“It’s Radagast…”
He cut her off with a snort. “You’re crying over one of the Oberon boys?” He rolled his eyes and heaved one of his patented theatrical sighs. “They’ve been causing more than a little trouble around Othercross in the last couple of weeks. Leave it to a family of outcast fae to sail in here and stir up everyone.”
“Yeah,” she said lightly. “Some more than others.”
“What is it about this particular Oberon? When I was in a few days ago, you were chatting and everything was peachy.” Then his face changed, and a delicate hand rose to his dimpled cheek. “Oh, no. Oh, honey. You haven’t fallen in love with him, have you?”
Her tears started fresh again, running hot down her face. In a move wholly unlike the catty gossip that she knew, Alistair drifted closer and settled in beside her. Sitting on the floor—or hovering just above it, in Alistair’s case—had always been far beneath his dignity. The tenderness of the gesture moved her.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whimpered.
“Tell me about it. How did it all happen?”
“How does anything happen? He came to talk to me, and it all seemed so right. I told him about the curse…”
“You what?” Alistair sounded almost afraid for her. “I thought you couldn’t do that?”
“As much as I could. There are some things I can say, but most things I can’t. Believe me, I tested the limits of it.”
“I have no doubt.” He nodded for her to go on.
“Anyway, he’s on fire with it. Rad’s been tearing through books, saying he’s determined to break the curse. You should have heard him vowing to do it. It was…”
“The most romantic thing you ever heard?”
All she could manage was a miserable nod.
“Oh, dear.” He sighed genuinely for the first time in her memory. “It’s all hopeless, of course?”
Her chin pitted as she tried to keep a fresh bout of crying from overtaking her.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Alistair’s face was as serious as she’d ever seen it. Intent, and focused. The studied laziness of his flamboyant demeanor had melted away, and there was something almost paternal in his eyes.
“You’re going to have to let him go.”
The very thought of it cut to the core of her heart. “I can’t.”
“Sweet, you have to. Not just let him go, but make him go. Break his heart. Do it to save the both of you. He will forget, because that’s what mortals do—and your own pain will diminish with time.”
“How can you know that?”
“Do you really need to ask?” That melancholic little smile crept over his face again. “When mortals—even fae—fall in love with ghosts, or the other way around, it never ends well. There’s just too much distance for things to ever really come together. It’s beautiful and tragic. The kind of thing they write about in these wretched things.” He reached up a hand to rap the spine of a book with his knuckle and shuddered.
“But, I’m not a ghost, Alistair. Not really. I’m a remnant, so surely that’s different?”
“For it to work the way you want it to, you would need to have more freedom than me, not less. Now, tell me—do you have more?” Araminta shook her head. “Well. There you are.”
“No.” Something lodged itself in her stomach. It felt oddly like determination. “You’re wrong. That can’t be true. I won’t allow that be true.”
“Oh, darling…” He reached to brush some hair back from her face, but Araminta flinched from him, even though he couldn’t really touch her anyway.
“Just go away, will you? All you’ve done since you came here is make me feel worse.” In her heart, she knew he had only been trying to help, but Araminta desperately needed someone to be mad at. For his part, Alistair took it without insult.
“Oh, come now, sweet. You don’t mean that.”
“I do mean it,” she hissed. “Just get away from me!”
“All right.” The showy flourish returned to his demeanor. “Since you’re in such a foul mood, I’ll excuse myself. Maybe I’ll come back in a couple of years when you’ve had time to calm down.”
Offering his usual teasing wave, he vanished with a soft pop.
Araminta was livid. What did he know about it? All he ever did was come around to spill whatever gossip he’d been able to dig up around Othercross. How many people had he spilled the dish over her visits with Radagast? Well, she’d be damned before she gave him any more fodder.
Her face went hot at the notion that he was already in other company, regaling them with the story of her tears and her hopeless situation. They might be crying too, but with laughter at the absurdity of her plight. What did that old troublemaker know anyway?
She fumed as she wound her way back to their table, certain that she was going to summon up the substance to face Radagast again. The wheels spinning inside her had erased any hint of fatigue, and she felt as though she could be present for him for hours. Maybe they would even be able to indulge in some more romantic contact.
That would show Alistair Flayme, and anyone he went tattling to. Who knew, maybe she could just will herself back into being.
When she caught sight of the table, she stopped cold. All the determination drained out of her, and she faltered back into weakness, as though she might vanish altogether and slip into glorious oblivion, leaving it all behind.
Radagast was there, bent even more over the table than he had been that morning. His whole frame seemed crushed over his books, as he flipped page after page. At the rate he was driving through things, it was clear he was barely even reading the words. His desperation to find the answer had rendered him blind to anything but his need.
That was enough.
She couldn’t let this happen. The impossible quest would destroy him, and destroy her as she stood by watching it. Radagast Oberon would waste his life hunched over that library table, if she let him, chasing after something he would never be able to find.
