The Cursed Fae and a Secret Refuge
Chapter One
Rion bounced on his toes, eyes darting from one colorful stall to the next. Saoirse kept a tight hold on his hand. She never let him go far, even if he was practically dragging her down the crowded street, eager to see the performers who were scheduled to arrive within the hour.
“We still have time,” Saoirse giggled, letting Rion pull her through the throng of Fae enjoying the festivities. Many offered kind smiles in passing, while others outright laughed at his sister’s predicament.
He didn’t care. He wanted to be the first in line to see the performers balance across the tightropes and juggle fire. He’d spent the past week reading every book he could find on them. He’d even tried to juggle a few things himself. Much to his sister’s amusement.
Sweat rolled down the side of Rion’s face. Saoirse had mentioned something about humidity. He just knew it was hot. But the heat brought the summer solstice. A night he’d been especially looking forward to this year.
Lanterns lined the streets, casting a pleasant glow over the lines of Fae moving from one stall to the next purchasing all manner of trinkets. Jewels reflected the light in a myriad of colors. Wooden boxes and carved statues promised luck and fortune to those who believed in them. And the smell of food wafted through the air, beckoning patrons toward those stalls.
He wanted to visit them too, but only after seeing the performers.
The pleasant aroma of burned cinnamon floated toward him and Rion’s mouth watered in response. He paused, staring longingly at the pastries dripping with sugar.
“We have time,” Saoirse repeated. “Do you want one?” Rion glanced down the street again, his heart torn. He knew the stall wouldn’t run out anytime soon, especially with the festival lasting the entire week, but—
Saoirse made the decision for him and pulled Rion toward the food stand. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to get a better look through the crowd before his sister grabbed him under his arms and lifted his small body onto her shoulders.
Rion didn’t bother telling her he wasn’t a little kid anymore. Not when he had a clear view above the crowd. He could let it slide this once.
Saoirse purchased the sweet but paused before handing it to him. “If you drip any of this in my hair, I’ll never buy you another one.”
He knew it was an idle threat, but Rion still nodded in reassurance. “I promise to be careful.”
Rion’s gaze was captured by a forest sprite as it floated above their heads, riding the wind on the back of a large oak leaf. It seemed to smile at him before speeding off again, propelled by whatever mysterious magic surrounded the tiny beings.
He carefully tore a bite from the cinnamon pastry, the crumbs falling into the paper tray. It melted in his mouth and he savored the thick flavor.
Saoirse walked at a leisurely pace, navigating through the throng of Fae. They always parted for her and bowed their heads in reverence. They used to do that to their mother, too—Rion shook his head. Saoirse had instructed him to have fun today for her sake. Because their mother would want him to. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Fought the tears that raced to the surface. His mother used to put him up on her shoulders all the time, too. They’d watch the performers and—
“What are you thinking about up there?”
Rion tried to force a smile and was glad his sister couldn’t see his face.
Instead of answering her question, Rion quickly pointed to a stall full of stuffed animals. “I want one of those.” Thankfully, his voice didn’t crack. He was getting better at hiding it.
She paused, considering, and his heart raced. Rion didn’t want to ruin the night for her. She’d been through a lot, too. Rion saw the red around her eyes even when she tried to hide it.
After a moment, Saoirse walked toward the vendor and Rion loosed a sigh of relief. One night. Just for one night, Rion would try to forget about the sadness that blanketed the palace halls and the way their father hadn’t been the same since their mother’s disappearance. For one night, Rion would pretend they were still a family. A real family.
Rion drew in a slow breath, just as Saoirse had taught him to do whenever he was upset. He focused on the stuffed creatures instead. Some resembled the Fairy Folk while others took on the likeness of regular animals. There were even a few shaped like the creatures in the ocean, some beautiful, others scary. Rion shivered at the sight of one with a long colorful tail and menacing teeth. He couldn’t remember its name.
Rion looked through them carefully while they waited their turn and pointed to a stuffed red fox. “That one.”
The male at the stall smiled up at Rion, then fixed his gaze on Saoirse. “Care for a game, My Lady?”
His sister studied the rings in the male’s hand, then reached into her pocket. The male quickly waved his hands. “Oh, no, I couldn’t charge a Lady of Brónach.”
“And I can’t cheat a merchant, especially one who brings such life to the festival.”
The male’s face turned red and he cleared his throat before taking the offered coins. “Okay, but two tries for the price of one. I insist.”
She smirked. “It’ll only take one.”
It most certainly didn’t take one. It was Rion’s turn to laugh at his sister as she tried time and time again to get the small ring on the neck of the green bottles laid out before her. The game looked simple, yet the ring bounced off the glasses and hit the ground no matter what his sister tried. Rion threw a few, but quickly gave the rings back to Saoirse. Even the merchant laughed, clearly amused by her level of dedication.
