Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Bran followed Cillian up the narrow stairs to the deck above hours later, ducking his head against the wind filling the sails.
The sound of the crew calling to each other momentarily paused as they came onto the deck.
Bran shielded his eyes with one hand, squinting against the sunlight at the shore some distance away.
In the middle of the day, with clear skies, the pitch of the ship wasn’t as terrible as it had been last night when motion sickness had been a constant companion.
Right now, the waves didn’t look too bad, but he wasn’t a sailor, so he couldn’t say.
The crew stared at them—well, they stared at Cillian.
They glared at Bran if they even bothered to look his way.
Cillian noticed, judging by the way his mouth firmed and he stepped closer to Bran, still a little wobbly on his feet.
Bran put a hand on his arm to steady him, and he swore several of the Fae started reaching for some hidden weapons.
“I’m all right,” Cillian said.
“If you face-plant on the deck, everyone is going to blame me,” Bran muttered.
Cillian tossed a smile his way, and Bran found himself wanting to stare into Cillian’s eyes and look away in equal parts.
He was so different yet exactly the same—still tall, still the same stormy blue-gray eyes, but there was a presence around him now that was impossible to ignore.
A kind of magnetism every Fae seemed to possess, but Bran noticed Cillian more than anyone. He always had.
“My prince,” Niamh called out, clattering down the stairs from the wheelhouse and coming over to them. “You should not be up.”
“I’m fine,” Cillian said. “I wanted to see where we were heading.”
Niamh ignored Bran, which shouldn’t have bothered him. All the Fae in the Otherworld treated witches and mortals like servants or worse. The only reason Bran wasn’t dead or forced into servitude on the ship was because of Cillian.
A caw from above had Bran looking up, automatically raising his arm to give Jupiter something to land on.
The raven flew toward him between the sails, wings flapping for balance as she angled her taloned feet to grip his forearm with a gentleness few people realized she had.
He hefted her close, smoothing two fingers over the feathers on her head as she cawed at him in greeting.
She blinked her starry black eyes at him before leaning close to preen his dirty hair.
“Yes, yes, I know. I need a shower,” Bran said.
He smoothed his hand down her back, scratching between the feathers there, before lifting his arm a little higher so she could hop to his shoulder.
Jupiter’s weight was familiar after so many years of carrying her, as was the way she kept preening his hair.
When he finally looked away from his familiar, he found Niamh studying him through narrowed eyes, and she wasn’t the only Fae doing so.
“She’s not hurt?” Cillian asked, reaching around to pet Jupiter.
Bran tugged at the bond, the connection soft and open between him and his familiar. “No, she’s fine.”
“How did she even know who to go to for help?”
“I don’t know. She kept her distance when we were with Ainmire, and the collar didn’t help any.”
“She is one of the Mórrígan’s own and came to us when we were at sea. We answered her call and sailed south, into the river,” Niamh said.
“And no one noticed your ship?” He found that difficult to believe. The prow was decorated with the actual skull of what might have been a sea serpent. Bran had noticed it when he’d been taken above by Niamh for what amounted to an interrogation while Cillian had slept after they first arrived.
“Trade exists between the Four Lands. We sailed under that regard.”
Bran furrowed his brow, dragging up the memory of that map he’d bled on in the library. “Which river? The one north or south of Murias?”
Niamh tilted her head, one brow arching in a surprised manner. “The northern one. How do you know of either?”
“Ainmire showed me a map. He said the same kind exists in every city and town to depict the reflection of the wyrding inside your borders.” He touched his thumb to the spot his finger had been pricked, the wound there gone like the ones on his face.
One of Niamh’s crew members had reluctantly healed him after Cillian had woken up and requested such aid.
Bran had only flinched a little at their touch.
“The northern river was far from where I think we were traveling.”
“It is. I was relieved the Wild Hunt chose to help us.”
Bran eyed her. “Can anyone summon those spirits?”
“I did not summon them. I sent a prayer into the wind, and the Wild Hunt chose to answer. Only my prince may summon them.”
“That didn’t answer my question. Are you High Fae?” Bran had observed there were social classes while in Ainmire’s custody, and if Niamh purported to know Cillian, she had to be pretty high socially. He turned out to be right.
