Page 210 of A Courage of the Chosen

“I know,” Ishbel smirks, like she has a direct path to my mind, which in fairness, she always has. “But it is you who had the courage to keep fighting when all seemed lost. Your power that brought this to an end. Don’t do yourself that disservice.”

I offer her a half-smile and turn back to the last flickers of Tavish’s crude pyre. “I’ll try.”

We sit together for a time, both of us finally free from our past, and the questions I never got to ask in the Lagan Naomh bubble up. “Why couldn’t you stop Raghnall?”

Ishbel doesn’t reply immediately, and a breeze picks up through the meadow, blowing ash and sparks out over the surface of the pool. “When the spirits transformed me into this new form, they were very clear that I couldn’t intervene when it came to matters of my people. I had to let that go and allow fate to decide what would happen.

“I struggled with that in the beginning, especially when my daughter was still alive. But over time, it got easier. I began to forget my Seelie wants and desires. I became a Goddess, in every sense of the word.”

It makes sense, I suppose, but there’s still something that isn’t adding up. “You helped me so many times. You stopped Tavish from forcing the Anamara bond.”

“Is there a question in there?” Ishbel quirks a brow in my direction.

“Probably,” I shrug.

She huffs a laugh. “The spirits are nature. They’re the gods of old. The ones Seelie worshipped before I came along in this form. They are bound by its laws, and the magic contained within the balance you find in every living thing. Prey and predator, day and night, rain and sun.”

That explains why their essence felt so fundamental to this world.

“What Raghnall did was such a violation of the natural laws, they knew they would have to make a choice. Do nothing and let darkness take over, or intervene and restore balance.”

“So, they allowed me to be born,” I deduce.

“Yes. And the balance tipped even further in favor of the Dorche when Tavish held you captive and tried to take a piece of you. So, they looked the other way when I assisted you. In the past, they haven’t taken it well when I tried to gently steer someone in a different direction.”

She doesn’t explain what she means, and I have no desire to enquire any further, judging the solemn look on her face.

“Why didn’t they do it sooner? They let it go on for so long,” I ask instead.

“They would not intervene until the last possible moment, and there were many factors that could’ve changed what they foresaw when my Seelie form died. Free will is funny like that.”

She points at the charred remains of Tavish. “He could have made many choices that would have meant a different outcome.”

Somehow, I knew that. As I faced him a final time, I understood Tavish more deeply than I ever wanted to, because the same choices were before me. I could’ve given in to the darkness in my heart. Had I caved to the rage, the vengeful thirst that stalked me for so long, I could’ve ended up like him, or something far worse.

I chose a different path, in the end.

“Will Dorche powers like mine return to other Seelie?”

Ishbel leans back on her hands. “Eventually. One cannot exist without the other, but this world needs time to heal.”

I sit taller. “But surely all this could happen again if it does come back?”

“No, child,” she says, closing her eyes.

When Ishbel doesn’t elaborate, I nudge her foot with mine. “You’re gonna need to walk me through it.”

“You remind me so much of my former self,” she smiles, and before I can ask her how that’s relevant, she continues. “When the spirits righted the Dorche in you, they fixed the one thing they missed when they created Seelie. Rituals. You had to return and defeat Tavish in order for that to take effect.”

“They told me I had to right the wrongs . . .”

“Exactly. The rituals that once allowed Seelie to steal magic belonging to another will no longer work. The spirits will not allow that kind of imbalance to exist again.”

This information brings me immeasurable relief. History has a tendency to repeat itself, and absolutely no one needs to relive the last century.

“It won’t be easy, will it?” I ask.

“What won’t be easy, child?”