Chapter 16 #2
Cillian flinched at her words, not at Bran’s touch. Bran cradled Cillian’s hand in both of his, thumbs carefully framing the length of the still-healing wound stretched across his palm. “Ainmire used your knives on me.”
Bran swore. “I hate that bastard. If we were home, I could mix something up to speed up the healing.”
“I had an ointment your mother made in my backpack.” At Bran’s questioning look, Cillian shrugged stiffly. “I have an allergy.”
“Iron?”
Cillian closed his eyes, feeling like all his excuses were slipping away. “Yeah. I always forgot about it.”
“It makes sense, even if neither of us knew why before now.” Bran slipped Cillian’s hand between both of his, holding it with a carefulness that Cillian wanted to burrow into. “But I think we need to know how you could grow up with me and still be this prince of theirs.”
“Because he was supposed to die,” Niamh said. They both stared at her, but her attention was on their joined hands. “Three of our years ago, the Dagda attacked the Winter Court, accusing the Cailleach of conspiring with witches against the Summer Court. He said he had proof.”
“Who is the Cailleach?” Cillian asked, stumbling over the name.
“Your grandmother, once the Winter Queen before she stepped aside so your father could rule.”
“Oh.” Cillian had no memory of her or his father, drawing a complete blank.
Bran jumped back into the conversation when Cillian faltered, for which he was thankful. “Did the Dagda have proof?”
“Such an accusation is not given lightly, and all witches look the same to me. The one the Dagda put forth before the Spring and Autumn Courts to gain their support for him to attack the Winter Court was said to be from their Council. The witch produced a contract—a bargain—and such a terrible alliance would be the only thing that could ruin a Court.”
“Bran?” Cillian asked, not liking how Bran went stiff.
Bran exhaled shakily. “Covens take their orders from the Council of Witches in Salem. There are thirteen separate covens who claim a seat. I don’t know the politics of how a seat changes hands, but the last time it happened, the First Seat stepped down, giving it to his daughter, and he wasn’t seen again. ”
“When was that?”
“Almost twenty-six years ago in the mortal world. It could have been him who was with the Dagda.”
“How does that even work if it was only a couple years here?”
“Time moves different in the Otherworld than back home.”
“Okay.” Cillian would figure that strangeness out later. “I thought witches and Fae were at war?”
“We are.”
Cillian looked at Niamh. “If that’s the case, then what was the proof?”
“The Cailleach would not consort with witches,” Niamh said flatly.
“They said she did or made it seem like she would. And who knows if that witch was a pet or there of his own free will. So why would the Dagda make that accusation?”
Niamh’s fingers dug into her arms, knuckles going white. “Because the Dagda could not stomach that his wife found enjoyment in someone else’s bed.”
“An affair?” Bran scoffed in disbelief. “He destroyed your Winter Court because he was having marital problems?”
“The Mórrígan was hand-fasted to the Dagda, though they are not mates. They made a vow to each other for political reasons between their Houses. She broke it in secret when she found her mate in the Cailleach’s son, Finn, and had a babe, who grew up in the Winter Court.
” Niamh’s gaze slid to Cillian, the intensity of it making her eyes burn.
“The Cailleach was the Winter Court’s queen, even after she stepped aside.
Your House was royal. When the Dagda finally discovered you were also of the Mórrígan’s blood after five hundred and thirteen years, he wanted you dead to hurt her. ”
Cillian stared at her. “I’m not half a millennium old. I’m twenty-five. I’ll be twenty-six on—”
“Winter Solstice,” Niamh cut in. Cillian snapped his teeth together, rattled that she knew.
“That was when the Dagda attacked the Winter Court, during your celebration. We were not prepared for the purge that followed. He slew the royal family, most of the loyal courtiers, and trapped the Cailleach in stone. I was forced to watch as he—as he—”
Niamh sucked in a breath that filled her entire lungs, letting it out through her clenched teeth. “He bade the witch use Chaos to steal your years and your memories. You became a babe—mortal, I thought—when he gave you to his right hand and had you taken to the wyrding to be left for dead.”