“Yes. I am the Lady of Sky and Lightning, a trusted member of my prince’s inner circle,” Niamh said, inclining her head in Cillian’s direction. “There are others who hold the same trust.”
“Do any of them know I’m here?” Cillian asked.
Niamh hesitated before nodding slightly, touching the medallion that hung from her throat.
“I scried Verlin and informed him of the situation. He sent Carrick and Seamus south on the fastest ship he could give them without Medb noticing. We were to meet them halfway before you demanded we go to shore.”
“Who are they?”
“Carrick is a loyal friend. You granted him the title of Lord of Blood and Earth when you took him into your Court.”
“That’s not concerning at all,” Bran muttered, having realized the High Fae’s titles reflected the magic they wielded. “And Seamus?”
“A knight and captain of the personal guard to the royal family of the Winter Court.”
“And he survived the purge?”
“He was the only knight to do so.”
Bran could read between the lines of that answer. “He was left alive as punishment, wasn’t he?”
“As an example, a warning, and a hostage,” Niamh corrected.
“A hostage for who?” Cillian asked.
“Medb holds Seamus’ leash to keep Verlin in line.
Seamus is Verlin’s mate, and Verlin will not act against Medb so long as she controls whether Seamus lives or dies.
All the rest of us who would rise up against Medb’s rule on behalf of Verlin cannot do so because we won’t risk either of them dying.
Verlin’s House is not royal, but he has our loyalty.
That is why the Dagda did not bid a bean sí cry when he crowned Medb and heralded her rule.
We do not rebel to keep them both safe.”
“I thought a bean sí heralded death?” Bran asked.
“That is not all they can do.”
More and more, Bran realized that for all the knowledge his coven and others had gained over the centuries about the Fae, they still knew so little about their culture.
Their power, yes, but not the intricate connections that tied them together between House and Court.
“Does Medb let Seamus and Verlin stay together?”
Niamh smiled bitterly. “Medb has Seamus on a long leash. She shortens it when it amuses her.”
Bran knew all about how Fae found their amusements. “Then isn’t it a risk to send Seamus to us? Won’t she find out?”
“There is no order that any of us could give that would keep Seamus from our prince’s side now that we know he is alive.”
A pained look crossed Cillian’s face. “I don’t want to be responsible for anyone’s death.”
“We choose to serve,” Niamh said, as if that was the end-all and be-all of the argument.
Cillian shook his head. “We need to find Aisling.”
“How long until we get to shore?” Bran asked, looking past Niamh at the cliffs. He didn’t see any feasible way up them.
“We will reach the cove soon enough.” Niamh eyed them critically. “But you both must change. The clothes you are in are too noticeable for the village we will be passing through. And I will bring another healing draught for my prince to take.”
“Isn’t there any way we can bypass the village?” He just needed to be on shore to activate the locating spell in his bracelet. From there, they could travel to wherever Aisling was.
“To do so would draw more attention. We have wares to trade, and some of my crew will handle that while we see what your magic can do.”
Her tone said she didn’t believe it would amount to much, and it stung. Bran held his tongue, though, not keen on arguing around so many Fae.
Bran tapped Jupiter on the beak, then held out his arm again.
She hopped onto his forearm, and he launched her into the air, watching her fly up to perch on top of the highest mast. Then they were ushered back to the room Cillian had been recuperating in below deck.
Niamh wasn’t long in returning, her arms laden down with clothes, a cavalier-style hat, and a small box.
“Your boots you can keep. Please change into these. The hat is for you, my prince. And you, witch, must wear this.”
“No,” Bran said, the word wrenching itself from his mouth as he stared at the collar and leash in the box she held up after placing the clothes on the bed. “I won’t.”
“All mortals wear such items in the Otherworld, whether witch or not. You are not one of us, and you must be owned,” she said flatly.
“No one owns Bran, and he isn’t wearing that,” Cillian growled.
Niamh set the box with the collar and leash on the bed and stared them both down.
“Witches have no rights in our world. They are the enemy and always have been since our world was cleaved from theirs. If he walks around with freedom, that will draw attention more than anything else we do. Attention that will get him killed. You say he is your friend. If you wish to keep him safe, you must leash him. He is far too willful to pass as a servant.”
“You mean broken,” Bran spat out. “Your kind doesn’t keep willful witches. You break them into pets.”