Alistair was right. And as painful as it was to think she would never see Rad again, she had to save him. Her own life had been lost over this curse, and she refused to let it steal his as well.
She stood opposite him at the table, and summoned up enough of herself to reach out and close the book he was squinting at. He looked up in pure surprise, his eyes glazed by tireless reading.
“Araminta?”
Breathing in deeply, she focused every scrap of energy she could muster and manifested herself to him. As she came into view, she saw his face change at the sight of her. He softened into pure, besotted relief.
“You have to get out of here.” She made her voice hard, and his look melted into confusion.
“What?”
“I said, you have to get out of here. Leave. This has been a lovely little game, but I’m tired of playing with you. This is over.”
“Game?”
Her heart broke to hurt him like this, but the old ghost was right. He would forget, and she would grow numb again. Eventually.
“That’s all this was, you silly fae. A puzzle to pass the time. But I’m sick of puzzles and I’m sick of you. Now, I want you to leave this place, and never come back. You won’t like what will happen if you come back.” She poured just enough threat in to make it seem credible.
“But…” he started. “But you love me. I know you do.”
Araminta mustered enough strength to let out a bawdy laugh. “I never cared for you. And you were a fool to believe that I did.”
Rad looked like he might be sick.
“But…” he started again, but she cut him off.
“Get out!” she screamed so loudly that his long black hair fluttered in the breeze of it.
Standing so fast he overturned the chair, he staggered away from her. With each step, Araminta’s heart tore a little more. She hoped Alistair was really right—that time would seal up the hole this was rending inside her.
But for any hope of that, she
would have to wait until the library decayed around her into nothing. Even then, even in the wasteland after all life had passed away, she would always feel this ache.
Chapter Nine
To say Rad was hurt didn’t touch the half of it. He was devastated beyond comprehension.
Rudderless.
When Araminta told him that it had all been some kind of cruel game, she might as well have reached into the center of his soul and pulled out all the parts that gave him purpose. It was more savage and crueler than any fight he’d ever had with a foe.
Perhaps because he had let her get so close. More than close. He had dared to fall in love with her, which was a kind of risk he had never taken before. She had come to live under his skin so deeply, he craved her in his sleep. If he could have moved a pillow in among the stacks and stayed there, he would have.
But she didn’t want him.
And now he was bereft. Everywhere he went, her words haunted him. What was he supposed to do? The prospect of spending his life without her seemed unthinkable. For too long, he had denied himself the truth, but now her absence forced it into the center of his mind.
Araminta Harrington was fated to him. She had to be. The inexplicable connection he felt with her pointed to it. The way she had flooded into his heart left almost no doubt. He may have had his doubts as to whether it was possible to be fated to someone who wasn’t exactly alive—nor dead—but the thrall she had him in was too powerful to be denied.
That was why he had been so driven to break her curse, and why her rejection of him felt so incomprehensible. Now, deep in the core of his being, he knew. He was hers as much as she was his. Maybe she was fighting against it? The enormity of the bond could be terrifying.
Shit, it scared him too.
That must have been why he held it at bay so long himself. To admit to it was to surrender some degree of his independence. It meant becoming half of a whole. That had never made sense to him…until meeting her.
“Can I help you?”
“Huh?” Rad realized he’d been staring in the window of a witch’s supply shop, and he couldn’t quantify exactly how long.
“Do any of those appeal to you, or do you just like watching them hop?”
He furrowed his brow at the auburn-haired witch leaning against the door frame. Her gimlet eyes flashed at him, and he was very aware of the curiosity in them.
This witch gave him a little grin and tapped the window to her shop with a delicate knuckle. Blinking back through it, Rad saw that the whole window display was alive with toads of various sizes, all clamoring to be taken home.
“You looking for a familiar or something to put into the cauldron? We’ve got both kinds.”
“No, thank you.” He waved a distracted hand. “Honestly, I was miles away.”
“Well, if you change your mind…”
Waving again, Rad eased away from the shop. His aimless wandering had led him in a giant circle. Out of all the places in Othercross he could have landed, the shop he had been facing was only a few doors down from the library that held his heart.
He stood in front of the tall, imposing doors for a long moment, Araminta’s threat over his return ringing inside his head. He only hesitated a moment before pulling open the door and stepping inside. Even if she rained invective down on his head, at least that meant he would see her again. Whether she was enraged or not, he was powerless to resist.
The librarian gave him a knowing smile as he passed, and Rad wondered if everyone within those walls was privy to his secrets. Swallowing hard, he made his way up to their table, his heart growing louder in his ears with every step. With each corner he rounded, he half-expected Araminta to be waiting on the other side.
Each time, it was empty. All he wanted was to bump into her again like the first time. To start the whole thing over, but this time get it right.
Their table waited in the half-light for him. It seemed to radiate with the charge of the time they had shared. His tongue went dry as he approached, and he closed his eyes to see if he could feel her presence.
