Page 21 of Dark Night of the Soul

Killian and his people had done an impressive job turning the woods into their Fae sanctuary. What had once been a scarred stretch of forest was now alive in a way that felt intentional—guided instead of wild.

The heart of the village was a massive treehouse grown, not built, from the trunk of an ancient oak. Its limbs had been coaxed outward and shaped into platforms and dwellings, their bark smoothed and etched with faintly glowing runes. Rope bridges spanned the gaps between branches, swaying gently with every step, while narrow ladders spiraled upward, disappearing into canopies thick with leaves and filtered light.

Smaller homes clustered around the central tree, woven from living branches and moss, their walls threaded with flowering vines that shimmered faintly as I passed. Lanterns made of glass and crystal hung from limbs overhead, catching the sunlight and breaking it into shards of gold and green. Somewhere nearby, water trickled—an unseen stream winding through the roots like a heartbeat.

The air here was different. Cooler. Charged. It smelled of damp earth and crushed herbs, of sap and smoke and something faintly metallic beneath it all—magic, old and awake. The forest didn’t surround the village, it watched it. Leaves rustled without wind. Shadows shifted where nothing moved.

Fae moved through the space with quiet grace, their presence felt before it was seen. Some paused to watch me pass, eyes too bright, too knowing. Others nodded in acknowledgment, recognition flickering in their expressions. They remembered who I was. What I’d done for them. What I’d taken from them, too.

This place was a sanctuary, yes, but it wasn’t gentle.

I saw Killian then, talking to one of his people. He was tall, regal, like an elf who stepped out of a high-budget fantasy movie. His face was hard angles, ears a delicate point, his hair the color of spun gold, and longer than mine. Prettier than mine, too. But his eyes were the strangest—a kaleidoscope of blue, green, purple.

He smiled and waved when he saw me. “Hi, Anna. What brings you here this morning?”

“Hi. You have a minute to chat?”

“For you, sure.”

He motioned for me to follow him up the spiral staircase. Once we were inside his home, he waved me to a chair.

Even here, the interior of the tree felt grown. The walls curved organically, polished smooth where bark met living wood, threaded through with faint veins of silver light that pulsed like a heartbeat. Sunlight filtered in through narrow openings high above, refracted by leaves and crystal panes so the entire room glowed in soft shades of yellow, amber, and green.

Low shelves lined the walls, carved directly from the trunk, holding relics of a life rebuilt. Maps etched into bark, glass vessels filled with glowing pollen, blades forged of Fae steel and bone. Woven rugs covered the floor, their patterns shifting subtly when I moved, responding to magic not footsteps.

The chair he offered was deceptively simple—wood and vine, shaped to cradle instead of command. No throne. No dais.

Killian ruled from the center of his people, not above them.

Some of the tension in my chest eased.

He remained standing. “You look troubled.”

“Who, me?” I tried for nonchalance.

His mouth twitched. “I don’t think you’d come before high tea unless something was amiss.”

He had me there. How many times had I sat here with him and Astrid for high tea? It was an easy alliance.

Then he looked me over. “You’re not armed, so that’s a good sign.”

I wasn’t. Kincade was.

“I was wondering… how secure are your people?” I asked, getting right to it.

His smile faded. “Secure enough. The forest is warded with Fae magic. Stronger than it has ever been.”

“And you’d… sense if something crossed those wards?” I asked.

“We sensed when you did. My guards did not alert me because they know you.”

Naturally. His gaze narrowed as he took the seat opposite me.

“There’s something you’re not saying,” he said.

There were a lot of somethings I wasn’t saying. “I’m… checking.”

His mouth flattened into a straight line. “Anna, you wouldn’t be ‘checking’ if you thought everything was all right.”