Page 193 of The Edge of Darkness

“So, what’s worrying you so much?”

I found myself fiddling with her fingers, not entirely sure how to say the rest of what I’d come to believe, because I knew that, in the end, it posed multiple threats. And with the cù-sìth’s untimely appearance . . .

“Do you remember the verse ‘stars and ash bring forth the storm’ in the prophecy?”

“Yes . . .”

“Well, given everything we know about your power, and mine, and the fact that we’re mates . . . My theory is that it’s referring to you and me. The two of us, ushering in the prophecy together.” I laced my fingers into hers. “Stars.” I squeezed. “And ash.”

“Stars and ash,” she repeated. “It . . . makes sense. Now that I think about it, even Amarna hinted at it. She said we would need each other. But why didn’t we see it before?”

“I think we were all so focused on you and what your power had to do with it, that we were distracted. But that’s not a bad thing. You’re what’s most important. Without you, there would be no chance at ridding the world of Lyceius. You’re the one with the blood of the gods.”

“But if it somehow requires both of us, both our powers . . .” She trailed off as she searched my eyes. The moment she spotted the self-doubt that was lingering there, she winced. “You think you don’t have enough control to use yours on such a vast scale . . .”

If I didn’t already know she was human, I’d have sworn she could read minds.

I slowly nodded.

“Niall, I may not understand everything about how power and magic work, but I know enough to say that it’s the will of the heart that controls it. We all have the capability to use our gifts for good or ill. It’s what we choose in our heart that determines the outcome. You cannot lose sight of that. When you lose sight of the good, that’s when you run the risk of losing control and giving in.”

The shadows that wafted around us stilled. They were watching her. Listening. I felt their curiosity like a hum in my own consciousness. They were comprehending everything she was saying, and committing it to memory. Sentient things, indeed. They twined themselves around our hands, seeming to understand the bond that was there, and the importance of what was being discussed.

“Your faith in me is a blessing,” I said.

“I will always have faith in you. I love you.”

“And I, you.” I pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “But I need you to know the risks. If I use my power like I did at Gabbath . . .”

“What if you don’t need to unleash it at that capacity this time? What if . . . you just save it for Lyceius, like I plan to do?”

“Something tells me I need to be prepared to do both.”

“What are the risks if you did both?”

“I could burn out.”

I’d let a fraction of it loose at Gabbath. I didn’t descend deep enough to tap into the deeper reserves. If I did that now . . . I wasn’t sure what might happen.

“And if you burn out?”

“I could die. And then you would be alone, and I would never forgive myself.” The very thought of it made my heart ache.

None of us were immortal. Death would claim each of us some day, whether it be in the near, or distant future. The time would come when my life would reach its inevitable end, regardless of how much we tried to fight it. And Auren would be a goddess, fated to go on without me.

But until then . . .

Auren squeezed my hand tight. “Then don’t burn out. Don’t let it get that far.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to just walk back from it when I sense I’m too close?”

“You’d better.”

A welcome smile tugged at my lips, but the unease remained. With this act came great risk. I would do it though, for her. This power, the shadowfire, the darkness, no matter how terrible it might feel, no matter how difficult it had been to master and contain, it was worth it, if I was meant to help her.

“I also spoke to Amarna, and she told me that we have an unusual advantage when it comes to all of this.”

She raised a brow. “What’s the advantage?”