Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 171450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 857(@200wpm)___ 686(@250wpm)___ 572(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 171450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 857(@200wpm)___ 686(@250wpm)___ 572(@300wpm)
“Ah,” he said, turning her to face him. “I believe I, of all people, would understand.”
“Because of Kingston,” she said.
He tipped his head at her, once, restrained. “He also deserved to die. Fae Killer or not, he has killed across centuries…as have I.”
“You are hardly the same.”
Graves lifted one shoulder. “Who can weigh a man’s soul for judgment?”
She had no answer for that. Neither of them were explicitly heroes or villains. They had layers, and choosing to end Kingston and Jason because of their wrongdoings felt justified at the time. But it didn’t make it easier to look in the mirror.
“Kingston was a complicated man,” Graves admitted softly. “We got along less often than we had disagreements. He was never what Jason was to you, but he was the closest I had. Now he is dead for good reason, and yet I mourn.”
“Of course you do,” Kierse said, taking his hands in hers. “Kingston was your mentor and friend for hundreds of years.”
“He was. I thought he always would be.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “For what it’s worth.”
“I do not expect your pity. Only to show you that the hard thing is complicated.” He squeezed her hand. “Jason is complicated, and yet you put your father’s knife in him. It was what he earned. You’re strong and brave and wonderful.” He pressed a kiss to her damaged wrists. “Conflicted might just be the way that we feel about it until we can come to terms with the fact that they’re really gone.”
She let him draw her into him. The water washed away the events of the night and left more than their bodies clean.
Eventually, Graves turned off the water, dragging a fluffy, white towel around her and then moving her to the bed. She touched the little carved birds on his bedside table. The raven next to the little wren. He’d had them together all along.
Graves reappeared with a fresh change of clothes, helping her into one of his oversize shirts. She inhaled sharply at the scent of his magic and the quintessential Graves of it all.
“Everything all right?”
She met his gaze, clutching the raven to her chest. “How did you become the Holly King?”
He pursed his lips. “Ah. That’s a long story.”
“I asked Lorcan that once, and he said the same thing. Why is it that neither of you can give a straight answer?”
“It wasn’t a pleasant day.”
“It doesn’t seem like there were very many pleasant days where you two are concerned.”
“No,” Graves said, coming to stand before her. “Why do you want to know?”
“You say we’re stuck in Irish tales. That we’re rewriting what was already penned. You see other stories in our life, but the Oak and Holly King tale was here first and the longest.”
Graves nodded. “That is all true.”
“So why you? Why did it happen?” She hesitated before asking, “And can you rewrite the ending of this one?”
Graves took the seat next to her. “I see,” he said on a resigned sigh. “Well, Lorcan and I have been killing each other twice a year for hundreds of years. If there was a way out, I would have found it.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “When I was exiled from Ireland, Lorcan was busy with Saoirse and Niamh and the bond and their little family. He should have been looking inward, but he’d decided on revenge. He came to find me in London on the winter solstice.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “He started it.”
His gaze met hers. “Make no mistake that I killed Emilie first.”
“But he could have let you go.”
“Could he?” Graves asked, less a question and more with the certainty that Lorcan would never let it go. “Considering what you know of Irish tales and of Lorcan?”
“No,” she admitted. “No, he still can’t let you go.”
He nodded once. “I was at my lowest that night on the solstice. I had nothing to my name when I returned to London. Not even enough money for food or a book to replenish my magic. I was starving and depressed and missing Ireland. Missing my family. Missing Emilie. Even missing Lorcan, despite it all.”
“And he came for you. At your lowest.”
His eyes were distant as he remembered the beginning of the story lost to time. “I’d worked off a debt at a house in exchange for a night’s rest. He stalked me to the house, determined to kill me. My magic was low. I wasn’t eating. I had nothing to my name. And he was…” Graves trailed off.
“The Oak King.”
“In every way that mattered,” he agreed. “And in his vengeance against me, he embodied summer. He was carrying his father’s blazing sword and committed himself to kill the villain who had killed his sister and destroyed his life. In that way, he was the avenging god who would bring about the oncoming spring.”