I follow her movement and realize there are long scratches in her skin—welts and scabs up and down the finger. I wonder if she has a bug bite or something, though I can’t imagine what bug would leave a bite annoying enough to make someone as big as Falia scratch herself until she bleeds.

“Cyrus made Vander believe—really believe—that this monster would find a way to harm us if we left him unchecked. He pointed to some terrible destruction that the beast was supposedly responsible for, told Vander that he had the giants in his sights next, and if they didn’t find a way to stop him, the beast would come for us first, because he knew we had the power to destroy him.”

My stomach churns at the story she’s telling, at the evil that has been coursing through Cyrus’s veins forever. And at the fact that this monster had a hand in raising Hudson and, to a lesser extent, Jaxon. That these two vulnerable boys have had to suffer at the hands of this evil for two centuries. It breaks my heart even as it rekindles the rage inside me, rage that I’m growing more and more afraid will never truly die.

I glance at Hudson, who is looking at his feet, as if the mere act of raising his head is too much for him to bear. His face is blank, but his fists are clenched so tightly that I’m afraid he’s going to break something. I want nothing more than to hug him, to smooth his hair back from his face and promise him that it’s going to be okay.

That, when this is all said and done, he’s going to be okay.

But I don’t know if I believe that any more than he does…and he’s not looking at me anyway. So instead of trying to reassure him, I turn back to the blacksmith’s wife and will her to continue with her story. Because if she doesn’t, any hopes I have of keeping Hudson safe go up in smoke.

“Vander believed him,” she finally begins again, absently scratching at her finger. “Over me, over everyone, he believed him. And he worked like a man possessed, day after day, night after night, for months, until he finally created the chains that Cyrus was so desperate for.”

She breathes out then, seems to sink into herself, but the story isn’t done. What happens next is the most important part, and I’m on the edge of my seat. Except she seems in no hurry to tell us any more, and I am seconds away from screaming in frustration. I need to know what happened to Vander. If we can’t get him to help free the Unkillable Beast so we can take the Crown…I can’t even consider what might happen to Hudson next. Or Jaxon. Or Katmere.

“Please,” I beg when she doesn’t say anything else and I can’t take the silence anymore. “Please tell me what Cyrus did to your husband.”

“What does Cyrus ever do when he’s done using someone? He discarded him,” she finally whispers, and my stomach sinks.

Was Vander dead? We hadn’t even considered that possibility, and now my chest feels like a vise is gripping it. My heart is pounding, and I can barely breathe, but I force myself to ask, “Did he kill Vander?”

The giant’s soft eyes fill with tears. “That would have been a mercy. To us all.” She shakes her head. “Since the king had no reason or justification for killing Vander, he did the next best thing—he accused him of treason against the Crown and had him sent to the Aethereum.”

The tree is shaking all around us now, as if it is as enraged about what Cyrus did as we are. The branches sway, the trunk trembles, and the carvings on the handrails seem to turn in to themselves, like the story she is telling is too awful for the children carved into the handrail to hear.

“Prison?” It’s the last thing I expect her to say, even though knowing it reveals that there really is a scary kind of parallel between what happened to the blacksmith and what Cyrus is threatening to do to his own son.

Of course, if it’s not broke, why fix it? For all I know, Cyrus could have used this same method for dealing with his enemies a thousand times.

It’s a sobering thought.

“How long was he sentenced for?” Mekhi asks.

“Forever?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s been a thousand years, and he hasn’t returned.”

“Has no one tried to break him out?” Eden asks.

“Break him out?” Her laugh is phlegmy and broken. “Cyrus would kill him before seeing that happen. And I hear tales that it’s impossible anyway.” She scratches at her ring finger yet again. “No, but one day I hope to join him there. When the grandkids are older.”

“Join him?” Now I really don’t understand. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Do you know what it’s like to be without your mate, day in and day out, for a thousand years?” she whispers. “For an eternity? I should have gone with him then, when Cyrus had him taken away. But we had the babies, and Vander made me promise to stay with them, to take care of them until they could take care of themselves. I agreed, not knowing that I was damning us both. Not knowing it would be a fate worse than death.”

This time when she looks at me, her eyes are way past haunted. They are desperate, devastated, dying, and the sight of them sends terror pouring down my spine in frozen rivers.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper even as my stomach hollows. Desperate to give her any small modicum of comfort that I can, I reach over and rest my hand on hers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she tells me, and there are tears in her eyes as she starts to pat the back of my hand with hers. But she freezes the moment her fingers come into contact with mine.

“That ring. You have a mate, too?” she asks, low and urgent.

I glance at Hudson, who is looking between us with narrowed eyes.

“I bought it for her,” he says before I can answer.

This time when she moves to scratch her finger, I realize that she is wearing a ring, too—one that is silver, with several symbols inscribed on it. One that looks an awful lot like mine.

She rubs her fingers over the ring, ends up wringing her hands. “I wish you more luck with yours than I’ve had with mine,” she tells me, and it sounds like she’s about to cry.

“What does that mean?” Hudson asks, his voice unusually strident. And he’s so tense now that I fear one wrong move might shatter him. “What’s wrong with your ring?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. It works just as intended.”

“And that is how?” Eden asks urgently, and I can’t help but remember how concerned she was when she saw the ring. And how disapproving.

“Vander gave me this ring nearly twelve hundred years ago, along with a promise that he hasn’t been able to keep for a thousand years.” She rubs at her finger again. “It itches and burns incessantly every day the promise goes unfulfilled. It’s like it knows the promise can never be fulfilled and wants me to take it off. But I can’t.”

“Why not?” I ask, almost afraid to breathe.

“My poor, sweet child.” She shakes her head. “Because if you remove the ring, the promise is forgiven.”

“So why not take yours off?” There’s a slight edge of hysteria in my voice now, but I’m not sure why. “If Vander can’t fulfill the promise, why torture yourself and not remove the ring?”

“He promised he would come home to me,” she says on a broken sob. “As long as I wear this ring, I know he’s still alive—he will one day fulfill his promise.”

“He has no choice?” Eden asks.

“The promise must be fulfilled. Forever…or until you remove the ring or the giver dies,” Falia says. “Which is why, despite everything, I’m grateful for this small piece of silver. Because it tells me my Vander is still alive, even after all these years.”

But she sighs and runs a finger over my ring one more time. “I’m very tired. Thank you for the visit, but I fear I must rest now.”

Hudson leans forward, holds her gaze. “Cyrus is trying to send me to the Aethereum as well. I will go—and I will find your husband and bring him home to you.”

My chest tightens as her face softens. Hudson doesn’t even hesitate to offer his own safety and sanity to end her suffering. It’s humbling.

But she shakes her head. “My dear, no one breaks out of the Aethereum. If they could, Vander would have found a way and fulfilled his promise.” Then she turns her gaze on me, piercing me with its intensity. “When the time comes, go with your mate.”

I swallow. “Is there no other option for you now?”

She lifts a hand and cups my cheek until the pressure makes my jaw ache. “When you must make a choice as horrible as mine, only death will free us both.”

62

I’ll Be Watching You

“Well, that was fun,” Flint jokes, but there’s no humor in his voice at all. He looks as shaken as the rest of us at what Cyrus has done. The suffering this woman has endured for a thousand years.