It seemed like the millionth toss before the ring bounced from one glass to another and finally settled around the neck of a bottle. Saoirse jumped and shouted her victory. Several who’d paused to watch clapped their hands. Rion smiled at her and the merchant congratulated her on a job well done, his purse far heavier than it’d been before their arrival.
The merchant reached for the small fox. “This was the one, wasn’t it?”
Rion nodded and took the stuffed creature. He buried his face in the soft fur, then looked up at Saoirse who was smiling down at him.
“Would you like anything else?” the male asked. “I’d feel terribly guilty if that’s all you took.”
His sister eyed the rack, eyes scanning, and finally pointed to a small pink creature that resembled a forest sprite save for the bright color. “I’ll take that one.”
“Done.” The male packed it up and Saoirse handed the stuffed creature to one of the female slaves following them. The slave pulled a small black wagon full of little bags and trinkets Saoirse had purchased earlier. The slave looked at Rion’s fox, but Rion held it tighter and stepped away from the slave’s reach.
Another of the Fairy Folk whizzed by his head, rising higher and higher until it perched on one of the ropes above that served as a hand rail for any who strolled through the canopy. Many Fae sat up there now, watching the festivities from a long bridge above. He imagined the view resembled a fairy tale from one of his children’s books.
Another of the Fairy Folk joined the forest sprite, balancing on the ropes before it pulled out a tiny instrument. With spindly fingers it lifted the flute-like contraption to its lips and began playing. Several others joined it.
The tune was pleasant and light and pulled at fond memories he’d nearly forgotten. Many paused to stare, marveling at the strange beings who kept balance in their world.
“Do you think I could play music like that?”
Saoirse followed his gaze, a soft smile on her face. “I think you could do anything you set your mind to.”
Maybe he’d start reading books on it now and by the winter solstice, he could join the Fairy Folk in their ethereal melodies.
They continued walking. Saoirse didn’t mention the performers again. In fact, she almost seemed to avoid them, and Rion wondered if she understood exactly how he’d been feeling earlier.
She purchased him far more treats than their father would have normally allowed, and played games throughout the night. Saoirse always won or kept going until she achieved victory. Rion played a few as well and proved he could be just as persistent.
He wondered if the Fairy Folk would visit his room that night. They always appeared at his window during the solstices, though no one ever believed him, Saoirse included. He’d been told no one could touch the small creatures. They were sacred. But when he was alone, they always found him. They would land on his shoulders and play at his feet before disappearing in the trees.
His mother had believed him.
Saoirse took his hand and led her little brother to another stall and another and another. He smiled, listening to the music and wished every night could be as magical as this one.
***
Hours later, Rion’s feet ached and his stomach was nearly to the point of bursting. He’d have been content to curl up on a bench and sleep until morning, but Saoirse scooped him into her arms. Voices echoed around him, but he ignored their whispering, content to sleep in the safety of his sister’s embrace.
“Rion,” Saoirse whispered. He buried his head against her shoulder, but she shook him again. “Wake up sleepy head.”
He didn’t want to wake up. He just wanted his bed and to sleep until noon or past it. Reluctantly, he cracked one eye open. “What?”
“I need to talk to someone; do you think you could wait here for a minute?”
Rion blinked and glanced around only to find them in their father’s study. He didn’t like coming in here, not anymore. There were too many important documents. He’d been told it wasn’t a room meant for younglings.
“I’m not allowed in here,” Rion said, followed by a yawn.
She set him down anyway. “I’ll only be a minute. Just curl up on the chair, then I’ll take you to your room.”
He nodded and staggered toward the large, plush armchair in the corner. Rion wondered if anyone ever sat in it or if it was only there for decoration. Saoirse disappeared without another word, leaving Rion in the room alone.
A fire didn’t warm the hearth, to which he was grateful; it was too hot for a fire. He curled up on the chair and held his fox close. Rion turned and stretched out one leg. He rolled again and repositioned his arm. He kicked off his shoes and loosened the top button of his shirt. He wished he had his pajamas.
Sweat made his clothes cling to him and Rion turned again before giving up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and extended the little fox out to stare at it. Wide orange eyes the same color as its fur stared back. Rion mirrored its smile. Not because of the stuffed animal, but due to the memory he’d always carry because of it. He cherished those now and had a row of items on his bookshelf that reminded him of the family they used to be.
Before—his lips trembled and Rion bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t supposed to cry, especially in a place where his father might see. Not that he saw much of his father these days. It was Saoirse who looked after him. Saoirse who ensured he kept up with his studies and training. Saoirse who cried with him at night when they both missed their mother.
He wished she’d hurry.
Rion glanced toward the door and debated walking to his room himself. It wasn’t far, just up a few flights of stairs and down a hall. But he was so tired and his feet ached.
