40. Refills My Heart

forty

Refills My Heart

Alessia

“ D earling?” a melodic, feminine voice calls. “Up with you now, dearling.”

I stir in response, but my eyes feel heavy—sewn shut. Vaguely, I register hands wrapping around my arm and attempting to hoist me up.

Mustering up my strength, I force my eyes open. For a second, I sit dazed until everything comes flooding back to me.

“Rainer!” I scream hoarsely. I yank myself free of the stranger’s hold, throwing myself over his limp body.

Sobbing, I squeeze him desperately against me, unwilling to make peace with reality. I shake him, my hands roaming every bit of his skin, trying to rouse him from his state of unconsciousness. He's not dead. He can't be.

“You’ve certainly left your mark here, little one,” the stranger says.

“Go away,” I yell without looking up. I push Rainer's hair back, peppering kisses along his forehead. "Rainer, baby, please ."

She utters a dismissive tsk sound, then grips my arms again. This time, she’s much more forceful as she yanks me to my feet.

I’m prepared to fight her off, to drop back down to the male at my feet, but the sight of her face turns my blood to ice.

For a moment, I stare at her, unbreathing and unblinking .

She drops her grip on me and steps back, inclining her chin with a smile that wrinkles her eyes attractively—highlighting the kindness found in a life of many smiles.

My breath catches in my throat as I take her in. We’re practically twins, somehow, but the smile lines around her mouth and eyes tell me she’s a few decades older than I am. Her mane of ashy-blonde curls are wilder and messier, and her grey eyes are sharp. We’re about the same height, but she’s thinner, her dirty, beige dress hanging off her. A small, black beauty mark dots the side of her chin.

“You,” I breathe, taking a step toward her. She looks utterly familiar, more so than the shared features. I’ve seen her somewhere before. But I can’t place it.

“Me.” Her smile grows. “I am Enid. Pleased to meet you…”

My heart stops. “Enid?”

She laughs. “Yes. And you are?”

“Alessia?” I say it more like a question as it hits me—the portrait in Spiritus Court. She’s the female whose journals I’ve been poring over. “ Enid Liadain Lírshadow. ”

“Well met, Alessia.” She touches her chest reverently. “I was once known as a Lírshadow, indeed.”

“But… how?” I blink, my body stiff and numb.

Am I dreaming still?

Am I dead?

My pulse thunders in my temples as I scan the room. The weight of the scene settles on my shoulders, pressing down like a block of iron. Horror and disbelief flood me, churning my stomach and threatening to expel its contents.

I did this.

I try to steady my breathing, but it comes in short, shallow gasps. The sight of so many lifeless faces etched with pain will eternally haunt my mind, but it’s nothing compared to the male lying lifeless beside me. It takes all my strength to keep the tears from streaming down my face.

The sorrow turns to anguish— rage —and it squeezes my lungs with a vice grip.

“Look at me, dearling.” Enid’s voice is soft but commanding. I do as she says, forcing my blurring gaze to hers. “What you have accomplished is most admirable. You have done a truly noble thing here today.”

A knot forms in my throat, making it impossible to reply.

There’s nothing noble about losing the love of one’s life.

“You bring pride to the Lírshadow bloodline,” she says.

“I don’t care about any of that,” I croak. How could I possibly?

She sighs softly, her smile dropping as sorrow creeps in. “I was exiled from my land by Yvanthia long ago. I had made a life for myself here instead. Found peace, married a wonderful partner, and had many beautiful children.”

The queen banished the bloodline… Char’s story from many years ago comes creeping back to me—the tale of two powerful females—one born a queen and one who became queen.

Yvanthia and Enid.

With a resigned sigh and a twinge of curiosity, I ask, “What happened?”

“The humans and fae are not so different after all,” she says, gently tapping my cheek. “Like Yvanthia, the humans are led by jealousy and desire to obtain power. Iron happened.”

“But you’re alive. ”

“A blessing.” Her lips curve up slightly at the edges again. “They poisoned me, entrapped me, but they kept me alive to use—should they ever decide they need my magic.”

I frown. “Your magic? Wait—how long have you been here?”

Her grey eyes shimmer. “Long enough to lose hope things would change. Long enough for every drop of magic to leech from my veins. Over time, the iron depleted me permanently.” She shakes her head softly. “That does not matter.”

My shadow begins to stir, waking back up after its temporary slumber. Despite the satisfaction deep within me—having fueled itself with many souls—it thrums excitedly.

Generations later, another new descendant was birthed, it says, reciting Char’s story to me. One who could challenge both queens and their cruelties… the old faerie queen had heard a prophecy about this child, so she had been secretly seeking the bloodlines she exiled, murdering them to prevent them from returning to the realm and rising against her…

“The story was about me,” I mutter. Enid cocks her head, taking me in. “Yvanthia—she’s the one who killed my parents. Who tried to kill me,” I say breathlessly as the pieces click into place.

