Chapter 80 — Part 2

Chapter 80 — Part 2
Kate’s POV

“I didn’t find you alone,” I reply. “Dan took me to someone who knew paths I didn’t know. To someone small, noisy, and dangerously efficient.”

Ashleen blinks, curious. Niv’leen straightens in the air, clearly offended in advance.

“After the auction and the mess we left behind,” I continue, “I needed a place where no one would find us. Dan said he knew a fairy.” I pause and stare at Ashleen. “And I grew up hearing horrible stories about fairies, so I complained about his idea the whole way.”

“Complained indeed, like my idea was worse than jumping off a moving carriage,” Dan mutters, without losing the humor in his voice.

“Carriages or not, trusting him was one more act of madness that day,” I say, from the corner of my mouth. “The first was stealing a dragon.”

Niv’leen crosses his thin little arms. “And the third was showing up in MY forest like you owned the place.”

“But I didn’t show up alone,” I retort. “You felt my magic from afar. Dan knew you would. He used me as bait.”

“Irresistible anchor,” Dan corrects.

I roll my eyes. “Anchor, bait… whatever. The forest turned different. The leaves stopped moving, and then I heard a sound that scraped my teeth, like glass being scratched. That’s when Niv popped out of a tree hole.”

Ashleen leans forward, fascinated and a little tense. Niv’leen tries to look majestic and fails gloriously.

“I still remember exactly the first thing he yelled at my face,” I say, trying to mimic the high-pitched tone: “‘NO, NO, NO! That is a HUMAN! It BREATHES! It EXISTS! It has EYES!’”

A giggle escapes Ashleen.

“I froze. He spun, screeched, hid behind leaves, popped up farther away, and kept repeating I would ‘contaminate his air.’ And Dan, of course, was having fun at my expense.”

“She’s unfair with me,” Dan comments, though his eyes gleam. “I was… satisfied. Not the same thing.”

“Uh-huh… And when I noticed, we were already negotiating shelter,” I continue. “Except that, with fairies, nothing is simple. Niv’leen demanded a pact.”

Ashleen grows serious. “Pact… like those that bind us forever? Varkhael made a bunch of those.”

Hearing her mention his name again makes me hold my breath, but I can’t scold her for it.

“Niv didn’t bind me,” I say slowly. “But he said our pact would have rules. And the three most important are that I never lie to him — not even by omission; that I never offer food, drink, or gifts without absolute certainty he would accept; and… an open favor. A favor he could claim whenever he wanted.”

“Good rule,” Niv’leen sings the words. “Keeps life organized. Oh, I’m so pleased and proud to see that my little pest memorized everything correctly.”

I roll my eyes, but can’t help smiling.

“I accepted because I needed the shelter, and because he said he would place me under protection. Only there was one more condition.”

Ashleen holds her breath in anticipation.

“He asked for one word of my Secret Name,” I say.

“I know what that is!” My sister raises her hand, like a child in school eager to answer the teacher’s question. “It’s the name no one knows, and we can’t let anyone find out.” And that’s when the girl’s lilac eyes falter. “But humans don’t… don’t know their own Secret Name.”

“Very good!” I tap her cheek. “And it’s true, I didn’t know mine. But he said it could be heard if done the right way. So Niv started searching.”

I pause a moment, letting the memory wash through me. “It didn’t hurt like… a cut. It hurt like being turned inside out. Niv spun here and there, until I saw our old house, the garden, our parents arguing… I smelled wet wood, and then something inside me… opened. I tried not to fight, and that’s how we found the word Niv needed.”

I look at Ashleen, waiting to see if she’ll ask what the word was, and to know if I’m ready to share it with her too. But Ashleen doesn’t ask, just lets me go on.

“Then Niv declared the pact made, rolled his eyes like he had won an eternal migraine, and announced he would take us to his refuge.”

“I’m very generous,” the fairy remarks, pompously. “No one appreciates it.”