“Etain,” Bran murmured, his hands tightening around Cillian’s. “He gave you to Etain.”
Niamh nodded slowly. “The Mórrígan arrived too late to save you. She had been tasked with putting down an incursion of witches within the Summer Court’s borders.
A diversion, in the end. When she saw the ruin of the Winter Court and discovered what the Dagda had done to her mate and you, she swore he would never have her heart and she would have her revenge.
The Mórrígan fled before he could stop her.
We all thought she went after you, to try to save you, but that the wyrding or the witches killed you both, for neither of you have been seen since. Until now.”
“You said the Dagda killed everyone?” Cillian asked, struggling to comprehend what she’d dropped on him like a bomb.
“Everyone royal. He left some courtiers alive. Myself. Your right hand. Others.”
“Wait. Cillian has one of these right hands? What exactly are they? Other than creepy fucks,” Bran said.
“They are a noble High Fae’s most trusted companion, their proxy when needed, their protector, shadows even unto death,” Niamh said. “It is a great honor to be chosen as one.”
Cillian arched an eyebrow. “And the Dagda left mine alive? That sounds incredibly stupid.”
“He gave Verlin to Medb when he gave the Queen of Air and Whispers your crown and throne in an attempt to authenticate her rule. Verlin had no choice but to agree because you were dead, and it kept his House alive and everyone else in Tech Duinn unharmed.” The strain on her face eased, lips curving into a faint smile.
“He will be so pleased you have returned.”
“I don’t remember him, the same way I don’t remember you.”
She looked away, expression pinching, but didn’t argue his point. “If you were in the mortal world all this time, what made you return to the Otherworld?”
Cillian didn’t answer her, looking to Bran, because the whole reason they had gone into the forest in the first place was his to talk about.
Bran finally let Cillian’s hand go with a sigh.
“The lights in the wyrding came to Pelham and murdered my mother and stepfather. My little sister survived the attack but was kidnapped by a Fae lord soon after. I couldn’t stop him. ”
“You must not be all that powerful for a witch.”
“I know my limits, and I know my strengths,” Bran snapped. “I’m not strong enough to go up against a Fae lord who was like a god with just witchmarks.”
Niamh narrowed her eyes at him. “There are no gods in the Otherworld. They left us long ago.”
“Yeah? Whoever that Fae lord was, he was powerful.”
“Then how did you survive?”
“I don’t know.”
“A lie.”
“You people would be the worst to play poker with.”
“Bran?” Cillian asked. “How did you survive the attack at the Shoppe?”
Bran grimaced. “Jupiter came with dozens of ravens and crows to distract the lights. But the Fae lord left, I think, because he got what he wanted. He got Aisling.”
“And why would he want your sister?” Niamh asked.
“She’s part of my coven. You Fae seem pretty insistent on eradicating us whether we have magic or not.”
“The same can be said of you witches when it comes to us Fae” was Niamh’s cool response. “If a Fae took your sister, then she is most likely dead.”
“Hey,” Cillian snapped. “Until we know for sure, we’re still going to search for her. That’s why we came here.”
Niamh stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head. “You came for a witch and not for your people.”
“I think we’ll all be a lot better off if you and everyone else quit acting like you know me when you don’t.”
“But I do. Or I did.” Niamh smiled, the twist to her lips this time almost mournful. “You should rest. I will fetch you something to eat.”
She inclined her head to him and left the small room, closing the door behind her. Cillian sighed and leaned his head back, closing his eyes, still so tired and sick to his stomach. “Please tell me this is some terrible dream and I’ll wake up.”
“I wish I could,” Bran said, pushing himself off the bed. Cillian opened his eyes, watching as the other man stretched his arms over his head, the coat riding up even if his shirt didn’t. A pity. “I can’t get us off this ship.”
“Where are we heading?”
“To Tech Duinn, the Winter Court’s land. It holds territory in the northern part of the country. Niamh said she wasn’t taking us to the capital there, though.”
“How did we even get here?”