He looked toward his father’s bookshelves instead. They were lined with old leather volumes. Gold writing on the spines. Most were in perfect condition, though Rion noted a few that were worn at the corners. Either a favorite, or a valuable resource. Maybe one day he’d be allowed to find out.
His gaze traveled down and finally landed on the large potted plant that stood beside his father’s desk. It was taller than he was and the broad leaves were wider than Rion’s palm.
Rion inclined his ear to listen for voices in the hall or footsteps that might tell him Saoirse was on her way back.
Nothing.
He stared at the plant again, debated another moment, then jumped from the chair. Rion carefully placed the little fox in the seat before approaching the plant. He couldn’t hurt it, not unless his magic revealed itself and made the plant do strange things, but even that wouldn’t damage the foliage beyond repair. Saoirse could always fix it.
Rion glanced toward the door again, listening, but silence still filled the hall. He extended his palms, just as their teachers had them do during class and tried to feel for the plant’s life energy.
He was the only one in his class who still hadn’t summoned his magic yet. A late bloomer , his teacher said, just as his mother had been. He was told it would make his magic stronger, but Rion was tired of being made fun of. Tired of the teasing from his friends who could already identify seedlings simply by feeling them in the earth. His best friend had summoned a tree last week and it had grown five feet tall.
He wanted to impress his teacher. Maybe even his father, if he were lucky. Saoirse would certainly be happy to see it.
Rion focused harder. Tension filled his small body and he took a deep breath, willing that tension to fade. Everyone said it would come naturally and that trying to force it would only result in the magic sinking deeper into his core. He needed to coax it out gently. Let it know his body was ready.
Another deep breath. Rion let his eyes close. He let the words from his classmates fade away. He wouldn’t be like the magicless half-breeds. He was the son of the two strongest Fae in all of Brónach. He’d be strong, too. Able to defend his sister and eventually help her find their mother.
A shiver ran through his body. He turned his attention inward, listening and pinpointing everything just like his mother had taught him to do. He could feel his heartbeat. His breath. The pulse throughout his body. He ignored the things that were painful.
Another shiver. No, not a shiver, something else. Like another pulse. Rion centered his focus on that pulse. He coaxed it out, pulling and willing it toward the surface until he could almost feel it crawling across his skin.
Rion opened his eyes slowly and blinked. He raised his hand up toward the light overhead and stared at the tiny particles that circled his arm.
He looked back at the plant. It hadn’t moved at all. Rion followed the bits of dirt rising from the pot, drifting toward him as if he were a magnetic force. Rion reached for them and they connected with his skin, moving in a slow spiral pattern down his entire arm.
He marveled at it, mouth gaping. He’d never seen anyone bend the earth. Nor had he read anything about it. Maybe it was in the books reserved for the older students. There were a few that Saoirse wouldn’t let him read yet, despite him insisting he’d be able to understand it.
He’d read them now, just to see.
Rion’s heart beat just a little faster as realization dawned on him. He had magic. He finally had magic. It was different, sure, but still earth-based in a way. And maybe, in time, he’d be able to control the plants, too. His teacher would know, she’d be able to teach him how to do it.
His excitement caused the grains and chunks of dirt to move faster, spiraling around his arm and now his body. Rion tried to contain himself to no avail. He didn’t want to risk getting anything in his father’s office dirty, but he had magic. Surely his father would overlook a few clumps of dirt on the rug, especially since most couldn’t control their magic for the first week or so.
He’d get to join a special after school class for the next few weeks.
Rion concentrated on the small grains, but they slipped past his mental prodding. Instead of individual grains, Rion tried shifting the particles as a whole. They responded then, moving more to the left then the right. He expanded them and raised them over his head. Not all of them—some wouldn’t respond at all and remained near his body. But he was moving his magic.
A wide grin spread across his face. Voices sounded down the hall followed by heavy footsteps.
“I told you a hundred times not to let him play in here.” Father’s voice was harsh, which was normal these days, but Rion didn’t flinch away from it. He beamed when the door opened.
“He’s not—” Saoirse stopped mid-sentence and both her and his father froze in the doorway. Their gazes traveled first to the particles circling his body, then to the ones above his head. Their lips parted and Rion heard their heart rates spike.
“Look,” he said as if they couldn’t plainly see the dirt floating around him. Rion shifted the particles lower and to his front. His smile broadened. “Look what I can do.”
Neither moved. They didn’t exclaim in excitement. Didn’t run forward to hug or congratulate him. They just . . . stared.
Rion’s smile faltered. He glanced around. He was certain he hadn’t broken anything and the dirt was still all in the air. He didn’t see any spots on the floor or the chairs. Even their father’s desk was clean.