Nothing.
He was left as cold as if she had never been there at all. Laying his palms flat on the table, he took a couple of steadying breaths in an attempt to slow his pulse. And then he felt something.
Not Araminta. Something else. A tiny silvery call just behind his heart. It was adjacent to where he felt the glow of their bond. But it was quiet—barely a whisper in his chest.
Deciding to give himself over to this distant feeling singing inside him, he closed his eyes. As he did, the light sharpened, the keen, white glow of it pulling him along. At first, his blind steps were tentative, but once he realized that he wasn’t in danger of running into anything, his confidence grew.
Radagast even trailed down a flight of stairs without once peeking to see where he was being led. Surely, this thing—whatever it was—would take him to the feet of his beloved. The farther he went, the larger and louder the plea in his chest became. It swelled beyond his heart and seemed to take over his entire body.
It was overpowering. Majestic. As if new vistas were opening inside of him.
At last, it brought him to a halt. Standing very still, he whispered Araminta’s name into the world before him. Radagast knew that when he opened his eyes, he would see her standing there. That all the hard words would have evaporated, and he could love her again.
But there was nothing.
He stared down a long, lonely aisle of forgotten books and felt completely lost. Turning to look around with weary eyes, he saw that he was in a section of poetry. Familiar names sat packed in tight rows, and he gave a sad smile to think how little of these great poets he knew.
One name among them seemed to sparkle out at him. He had never heard it before. Isolandria. To his surprise, he became aware of his own hand moving without his intention behind it, as if it had a will of its own. His fingers plucked the old, thin volume from the shelf, and he held it gingerly in his fingertips.
The book was ancient. Leather bound, and the spine was cracked and starting to crumble. As he laid the brittle cover from one palm to the next, he saw that the pages were as light as gossamer—so fragile they might crumble as he turned them.
Ode to the Midnight Loss, one poem was titled. Hypatia, another. Turning the leaves with reverent care, he found it full of poems steeped in heartbreak and loss. Some went on for pages, while some were neat little groupings of a scant handful of words. Each one seemed perfect unto itself.
He stopped. One called to him more than the others. That shining feeling sliced through his chest again, and he gazed over the words.
The Damsel In The Tower.
Licking his lips, and surprised at the rasp in his own voice, Rad began to read aloud. Softly, as if he worried that the words might break if he spoke them too harshly.
She sits alone,
This Damsel in the Tower,
A perfect diamond set in a ring that no-one can wear.
Forlorn, forgotten, lost to the hearts of men,
The Damsel waits.
For what, she does not know.
Once love had been her only hope,
The star of all her life,
But time has claimed that dream of hers,
As it claims all things sans remorse.
As he read, something began to happen. It started as a low hum that rippled in the air, more seen than felt. The words of the poem continued to flow, and the air began to gather into itself, coalescing into a silhouette he could have drawn in his sleep. The wonder of it bloomed in his heart. He continued reading, wishing that what he thought was happening was real.
But she will wait,
This Damsel in the Tower,
As love dictates she must.
‘Til that day when time cracks open to her view,
And all the past of hate and fear
Falls useless into dust.
If some bright, blessed day,
As yet so far removed and unfores
een,
Shall find her patient heart has stayed the dawn,
And has not passed away,
Then freedom she shall glean.
Radagast closed the book in damp and trembling palms. It was as if the poem had lived inside him all of his life, the words written on the underside of his skin. Someone was there. He could feel her breath. For the longest moment, he was afraid to look, in case it was some crabby librarian and not the woman he loved.
But, he knew the sound of her breath. The presence he felt was the same one that clung to his side when he couldn’t see her sitting there. Araminta was there, as real and solid as anyone had ever been.
And now Radagast was afraid to look up because he didn’t want her to see the tears in his eyes.
Chapter Ten
This isn’t real. It can’t be.
Araminta stood dumbfounded. When she’d seen Radagast cross the threshold of the library, she’d blown through the building like a hurricane, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Yet there he stood, directly in front of her. More than that, in his hands he held the book that cradled the entirety of her. His beautiful lips shaped the words that shattered her curse and called her into being. Warm blood began to flow through her veins, and her knees went weak at the sensation of bearing her own weight again.
The poem finished, he snapped the book shut and turned his eyes to her. Judging by the look on his face, he couldn’t believe it either.
“Is it you?”
In answer, she flung herself at him with the vigor of hundreds of years. The firm, strong fact of him in her arms left her breathless. He squeezed her back in answer, and she reeled at the sensation of his grip on her flesh. She had flesh again!
Not only did she, but she was drunk with it. Every bit of her tingled with life. She relished it more than she had imagined she would.
“Radagast Oberon, I’m going to need you to do me a favor,” she whispered in his ear.
“Anything.”
Fae Lord Bewitched: Real Men of Othercross (Paranormal Fae Romance) (Real Fae of Othercross Book 4) Page 5