Enid nods carefully. “I would not put it past her. There were whispers of Yvanthia sending fae into Dovenak to hunt my bloodline. I speculated that is partly why they kept me alive—to use me against her potentially.”

Is that what Wyetta and her guards were talking about?

Did the fae genuinely attack first?

Dread consumes me as I realize the line between innocent and guilty is hazy. Like Char once said—the truth changes depending on what side of the Gleam you stand .

Now, I realize what she means.

Any of us can be seen as a hero or a monster, depending on the perspective.

“Yvanthia is worse than I thought,” I say, returning to the faerie queen’s cruelties. She killed my family and tried to kill me until she realized she needed me to save her own life. “So she is why the human queen wanted to go to war with the fae.”

Enid nods, then glances over her shoulder toward the throne, where the elderly queen slumps, blood trickling from her mouth. “That human queen was merely warming my seat, dearling. She stole my name, my freedom, and my throne. It was never truly hers, and now, I shall reclaim what I built.”

My veins vibrate as my shadow breaks free, surging toward Enid. The dark, wispy tendril coils around her leg, like a dog cozying up for pets. I swear it even makes a brief purring noise.

Enid’s eyes crinkle at the corners as she reaches down, running her hand through its tendrils. “I never thought I would see the day…” she mumbles, her voice thick with emotion.

I’m tempted to ask what she means, but I feel her strokes through my hair, and the tenderness distracts me. I shudder, my eyes flitting shut under the show of affection.

After everything so dark, sharp, and brutal, it feels… soft like home.

Home.

A sinking feeling pulls at my gut, and I snap out of the delirium.

One who could challenge both queens and their cruelties.

Even if my shadow likes Enid, she isn’t innocent in all of this. Just because we share blood, it doesn’t mean we share values.

“The Trade,” I snap. “That was you who instilled it?”

A horrified look crosses the female’s face. “Certainly not!” She scowls, shaking her head. “That is not the ruler I strive to be. Not then and certainly not now.”

I exhale in relief. Whatever cruelties or crimes she’s guilty of, we can figure that out later, so long as she’s willing to help me secure the iron and abolish the Trade.

My eyes flit back to the carnage in the ballroom. Dark crimson rivulets trail through divets in the tile, streaking through the room. The bodies strewn about are still human . Even if they were horribly complicit, they still had thoughts and feelings and families.

A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it, averting my eyes again. It does me no good to drown in guilt, but it’s a reminder that we are all capable of cruelties—even if it’s in the name of the greater good.

“You plan to dismantle the Trade?” I clarify, meeting her eyes again.

“I would much like a bath and a meal first.” She chuckles gingerly. “But yes, I will revert Dovenak to its former glory.”

Something else strikes me as odd. My forehead scrunches with confusion. “You said the human queen—Wyetta Wessex—stole your name ?”

A faraway look crosses Enid’s face. “Wessex was the surname of the man I loved. I claimed it like I claimed the crown—the entire Wessex Peninsula. Wyetta’s great-grandmother posed as one of my children, succeeding the throne after my purported death . Her lineage has been falsely ruling as Wessexes ever since.”

“What happened to him? The man you loved?” My voice cracks, and I force my eyes shut so I don’t look back at Rainer. I don’t want to see him like this.

I can’t . It’ll break me.

Enid sucks in a slow, heavy breath. “The same thing that happens to all humans, I’m afraid, my dearling.”

“Not just humans,” I say bitterly, a tear slipping free.

An image of Rainer’s beautiful face fills my mind. A tremor courses through me as I picture the enormous pool of blood around him. Any semblance of peace I had is ripped ferociously away. My chest cracks, and a pained cry bursts out.

“How am I supposed to go on?” I drop to my knees, burying my face in my hands and letting my tears soak my skin.

“One breath at a time,” Enid says softly. She places a hand on my shoulder. “He needs to feed. But you know that, don’t you?”

“What?” I croak, using the back of my hand to wipe the stream off my cheeks.

The violent brownish-red stain coating the front of my white dress turns my veins to lava. It’s the last bits of him I have left—merely a muddy smear on a borrowed gown. It’s so disrespectful, so unfair, that I want to rip the damn thing off and burn it.

“He’s—he can’t,” I wail, clutching the dress in my fists. “He’s gone.”

Enid chuckles pitifully, her lips pinching together as she takes me in. “His body has gone still, but his soul lingers.” She squats beside me, placing a hand on my heart. “Can’t you feel it, spiritcaller?”

I wrack my brain, desperately sifting through the pages and pages of journals I’ve read. Of her very journals. But nothing about bringing back lives or saving the dead crops up.

“I don’t understand,” I say weakly .

Her eyes flit to my hair, her fingers dancing over the messy tendrils that have loosened from my braid. “You look so much like I did at this age, even with many generations between us. It is rather magical in its own way.”