“Saoirse?” She looked like she wanted to say something, but her mouth didn’t form the words. Their father hadn’t moved either. Had he done something wrong? Saoirse looked as if he’d just broken something precious on her bookcase. Which he’d only done once. A porcelain horse that a friend had given her when she was in grade school.
Their father’s breathing accelerated and Rion watched his fists clench. A muscle worked in his jaw. He stepped forward, but Saoirse grabbed his arm. “It’s fine,” she said. “It’s just Rion.”
His father didn’t pull away. He simply stared at Rion. Stared long enough that Rion’s own heart began pounding. A warning bell echoed in his head, telling him he should leave. Run. But this was his father. And Saoirse. There wasn’t any—the plant beside Rion came alive and grew taller, towering above Rion’s small body. Rion glanced at his father again and stumbled back. His magic reacted to his confused distress, moving in a frenzied pattern he couldn’t control.
His father’s throat bobbed, then the plant lashed out. Rion tried to duck, but a stem grazed his cheek and blood trickled down the side of Rion’s face. He fell to his knees and scrambled back toward the bookcase.
“Father!” Saoirse screamed.
“I—I didn’t break anything,” Rion promised. His father had been sterner lately, but he’d never lashed out. He’d never physically injured any of his children unless they were sparing. Rion was still too young to spar with the adults though. He—another plant behind Rion burst to life and shot toward him. Its green branches wrapped around his wrist, squeezing tight. Rion’s magic lashed out, cutting the plant in half. Rion pushed away from it, cornering himself. Saoirse lunged for their father then. She grabbed the High Lord’s arm and wrenched him around to face her.
“Stop it,” she screamed. “What are you doing?”
Their father glared at her, but somehow it seemed more sad than angry. “You know what he is.”
“He’s my brother,” she yelled, still holding their father’s wrist. “He’s your son.” Rion thought he saw a flash of pain on their father’s face. His gaze flickered toward Rion again, then to the dirt that looked as if it were shaking.
The High Lord of Brónach shook his head. “The gods demand it, Saoirse.”
“Then damn the gods.”
He growled at his daughter and tried to shake her off, but Saoirse’s own magic sprang to life, pouring from the pockets around her waist before wrapping around his body.
The room exploded. The planks in the floor ripped apart and every plant in the office shot toward Saoirse so fast Rion could hardly see them strike. Their father freed himself, then sent his daughter flying into the bookcase across the room. Rion heard the breath leave her body before the vase behind her hit the floor and shattered.
Cold, dark eyes turned to him. Rion clambered to his feet and backed away until his spine collided with the shelf behind him. He had nowhere to go. No where he could run.
Saoirse groaned and slowly pushed herself up. Blood leaked from the corner of her mouth. Her temple. Her arms where thorns had bitten into her skin.
Fear spiked through him. The world spun. He was going to be sick.
“I didn’t touch anything,” Rion tried repeating. “I—I—I—”
“I know,” their father said. His throat bobbed, but his magic only rose higher. “I’m sorry.”
Rion’s eyes darted toward the plants dancing around their father like obedient serpents. They sat there for a time, the High Lord and his son staring at one another. Then the vines moved. Rion clenched his eyes shut and threw his arms up. A wet gasp. Heavy breathing.
Rion cracked an eye open to find a vine protruding from the middle of their father’s throat. Saoirse stood behind him, breath heaving. Blood dripped and their father tried and failed to cough.
Rion screamed. His magic exploded with the sound spinning around him in a ferocious storm that Rion was certain would tear him apart.
Books flew off the shelves and shredded. Vases and trinkets shattered. Then he vomited all over the floor.
Their father hit his knees before his head collided with the broken floor. Vacant eyes stared back at Rion. He knew what that meant. Knew what all the blood meant, too.
Their father was—was—Rion heaved again then gasped for breath, clawing at his throat. It wouldn’t come. He collapsed and his chest felt as if something were pressing down on him. He might as well have been submerged under water. His vision blurred at the edges and his heart pounded in his ears.
Not real , he told himself. This wasn’t real. Any minute now, Saoirse would hear him screaming and come to his room. She’d wake him, hold him close, and whisper words of comfort. She’d take him back to her room and make him a mug of tea or chocolate. She’d—she’d—But Saoirse was right in front of him, staring at their father with a hollow look in her eyes. Her hands were on the floor before her. Tears streamed down her face.
Not real. Not real. Not real. Not real.
Their father’s personal guard blasted through the door and stopped at the sight of their High Lord on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. Their gazes all lifted to Rion and the magic surrounding his body. Rion didn’t want it anymore. He wished it would go away. Leave him alone.
“Demon,” one whispered. Saoirse’s head lifted at the word. Rion met the warrior’s gaze and the male stepped back. As if he were afraid.