“Generous with threats included,” I say. “Because, in the middle of negotiations, Dan mentioned a certain Fairy Queen, and a certain collection of mirrors that came to Niv by means… let’s say, not proper.”

“SLANDER!” Niv’leen hisses. “There is no crime when the object in question loves me…”

“He opened a path,” I resume, before the two start fighting again. “It wasn’t a door. It was like stumbling into a web of deceit. And then we arrived at a cabin grown inside a tree, much bigger inside than outside. And full of mirrors. All kinds. On every wall. In every gap.”

Ashleen widens her eyes. “Mirrors?”

“Uh-huh, but they also worked like windows,” I correct. “They didn’t reflect the cabin. They showed other places. Niv’leen said the witch who once lived there was a mirror-crafter, and he inherited them. That’s how he watches humans and also avoids them: seeing where they are, when they approach the forest.”

“But I don’t spy, okay?” Niv’leen complains, indignant. “I only protect myself.”

“In the cabin,” I say, “I breathed for the first time without feeling I’d be hunted the next minute. Niv’leen gave me a corner to sleep, pushed more absurd rules on us, like never saying his name in the presence of three crows and never looking at my reflection between midnight and half past, and warned that ‘promises spoken out loud in a house of mirrors’ are never forgotten.”

Ashleen swings her feet, nervous and curious in equal measure. “And… how do I come into this story?”

I hold her hand with a tenderness that still leaves me trembling inside. “It was there, in his cabin, and with the help of the mirrors, that I found the first clue to discover where you were.”

I breathe, weighing words not to scare Ashleen. “In one mirror, a lake appeared, and there was a girl on the shore. Her steps froze the grass. She crouched… and the reflection in the water showed a pair of lilac eyes, just like mine. Just like yours.”

Dan stays silent, respecting the moment and the memory. Niv’leen bites his lip, huge eyes worried, as if he doesn’t know the full story.

“It was there,” I whisper, “in that cabin, that I knew for sure you were alive, and that something bad had been done to you.”

Ashleen says nothing at first. Her eyes stay fixed on me, as if trying to piece together what she heard with what she feels.

“And then…?” she asks at last, almost in a whisper.

I swallow hard. “Then, I asked Niv’leen to show me more. And, with what I saw, I knew I would need help to save you. Niv brought us here, introduced us to the Fairy Queen, we made some bargains, and she helped us understand more about what was happening to you, about what Varkhael did to you…”

Ashleen is very quiet now, and I imagine the reason is because speaking of Varkhael and placing him as the worst monster in this whole story still leaves her confused.

“One of the Fairy Queen’s mirrors showed me more,” I say, feeling the air grow heavier around the words. “It showed what he did to you. Varkhael didn’t only steal your freedom. He spoke of bad things as if they were good, so that you would feel no more fear or pain if you trusted him. And then he placed in you a fragment of the ice of his heart.”

Her face pales, but I don’t look away. She needs to know.

“He didn’t save you… He only turned you into a reflection of himself, and if I couldn’t find you soon, I would lose you forever.”

My voice falters, but I hold her hand tight, as if that alone could stop the past from returning. “That was the moment I swore that no matter the cost, I would find a way to tear that ice from you.”

Even with her pale face and frightened look, Ashleen asks:

“And you did… right?”

“If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here with us.”

“How did you do it?”

“When we spoke with the Fairy Queen,” I begin, feeling Ashleen scoot closer, “she told me that what was inside you had turned into a sickness. The Ice Sickness that Varkhael created. And freeing you from it wouldn’t be like pulling a splinter from a finger, nor like healing a cut. It was different. The ice that Varkhael placed in your heart… could only melt with living fire, a fire born inside someone. This fire is called anfa’anam.”

She wrinkles her nose, her eyes sparking with curiosity. “Isn’t that the magic heart?”

“Uh-huh. You already know quite a lot, don’t you?” I smile and gently run my hand through her hair. “In theory, only magical beings should have one, but some humans are born with it, like you and me. Only, in our case, our anfa’anam create magic endlessly, and only another anfa’anam could burn the ice that was growing in you.”