I snap into action, jerking away from her mundane conversation and whirling around. Quickly, I drop my head to Rainer’s chest and pause. At first, I don’t feel or hear anything. But when I place my fingers against his neck, a faint, sluggish pulse twitches against my fingertips. It’s barely there, but he’s alive .

“Enid,” I say, my voice cracking. “What can I do to save him? The iron—” My eyes flit to the dagger protruding from his side, and panic surges through me again. I lift my head and hold Enid’s stare. Despite the fact we’re both fae, I use the only words I know to convey my desperation. “ Please .”

She studies me and offers me a soft smile. “You love him with everything you are, don’t you?” But she doesn’t wait for an answer. She points toward Rainer and then leans in toward me. “As long as he is still breathing, he will live,” she whispers. “Take care of him.”

Reaching into her dress’s pocket, she pulls out a small glass jar and places it beside me. The substance inside is a cream color with a glittering quality to it.

“What is this?” I open it and smell it. It has a vague hint of lemongrass and mint, reminiscent of the healing salve Char used to make me, but different…

“It is strong,” she says. “You need less than you think. Use it sparingly—the sorceress who made this is rather elderly.”

“But… the iron!” It will render the magic ineffective.

“Remove the iron first,” she says patiently. “After you feed him—he needs strength. ”

“How is he even alive?” I ask as my shaking hands reach for his shirt to inspect the wound. “The iron is in his bloodstream.”

“As it is in yours.”

“I don’t understand,” I murmur. Forget the iron—the dagger is embedded deeply into his side. If it hit an organ, there’s no way this salve will help.

“You have human blood in your system. Is it a farfetched assumption to say he has fed on your blood?”

“Yes... I mean, no.” I pause. I think of Fern and the human assassins he’d feed on when they crossed the Gleam… then I think of his face buried between my thighs as he— “Yes, he’s fed on human blood.” I cough awkwardly, my cheeks heating.

She leans forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “There is iron in human blood.”

I only frown harder. “Wouldn’t that… poison him?”

“Does the dose make the poison? Or does the dose make the poison resistance ?” Then she pats me gently on the shoulder and stands, turning away.

“Wait!” I yell after her. “Where are you going?”

She turns back, raising a sharp brow. “To get fresh air. But first, I want my goddess-kissed crown back.”

Shaking off the strange interaction—I can process it later—I turn to Rainer.

Enid said to feed him.

I search desperately for something to cut myself with so I can force him to drink. Starting there is my best bet. He’s sharper and healthier with my blood coursing through him. That might help combat the blood loss and give him a fighting chance when I remove the weapon .

It’s worth a chance.

My skin vibrates, and a heat overtakes me. Before I know what’s happening, my shadow whips toward me. It morphs into the shape of two fangs, similar to a vampyr’s, and thrusts into my wrist. I hiss, trying to stay still. The pressure is sharp, and blood wells up, dripping down my arm right away.

My brows flit up. That’ll do.

Quickly, I situate myself behind Rainer, propping his body up with a grunt. My shadow helps lift him up, placing him carefully against me.

I tilt Rainer’s head back, resting it on my shoulder. Blood spills from my fresh wound, and I shove my trembling wrist against his mouth. “Drink, you broody bastard.”

Warm crimson rivulets trail down my arm, and I smear it all over his lips in an attempt to lure him back to life.

My shadow wavers around his side, inspecting his wound. It wraps around the blade, tugging it free.

I gasp. “No—he can’t lose any more blood.”

But it’s too late. The iron-infused weapon slides out with a horrifying squelch. I wince, slamming my eyes shut. It clatters to the floor.

When I reopen my eyes, I catch my shadow ripping Rainer’s shirt off. I clench my teeth at the sight of his bare skin. His dark, swirling tattoos are stained rusty-brown and red, like a violent piece of art, and an angry, vicious gash oozes at his side. Nausea burns the back of my throat, but I don’t look away this time. Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t.

A piece of my shadow wads up his undershirt, stuffing the fabric against Rainer’s side while another tendril reaches for the jar of salve. It opens it, scoops a healthy dollop, and returns to his wound, slathering the cream around. Right before my eyes, the wound begins to heal, and my shadow removes the fabric carefully, applying more cream.

A tiny bit of relief flickers through me, but not nearly enough.

It won’t be enough until I hear Rainer say my name again—until I feel his soft lips against mine.

“ Drink ,” I demand, shoving my arm more aggressively against his lips. “I swear to the gods, Rainer. If you don’t drink right now, I will bring you back to life just to kill you again myself.”

Something soft and warm flicks against my wrist, causing me to gasp. I go still, desperately waiting for more movement.

“Violent little rose,” Rainer mutters in a raspy, barely audible voice.

My heart stalls, forgetting to beat at the sound of his voice.

“Rainer,” I whisper.

His tongue flicks out again, and he groans in satisfaction. In an instant, his teeth clamp onto my wrist, and he eagerly sucks. A surge of intense pleasure courses through my veins.

And as he gradually drains my blood, he steadily refills my heart.