This was the same male who’d killed on Rion’s behalf just under a year ago. Back when assassins had entered the study with the intent to murder him and his family.
Back when their mother had disappeared without a trace.
The male drew his sword. Aimed it at Rion’s chest.
“Stop,” Saoirse pleaded, her voice breaking. They didn’t listen. Their magic rose. His sister stumbled to her feet, but another warrior grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her back. She fought, screaming and kicking as they tried to tear her away from the room. Four males had their hands on her and were doing everything in their power to contain her magic.
The remaining three rushed Rion at once and he watched the scene unfold in slow motion. Their father on the floor dead. His sister fighting, not for herself, but for him. The males who looked at him with malice when they’d once held him in high regard.
Then something in him snapped.
Rion’s magic exploded through the room. He didn’t know how to control it. Didn’t know if it would help, but the vines—they vanished—no, they were shredded apart, left as nothing more than tiny bits of green that dropped to the floor.
The dirt spun impossibly faster. Rion threw his arms out and the magic responded, shooting toward them. But where Rion had meant to push them back, to give him and Saoirse time to escape, it . . . obliterated them instead.
Their skin peeled away from their bones. Their screams filled his ears and the males clawed at their bodies as if they could fight the particles ripping through them from within.
Rion didn’t understand. He tried to stop it. He tried to reel the magic back, but it wouldn’t listen. It just kept moving until the warriors were nothing more than heaps of flesh on the broken ground next to his father.
Rion’s body shook. His head spun. Another male appeared in the doorway, took one look at the scene, then raced away from the room, leaving the acrid tang of fear in his wake.
Rion looked at his hands. They weren’t covered in blood, but he felt dirty.
“Rion.” His sister’s voice cracked, but Rion couldn’t tear his gaze away from his hands or the sand circling his fingers. She moved, standing. “Rion.” He slowly looked up and met those familiar green eyes. Her cheeks were red and tear stained.
“I—I didn’t mean—” A sob tore from his throat, then Saoirse held out her arms. Rion’s magic fell, as if he’d let go of everything as he ran to her. His feet splattered through blood, but he didn’t look at it and instead buried his face in the crook of his sister’s neck as she scooped him into her arms.
Saoirse held him close, her own body trembling just as much as his.
Rion didn’t know how she found the strength to stand again, but she took a steadying breath and did it anyway. One of her hands cradled the back of his head while the other held him close. Rion didn’t watch as she inched from the room then raced down the hall. He didn’t look as she exited the palace, nor when they passed through a crack in Nàdair’s redwood trees.
Alarms began blaring through the city, but they were already beyond the border, sprinting uphill toward the mountain.
Saoirse only slowed long enough to catch her breath before she was trotting again. Rion tried not to listen to the sobs that echoed through his sister. Tried not to focus on the scent of blood that wafted off their clothes. It never happened. It never happened. It never happened.
Wake up , he kept telling himself.
The alarm bells echoed in the distance, fading more and more with every passing step.
Rion never looked up.
He hoped that by hiding in his sister’s tunic the world would shift and everything would just disappear. Maybe they’d return to that morning when their father’s stern voice had instructed Saoirse to not let Rion eat too many sweets. Or when he’d told them not to be out too late.
But the world remained the same.
Rion clutched his sister’s sleeve tighter. She did the same, holding her little brother as if he were her lifeline. He should be walking. He was too big to be carried around like a little kid. But Rion didn’t think his body would move even if he wanted it to.
Minutes passed that felt like hours. Days. The sirens were barely a whisper now. His body calmed, stopped shaking altogether, and an overwhelming exhaustion settled through him. He wondered if Saoirse felt the same. If she did, she didn’t show it.
Rion finally lifted his head. Darkness surrounded them, save for a silver of moonlight that filtered through the trees. Movement from the corner of his eye had Rion’s heart rate spiking all over again, wondering if more warriors from their father’s personal guard had pursued them, but a second glance told Rion it was only the Fairy Folk.
The small creatures kept their distance, their beady eyes glinting in the moonlight.
Right. It was the solstice. Their father—he’d died on the solstice. It was a day that was supposed to be sacred to Fae and Fairy Folk alike, but now—Rion swallowed hard.
Saoirse rubbed his back in soothing strokes but didn’t speak. She just kept pushing onward, determination replacing her earlier fear and uncertainty.
He couldn’t see the city lights anymore. Not even the glow of them through the thick trees.
Rion laid his head back against Saoirse’s shoulder, refusing to reach for the magic that continued to pulse beneath his skin. He never wanted to touch it again.
It seemed only moments later that his sister slowed. She was probably tired. Rion pushed up and said, “I can walk.”
Saoirse didn’t respond. She didn’t put him down either. Her emerald eyes searched through the trees and paused when they stood on the outskirts of a clearing, right before a dirt path that led to a single story cabin.