Bran tilted his head a little, bruised face difficult to look away from. Cillian had the furious, riotous urge to rend Ainmire limb from limb for touching Bran. “The Wild Hunt stole us from the carriage. Ainmire couldn’t stop the spirits. Apparently, you’re their master.”
“What?” Cillian shook his head. “I don’t even know what that is.”
“They’re spirits. They hunt wayward travelers, and I guess they found us. Niamh says they obey you. I was surprised about that.” His gaze lingered on Cillian. “I was surprised about a lot of things.”
Cillian’s hands curled into fists as he held Bran’s gaze. “I’m still me. You have to believe that.”
“I do,” Bran said after a moment. “You may look Fae, but at least you don’t call me pet.”
Maybe he meant it as a joke, but it fell flat between them. Cillian grimaced, lifting a hand and waving for Bran to come closer. He did, sitting back down on the bed, letting Cillian hold his hand like a lifeline. “I won’t be like them. I refuse.”
“You got your body back. What happens if you get your memories back and you lose the person you are now?” Bran’s eyes stared at him intently, something like fear in them. “Would you even want me alive? Ainmire said the Winter Court kept witches as pets like he did.”
“They what?”
Bran looked away, fingernails digging into Cillian’s skin before he realized what he was doing and stopped.
Cillian hadn’t minded the prick of pain.
“The Fae keep witches and mortals as pets. Servants. Slaves. Take your pick. There was this witch in Ainmire’s home, tending to the lamps with magic.
She never acknowledged me, was just…this blank shell of a person. I don’t ever want to be that.”
Cillian leaned forward, all his discomfort falling away amid a cold-burning fury. “Is that what that bastard wanted to do with you?”
Bran’s eyes widened, and Cillian followed his gaze, startling badly at the appearance of ice on the floor beneath the other man’s boots. It radiated a coolness the same way the ice in the cell had. He let Bran go, slumping against the pillow, and stared at Bran.
“Well.” Bran swallowed loudly, still looking at the ice. “I can definitely say that was you and not me.”
“I don’t—I didn’t—”
He cut off as Niamh came back into the room, a tray of food in hand. She paused in the doorway, eyeing the ice on the floor. Her gaze brightened at the sight, and she shot Cillian a pleased look. “Your magic wasn’t damaged after all.”
“I don’t have any magic,” Cillian automatically said.
Niamh walked across the ice with an ease Cillian was a little wary of. She set the tray down on his blanket-covered lap, gesturing at it. “Eat. We still have a ways to sail.”
The food was simple fare: slices of bread, dried fruit, a hard cheese, and a bowl of seafood soup that was more broth than anything else. There was enough for two, but Cillian wasn’t sure how easy it would be for Bran to chew right now.
“Can you bring something to help with Bran’s wounds?” Cillian asked. “And then get us to shore. We need to find Aisling.”
Niamh frowned at him, one hand on her hip. “Why? You must know she is dead.”
“I’m not going to believe that unless I see her body,” Bran bit out, pale-faced with anger around his bruises.
“And where do you think to look for her after all this time?”
“I can find her.” Cillian’s eye was drawn to the way Bran touched the bracelet around his wrist and how areas of his tattoos seemed to shine bright for a second. “I just need to be on land to do it.”
“We’re going even if we have to dive overboard,” Cillian warned.
Niamh shot him an exasperated look. “You are still so stubborn. Like an unmovable glacier.”
“Then take us to shore.”
He stared at her expectantly, wondering if she would listen. And maybe there was something to being this Winter Prince after all because Niamh’s shoulders fell when she sighed, giving in. “Very well, my prince.”
She left, presumably to give her crew their new orders and hopefully bring something back that would take away Bran’s pain.
Cillian looked down at the tray of food, wondering if he could even choke any of it down with the way his stomach felt.
He set the tray aside, meeting Bran’s gaze as the ice on the floor started to fade, the same way it had back in that cell.
“We’ll find your sister, and then we’ll get back home. ”
Because Cillian didn’t care what anyone said about him or this place. Home was Pelham and the forest he patrolled as a ranger. Home was the people he knew and had grown up with.
Cillian would get them back there to make a life with Bran, even if it killed him.