Ashleen presses her lips, thoughtful, and murmurs almost to herself: “You knew who could give me one?”

“I didn’t.” I breathe deep, remembering the anguish. “And that was the moment I felt the most fear. Because I thought: what if I never find someone willing to help? What if you stayed trapped in that cold forever? But Niv helped me discover a clue about us two. About our origin. The blood that runs here,” I lift her hand and squeeze it tenderly, “is not only human. Our real father is an elf. His name is Belsurin. He was the one who left us at the door of the cabin where we grew up. But, before leaving, he placed a seal on me. A seal that made me forget, so that I would never find the way back.”

Ashleen blinks quickly, as if trying to hold back the flood of information. “Elf?… Like Varkhael? But he said the elves abandoned him…”

“That’s right,” I answer. “The elves now live in a place called Mag Mell, a world inside our world, where their sky is our seas. But I didn’t know how to get there. Not even the Queen knew. Who knew was someone Dan knew. A dryad. Her name was Cindel.”

Ashleen tilts her head. “Dryad… is she like a fairy?”

“No. Dryads are women born from trees. And it was with Cindel’s help that we managed to cross the Sea of Dreams and reach Mag Mell. It was there we found our father.”

I stop, feeling my throat tighten. Ashleen doesn’t look away.

“And he didn’t want to help us,” I say, slowly, like opening a wound.

Her little hand slips from mine, trembling. “He… didn’t want to?”

“No.” I grip it again firmly, squeezing gently. “But when I thought there was nothing left I could do for you, Cindel decided to give her anfa’anam. She chose to give all she had, even knowing what would happen after.”

Ashleen’s lilac eyes shine like water about to overflow.

“She did it for you,” I say, my voice breaking. “Because she believed you deserved to live free. Because she thought this was her chance to redeem things from the past. And because, even without knowing you, she saw the same thing I always saw: that your life is far too precious to be lost.”

Ashleen brings both hands to her chest, as if to feel if there really is something different there. “So… I’m alive because she gave me… this?”

“You are alive because many people fought for you,” I say, caressing her cheek. “But the last spark, the one that melted the ice, was hers. It was Cindel who gave you back the chance to be free.”

“But… if she gave it to me… then she…”

I nod. “Yes. She’s gone.”

Ashleen lowers her face. “Because of me…”

“No.” I hold her face in my hands, bringing her gaze back to mine. “It wasn’t your fault. It was her decision. She wanted you to carry it as a gift.”

She shakes her head, tears forming. “But I didn’t even know her…”

“You didn’t need to,” I say firmly.

Her sobs echo softly. But they don’t sound like terror or despair, rather that deep ache that comes when we understand something too big to fit inside us.

Niv’leen, who had been staying quiet, lands on her shoulder. The light touch of his wings makes Ashleen glance sideways. He opens a brief smile, so delicate it looks strange on him. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, mini little pest, it’s that the most important gifts ask nothing in return. Only that you take good care of them. So don’t waste this one, got it?”

Her eyes, still full of tears, shine as if receiving, for the very first time, the chance to believe it. That’s when I can’t resist anymore — I hug her tight, feeling the warmth of the small body against mine. I feel her heart beating, alive, free from ice. A gift from Cindel. A gift that is now ours.

She hugs me back right away.

“There’s one more thing,” I say, running my fingers through her hair.

Ashleen looks at me with wet eyes, confused, but attentive.

“When Cindel was gone, she didn’t leave only her anfa’anam in you. She also left a part of her life that could still go on. A seed. And we planted it here, in Tir na nÓg. Now it is there, growing again.”

She lifts her head and frowns, trying to understand. “So… she’s still alive?”

I think for a moment, choosing words carefully. “In a way, yes. Not like before. But her essence continues.”

My sister’s eyes shine in a way I hadn’t seen until now. A mixture of fascination and hope. “I want to see,” she says, voice firm despite the fragility. “I want to see now.”