Candles flickered in the main window.
Flat square stepping stones carved a path surrounded by low-growing plants that Rion couldn’t identify in the dark. His sister’s heart rate spiked again and she retreated a step, looking back where they’d come. She chewed her lip and returned her gaze to the cabin, as if she wasn’t sure whether to move forward or go back.
The door swung open and a large, silhouetted figure stood in the doorway.
“Saoirse?” A male’s voice called.
A noise escaped his sister that bordered on the edge of hysteria. He wondered if she’d break down right here, but despite her trembling lips, Saoirse held herself together.
The male stepped down from his porch and onto the path. Rion still couldn’t see his face.
“Gods, what happened?”
His sister didn’t move. She’d frozen in place, still glancing between the male and the city they’d left behind. She stepped back again, clutching Rion close.
The male stopped advancing, seemed to look them over. His voice softened. “You’re safe here. You know that.” He stepped to the side and extended one arm as an invitation. “Whatever you’ve done. You’re safe.”
Her shoulders fell, then she stepped forward. Rion shrank away from the male as his sister entered the cabin, still holding him tight. The male peered into the darkness beyond, scanning the wood line before he joined them.
He pulled a folded blanket from the cabinet and spread it over a short sofa before gesturing for her to sit. She did. His sister seemed to relax, but Rion kept his eyes on the male as he moved toward the kitchen and filled three mugs with steaming water before retrieving a jar of tea. The male returned moments later, placing the three mugs on the table between them.
The male settled into the chair across from them and an uneasy silence filled the space. It was dark, save for the candles and embers that glowed in the fire place. Too warm. Rion was too warm here. Too nervous with this new male after everything that had happened. He wanted to leave.
The male surveyed them, scented the blood that covered their bodies.
“You’re hurt.” Saoirse didn’t respond. The silence was nearly palpable. “You know better than to let a wound like that go untreated.” Again, silence.
The male sat back, studying Saoirse as if he was trying to piece together a puzzle. His sister’s breathing changed. She slowed it, eased her heart rate down, too. “I shouldn’t be here,” she finally said.
“Yet here you are.”
“I’ll leave in the morning. I just need a night, then I’ll go.”
“Where to?”
She cupped her face with one hand. “I don’t know yet. North, maybe. Across the sea.”
He raised a brow. “With him?” The male eyed Rion now, and Rion refused to turn away or back down. He thought he saw the male’s lips twitch into a smile. Saoirse only nodded. The male leaned forward again, all trace of humor gone. “Saoirse, tell me what’s going on.”
She stared at the fire again and her lips wobbled before parting to take another breath. “Father is . . . gone.” The male went unnaturally still. Saoirse was shaking now. “I—I didn’t think. I just . . . reacted.” She buried her face in her hands again.
“You killed him?”
Rion flinched at the words. Saoirse didn’t look up. Didn’t confirm or deny.
More silence.
The fire cracked and Rion jumped.
The male uttered a single word that sounded more like a command than a question. “Why?”
Saoirse shook her head. “I can’t tell you. You won’t understand.”
His jaw worked. “If my High Lord is dead, then I need to be in the city. I heard the alarms, but I didn’t think—”
“You’ll find out when you get there. We’ll be gone before you come back. I promise.”
“If the High Lord is dead, then Alec is going to need you.”
Saoirse shook her head again. “I can’t face him after—he won’t understand, either. I have to leave.” She looked at Rion. “We have to leave.”
“Saoirse.” That commanding voice again. “I live in isolation for a reason. My views often don’t align with those of others. I am loyal to my High Lord, but I am also loyal to his children. So I’ll ask you again. What happened?”
She clutched Rion a little tighter. “You’ll hurt him.”
“Hurt who?” His voice held an edge of impatience.
Her voice wavered. “Rion.” His sister pulled him impossibly tighter and he had to push against her to breathe. Rion watched the male carefully now as he assessed the pair of them.
“Why would I—” The male stopped talking. His eyes widened and Rion followed his gaze to the magic stirring along the rug at their feet. The particles rose up, circling Rion’s legs, then his torso, and finally his arms.
Rion tried to stop it, but it was just as slippery as it’d been before. He had no control. None, and Saoirse was sitting right next to him. Would it hurt her by accident like it had the guards?
A lump rose in Rion’s throat.
The male’s dark brown eyes locked with Rion’s. He scented the air again, seeming to take in everything around the pair seated in his living room.
Saoirse started crying again, but her arms were still around him as if she could protect him from the world.
“Just one night,” she promised again, “and you’ll never see us again. Please.” He’d never heard his sister beg for anything. Many described her as proud, sometimes arrogant in the way the Fae were known to be arrogant.
Rion’s magic moved faster as his breathing increased, his heart rate with it.
