Wings of Fate

42. Forgiveness

Jasmine's movements jarred Kalian roughly, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and voiced no complaints. He was riding with Moira, holding onto her by one arm wrapped around her waist. Samson and Bellamy each had their own mount. Bellamy rode ahead of them, while Samson remained several yards behind. Both were on the lookout for possible dangers and Ironblade scouts.

Bellamy and Moira had returned late the night before, leading the new horses. Kalian didn't know if they were bought or stolen, and he didn't ask. They would get to the Faerie Lands quicker on horseback than on foot, and that was all that mattered.

Jasmine leaped over a fallen log and Kalian hissed, the reverberation rattling his spine. He rested his forehead against Moira's shoulder, waiting for the pain to abate. "Does it still hurt?" She asked, the first words she'd spoken to him since yesterday.

"Like hell," Kalian grunted. "And it probably will for a week. Maybe longer." He swallowed hard. "People would call me lucky, if that's the case. From what I've heard, most Faeries are in unmeasurable pain that eventually drives them to kill themselves just to escape it."

Of course, that's only one reason why they'd take their own lives, he thought. We can't survive without our wings. It's never been heard of before. Eventually, the loss becomes so overwhelming and unbearable that...

"Say something before your pain gets to that point," Moira said, interrupting his thoughts. "You should let Samson treat you again when we stop to make camp tonight." Kalian didn't reply. He leaned his head into the crook of Moira's neck, and she didn't protest. Her warm scent soothed his turbulent mind. "How old are you?"

Kalian knit his brows. "What?"

"How old are you?" Moira repeated. "You never told me your age, and even if you had, I'm sure it wouldn't have been your real one. How old are you?"

"205."

Moira's head shifted, but Kalian didn't lift his own. "Has the world changed a lot in the past two centuries?"

"More than you can possibly imagine. Mostly in good ways, but in some bad ones too."

"How old were you when you married Calandra?"

"130."

"And you only had a daughter just seven years ago?"

Kalian's heart clenched at the thought, but he nodded against her shoulder. "It's not uncommon for Faeries to wait a while to have children. Sometimes there are centuries between children too."

He smiled wistfully. "Calandra wanted our children to be close in age. Her eldest brother was 400 years older than her, and they rarely had anything to do with each other. She wanted our children to grow up together."

"Were you planning to have a large family?"

"Three kids," Kalian answered. "We had just seriously begun discussing having another baby when..." His words lodged in his throat. Kalian sucked in a sharp breath. "I suppose I should be grateful she died before there was a baby on the way. I don't think I could've lived with myself if..." He couldn't live with himself anyway.

"Dagen stabbed your daughter through the gut?" Moira asked, her voice quiet.

"Yes."

"And slit Calandra's throat?"

"Yes."

She was silent for several minutes. "When we find Dagen, I want you to kill him the exact same way. Stab him through the gut, then slit his throat. Set his corpse on fire and watch him burn to ash."