingly uneventful and he hated every moment of it. He could not remember a time where he had been this idle. It did not help that every morning for the past week he had awoken with the taste of her blood in his mouth. He hated her for it, he hated the rutting gods for it, for making this girl his likely carranam.
He was going to lose his mind, which was even ironic for him because he thought he had already lost it, this was far worse, his thoughts were always torn between his failures and the girl who sat before him. A special kind of hell created by the dark god himself.
The girl had only shifted three times in the weeks she had been at Mistward, each time had been in response to an outside threat. He was half tempted to capture a skinwalker or some other creature in the mountains. Anything to stop this idling. Biting her again seemed like an option and it was taking his entire being not to. Sure he could teach her how to use her magic in this form, but it would be harder. If she had not learned the control to shift it would be dangerous to teach her magic in her animal form, not only for the girl, but for anyone within a three klick radius.
It was a rare sunny day, maybe just once Mala would bless him and provide the solace he so desired, not deserved, no wanted with every ounce of his dead heart.
He watches her as she stands and goes to examine a pillar. He can feel that her magic is begging to be released, to play in the ruins. Heir of Wildfire indeed, he wondered what Mala thought of her beloved's heir. That was the thing about Mala, all the Fae knew is one day her followers were gone, her temples abandoned, and not a word or blessing on any fire wielder. For centuries fire wielding fae were left with embers of power.
"What was this place, anyway?"
He was quickly learning if she wanted something she could almost be amicable, "The Sun Goddess's temple."
"You've been bringing me here because you think it might help with mastering my powers -- my shifting?"
Was it not obvious, your powers were gifted to Brannon by Mala. He simply nodded. There were other reasons, the stags, the little people and something deep down told him that she needed to be tied to her roots.
"Mab was immortalized into godhood thanks to Maeve, but that was over five hundred years ago. Mala had a sister in the moon long before Mab took her place."
A question about Mab, not Mala, where was she going with this? "Deanna was the original sister's name. But you humans gave her some of Mab's traits. The hunting, the hounds."
"Perhaps Deanna and Mala weren't always rivals."
"What are you getting at?"
"Did you ever know Mab?"
He held back a chuckle, "No. I am old, but not that old."
"Do you feel old?"
Yes. Tired, so damned tired.
"I am still considered young by the standards of my kind."
"You said that you once campaigned in a kingdom that no longer exists. You've been off to war several times, it seems, and seen the world. That would leave its mark. Age you on the inside."
Maybe this girl was more than she looked, at eighteen she had already learned the lesson that age was just a number, "Do you feel old?"
"These days, I am very glad to be a mortal, and to only have to endure this life once. These days I don't envy you at all."
No one would envy him, a dishonored male, a male that left his pregnant mate unprotected.
"And before?"
"I used to wish I had a chance to see it all -- and hated that I never would."
He was fairly certain that those dreams died with an eight year old princess. One by the sounds that never wanted to be queen if she dreamed of travel and freedom. He was lucky, there were so many in the line before him, he was prince but never the prince that would rule the family, even before he sworn himself to Maeve.
"Is this where the stags were kept -- before this place was destroyed?"
He had never seen the immortal stags in Doranelle, he wanted to ask if she had ever seen one in Terrasan or if they were gone from this world, to know if they left with Brannon.
"I don't know. This temple wasn't destroyed; it was abandoned when the Fae moved to Doranelle, and then ruined by time and weather."
"Emrys's stories said destroyed, not abandoned."
He looked at the ruins and had to agree, time and weather may have partially been responsible for condition of the ruins, but they had had help.
"Again what are you getting at?"
"The Fae on my continent -- in Terrasen . . . they weren't like you. At least I don't remember them being that way. There weren't many, but . . . The King of Adarlan hunted and killed them, so easily. Yet when I look at you, I don't understand how he did it."
It was then that he felt the crack, looking at the sadness in her eyes, the loss. She had started to crack a two century old heart cast in hoar frost.
"I've never been to your continent, but I heard that the Fae there were gentler -- less aggressive, very few trained in combat -- and they relied heavily on magic. Once magic was gone from your lands, many of them might not have known what to do against trained soldiers."
"And yet Maeve wouldn't send aid."
His family had been among those willing to sail. Willing to stand against a tyrannical human king. Even though they did not have current relations with Terrasen, not since they had closed their borders to Doranelle fae, there had once been relations. His family volunteered to die to save those less able than themselves. He will never forget the disappointment in Endymion's voice, it was the last time he had spoken to his cousin. He'll never forget the look on King Ashryver's face when he was told not to help. He'll never forget when the final report reached Doranelle stating that Terrasen had fallen.
"The Fae of your continent long ago severed ties with Maeve. But there were some in Doranelle who argued in favor of helping. My queen wound up offering sanctuary to any who could make it here."
She did not want to know how few made it. She did not want to know that less than two dozen had made it to the borders of Doranelle and that none were from Terrasen.