The male’s voice was a near whisper when he said, “Your father tried to kill him.” It wasn’t a question, but Saoirse nodded anyway.
“I thought he’d see it coming. I just wanted to stop him. I didn’t mean—” She buried her head in Rion’s chest and her shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs.
Rion locked eyes with the male. “The others weren’t her fault.”
The male’s eyes narrowed. “Others?”
“The ones always around Father.”
“His personal guard?”
“His magic,” Saoirse said, her voice weak. “It reacted when they attacked him. He was just defending himself.”
The male eyed the grains still floating through the air. They jerked in agitation.
“I won’t hurt either of you,” he assured. “You can put your magic away.”
Rion sniffed the air, searching for the lie. He knew how to identify them now. Saoirse’s head lifted, her eyes wide as if surprised.
“I—I don’t know how,” he admitted.
“Start by taking a deep breath. Calm yourself.” Rion hesitated and met Saoirse’s gaze for reassurance. She nodded and Rion did as instructed. As his mother had taught him. The strange new pulse in his body slowed, the particles with it. He watched them drift back to the rug before settling into the fibers.
The male’s eyes flickered with a hint of surprise before he could hide it. “Good.” He sat back again, observing the pair before returning his gaze to the fire.
Rion’s skin itched suddenly and he was so, so tired. He glanced at his hands. He’d . . . killed someone. Several someones. How many had there been? Five? Six? And then Saoirse. Saoirse had killed their father.
Rion looked at his sister. Large bags had formed beneath her eyes and the darkness made her look like the painting in their father’s study that had always made him sad. He didn’t want Saoirse to be sad.
“Rion.” He jumped at the male’s voice. “I have a question for you.” Rion waited. “How far are you willing to go to protect your sister?” Saoirse’s sharp gaze turned toward the male. She looked him up and down.
“I’d do anything for her.” He’d already killed, even if he hadn’t meant to. How much worse could it get?
The male interlaced his fingers. “Then I need you to let the world believe a lie.”
“No.” Saoirse’s voice was harsh and her grip tightened on Rion again.
“We have to tell the people—”
“No,” she repeated.
“You’d rather take him to another continent? Risk crossing the sea and praying the sirens don’t tip your boat? Do you know how many vessels successfully make that crossing?” He shifted in his seat. “Listen to me and listen well. Your little brother is cursed.” She tried to interrupt, but the male held up a hand. “Whether you want to accept it or not, it’s true and there’s nothing we can do about it. If you want him to live, then you need to recognize there will be a target on his back for the rest of his life. People will blame him for atrocities he’s never even committed. There’s no reason for you to be branded an exile alongside him.”
“Why?” Rion’s voice shook. “What did I do wrong?”
The male’s gaze softened. “Nothing. Had your magic held off until the end of this year, you’d understand what it means. We don’t teach the course until most younglings have already acquired their magic. Fear can hinder its arrival, therefore we try to mitigate that fear.” He looked to Saoirse again. “Your sister can fill you in on the details later. What you need to understand right now is that the magic you possess is a curse and the gods demand us,” he hesitated, “to eliminate that curse.”
“Why would they let me have it then?”
The male’s gaze softened again. “Why indeed?”
“Rion isn’t a monster. He’s never hurt a soul.” Not until tonight, Rion wanted to correct.
“I know. But others aren’t going to care. They’ll only be concerned about the demands from their gods.” Rion wondered if the male believed in the same gods. Gods his mother had talked fondly about.
“But—”
“The High Lord is dead. His personal guard is dead. This is not something that will be forgiven easily, if ever.” Saoirse didn’t respond. “The people will blame Rion regardless of your claim. They’ll merely see you as a sister trying to protect her little brother. They’ll sympathize with you for a while, but that sympathy won’t be enough to clear his name.”
She shook her head. “I can get us into Pádraigín’s lands and take a boat from there. The sirens don’t claim that part of the ocean. I just need supplies. Food. Clothes.”
“Saoirse.” She looked up at him, her eyes lined in silver. “You can’t leave. Alec is probably frantic with worry. If you disappear, he’ll send search parties to find you. And they will succeed. Rion’s fate . . . might not turn out so well if you’re caught on the run.”
“Alec won’t understand. If we tell him Rion did it—”
“Young Alec mimics your father in many beliefs. I’m confident this will be one of them.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Her body was trembling again.
“Let me look after him.”
Her head shot up. “How can I trust—”
“Do not insult me in my own home.”
She snapped her mouth shut before continuing. “Why would you do that?”
The male sighed. “I trained with your father. Then I trained you and your brother. And Lady Eimear.” Rion flinched at his mother’s name. “We were close. I’d like to think I’m honoring her memory by caring for her final youngling.”
Saoirse looked Rion over and his heart sped when he realized she was considering the idea. He didn’t know this male. He didn’t want anything to do with him.
“I want to stay with you,” Rion argued.
Saoirse rubbed his arm. “I know.”
Rion looked at the male again, glared at him really. The male offered a hint of a smile in return.
“Promise me,” Saoirse said.
“You know promises from Fae only reach so far.”
“I don’t care.” She looked him in the eye and sat straighter. “I want your word as a Fae that you won’t hurt him.”
His lips parted slightly. Rion knew enough about Fae honor to know what Saoirse was asking.
The male placed a hand over his heart. “I swear, on pain of death, that so long as Rion remains in my care, no harm shall come to him.”
Another long moment of silence passed, then Saoirse nodded.
“But I don’t want—”
Saoirse pressed a finger to Rion’s lips. “We’ll talk about it. I promise.”
The male stood. “Rest. You know where the supplies are. You’re welcome to anything in the house or outside of it. I likely won’t be back for a few days.”
“You’re leaving?”
“My presence will be expected. I’ll let Alec know where you are, but I’ll leave Rion’s location undisclosed.”
Saoirse only nodded, but Rion watched the male’s every move as he gathered a belt full of weapons and strapped it across his torso. He pulled on his boots and slung a broadsword across his back.
The male paused with one hand on the handle. Tension filled the room. “Did he hesitate?” Rion knew what he meant but wasn’t prepared for the answer to sink through him like a lead weight.
“Once.”
The male nodded before gently closing the door in his wake. He trotted down the stairs and Rion listened to his receding footsteps until they blended into the night.
Silence engulfed the space. The steam from their mugs had stopped rising minutes ago.
Images of their father and his guards returned, flashing through Rion’s mind. Then reality hit him like cold water. Their father was gone. Rion couldn’t return home. Alec would hate him. And from what the male had said, it seemed the rest of the world would too.
He’d wanted his magic for years. He’d prayed for it. And now . . . now . . .
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Saoirse finally released her hold on him as she stood.
Rion squeezed her hand, remembering her wounds. “You should first. You’re hurt.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I’ll be all right. Just . . . let me get you cleaned up, okay?”
He wanted to argue, but the sadness in her gaze had Rion nodding instead. He followed her to a small bathroom with a clawfoot tub in the corner. Surprisingly, the male possessed running water. Saoirse turned the knob and seconds later steam filled the small space.
Saoirse gave him some privacy to strip down before returning to wash his hair. She hadn’t done that since he was little, but Rion let her now. He finished washing himself, then dressed. Saoirse examined his wounds before climbing into the tub herself.
Rion sat just outside the door as he waited for her to finish, then he watched her stitch up the wound in her side. Their father had done that. He bristled at the thought. Tomorrow. He’d learn how to care for wounds tomorrow, that way Saoirse wouldn’t ever have to do it by herself.
Neither spoke aside from asking if the other was all right or if they needed anything.
Saoirse dragged the towel through her hair. Rion watched before finally asking, “Who is he?”
“My teacher.”
“In what?”
“Everything. Combatives. Magic. Strategy.” She looked him over. “He’ll teach you, too.”
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Saoirse sighed and returned to the sofa. She pulled Rion into her arms and cradled him close as they stared at the embers. “Saoirse?”
“Not for a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“I’ll make sure you get settled in.” She rubbed his back. “You have to stay with him from now on.”
Rion pursed his lips. “What if I don’t want to?”
“We don’t have a choice. If you go back to the city—” she didn’t finish her sentence. “You’ll be safe here.”
“But what if someone tries to hurt you ?”
Saoirse adjusted the pillow on the couch and coaxed him to lie down at her side. “No one is going to hurt me.”
“Because they’ll think you didn’t hurt Father?”
She was silent for a long moment. “You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to take the blame.”
Rion sat back up. “He said you’d be in danger if I don’t.”
She clutched his hand. “ You’ll be in danger if you do.”
“But I have you to protect me.”
She smiled at that. “Now and forever.”
“I want to help,” he said. “I don’t want anyone else to know.”
Her smile turned sad. “All right.”
“Promise?” Her eyes misted over. “Promise you’ll let me do it. I don’t want Alec or anyone else to be mad at you.”
“Okay.” She didn’t meet his gaze.
“Promise.”
Saoirse studied the defiance in his gaze and her lips trembled. “You’ll hate me for it, eventually.”
“No, I won’t. Let me help.” Rion could feel his magic stirring again, rising to circle them. He wanted to protect her, no matter what that meant for him.
A tear slid down her face and she relented. “I promise. Now try to get some sleep.”
He settled back down at her side and watched the red glow from the dying fire. Saoirse pulled him close, wrapping one arm around his middle. He began to drift but didn’t miss it when his sister whispered, “I’ll always protect you.”