Chapter 20 #2
“I’ve lived almost twenty-six years in Pelham.
That’s the only history I know, and Bran is part of it,” Cillian snapped.
Aisling stirred on his back, and Cillian winced as he realized his raised voice must have woken her.
She lifted her head, nearly overbalancing before she remembered he was carrying her.
She flailed for a second before her hands grabbed his shoulders again.
Bran stepped closer, reaching for Aisling and helping her slide off Cillian’s back.
She flinched at the ice beneath her bare feet, and Cillian had half a thought to swing her up in his arms to keep her comfortable.
“Let’s go inside and talk. I instructed the servants to provide an early evening meal for us, and it should be ready,” Verlin said.
He made an elegant gesture with his arm, entreating them to follow.
Cillian still kept hold of Bran’s leash, not trusting the Fae even if they purported to be his allies. They clearly weren’t Bran’s.
Jupiter cawed overhead before finding a perch on the roof. Cillian eyed her for a moment. “How’s she doing?”
“Hungry,” Bran said. “She’ll find something to eat while we’re inside.”
They crossed the courtyard and passed through an ornate wooden door.
Cillian expected the inside of the castle to match the outside with gray stone walls and flooring, but it didn’t.
The floor underfoot was green-and-gold marble, the tall entryway flanked by gold pillars stretching down the long hallway.
The walls and ceilings were covered in gilded wood with interspersed panels of richly colored wallpaper.
It was such a startling juxtaposition from the bland exterior that for a moment, all Cillian could do was stare.
“This way,” Niamh prompted, getting him moving again.
Cillian didn’t see any servants on their way through the castle, which he thought was odd.
A structure this size should have had people around to keep it clean and running, but they passed no one on their way to a large drawing room decorated in white, gold leaf, and a blue that reminded him of the lake beyond the castle walls.
The elaborately designed furniture looked uncomfortable, but when he gingerly sat on a couch, the cushion was soft.
A side table practically overflowed with food laid out on trays and other serving dishes.
Aisling craned her neck around to stare at it, and no one missed the way her stomach growled.
Cillian didn’t know the last time she’d eaten, but he wasn’t about to deny her anything.
He handed the leash back to Bran, tilting his head toward the side table.
“Get her something to eat, but make sure she eats it slowly and in small amounts. We don’t want her getting sick from it. ”
Bran nodded. “You want anything?”
“Whatever you’re eating, if it looks safe.” It already looked better than the food Ainmire had fed him.
Bran took a wide berth around the Fae, escorting Aisling to the side table.
Cillian watched them start to fill their plates with food before returning his attention back to the other four.
Niamh had taken a seat in a chair next to the couch he sat on, while Verlin perched on the opposite couch, a rectangular wooden table with gold trim between them.
Verlin folded his hands together over his lap, staring at Cillian without blinking.
The weight of his attention was more than a little disconcerting.
The pair came back a few minutes later with two plates filled with food, Bran’s having more than his sister. Bread, various cheeses, savory sausage rolls, and tiny berry tarts covered their plates. Aisling already had crumbs on her lips, chewing fast.
“Take it slow,” Cillian reminded her.
Aisling scrunched her nose at him and nodded, then proceeded to ignore him by shoving a berry tart into her mouth like any normal teenager would. Bran sighed and passed Cillian his plate before taking Aisling’s, holding it hostage in the face of her pout. “Sit.”
She took the far spot on the couch, leaving Bran to sit between her and Cillian.
The end of Bran’s leash was tucked into his pocket again, the metal chain out of the way as he started to eat.
Cillian kept the plate steady, popping a triangle of soft cheese into his mouth.
It tasted like a garlicky brie, rich in a way he liked.
The Fae let them eat for a couple of minutes before Verlin cleared his throat.
“Niamh said you have no memory of your life in Tech Duinn,” Verlin said.
“None,” Cillian agreed, looking at the Fae lord.
“You truly don’t remember me?”
“She said you were my right hand, but I still don’t know what that means. If you’re like Etain, then I don’t want to know you.”
Verlin reared back a little. “I was—am—your most trusted companion. My House has been allied with yours for centuries.”
“But you weren’t there when the Dagda took him,” Bran said.
Cillian couldn’t tell if the flash of anger that crossed Verlin’s face was because Bran spoke or his words. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
“No, you don’t. But you have to explain yourself to Cillian,” Bran said before taking a bite of the sausage roll. He looked down at it in surprise. “This is good.”
“Is it?” Cillian reached for the other sausage roll. He sank his teeth into the flaky crust and the spicy meat inside, thinking Bran was right. It was good. “Better than anything Ainmire gave me.”
Bran grimaced. “Sorry.”
Cillian shifted so he could press his thigh against Bran’s in a comforting way. “You have nothing to apologize for. You kept me fed even when I told you to go find Aisling.”
Bran shot him a withering look. “I wasn’t leaving you with that bastard.”
“You bargained for Cillian’s safety?” Verlin asked sharply.
“Ainmire knew who Cillian was before we did. He kept me in line by threatening Cillian. I think he was only humoring me when I bargained to keep Cillian fed.” Bran touched the collar, a troubled look in his eyes. “He could have killed me anytime he liked.”
“If he had, then he would not have needed Etain to break through Cillian’s glamour to reveal his skin and regain his magic. Your death would have been enough of a catalyst, and I think Ainmire knew that,” Niamh said.
“Yes, I can see that,” Verlin said, eyeing the plate Cillian and Bran were sharing.
Cillian passed a berry tart to Bran. “Do all Fae talk in riddles?”
“You were one of the best when it mattered.”
“I’m not that person.”
“Yes, I see that, too.” Verlin sounded wistful, almost mournful, as he met Cillian’s gaze. “But you came back to us, and I will not be regretful of that, even if you have no memory of your life before. If there is a way to reverse that part of the spell, then we must try.”
“Whoa, wait,” Bran said. “Messing with someone’s mind is powerful magic. Cillian says he doesn’t remember. Maybe you should accept and respect that and back off.”
“The glamour hid that he was Fae. There must be some other element in play if it took his memories as well. If one can be reversed, then so can the other. It needs to be if he is to survive.”
“I have memories,” Cillian snapped. “Of my life growing up in Pelham. Of going to school with Bran. Of being human.”
“But you aren’t.”
The words were like a slap, making Cillian rear back a little, the plate wavering on his thigh. Bran grabbed for it, keeping it from falling, and set it on the table. “Just because Cillian looks Fae doesn’t mean he’s one of you.”
Verlin cast him a derisive look. “You know nothing of our ways.”
“I know you keep witches as pets and little more than slaves. I know you break my people. I know Cillian isn’t like that.”
“You purport to know him for a handful of decades when we have known him for centuries.”
“But he doesn’t remember, and I won’t let you rip apart his mind like Etain ripped apart his body to get to something that might not even exist anymore.”
“Bran is right,” Cillian cut in before the argument got any more heated. “I don’t know any of you, and from what I’ve seen of the Otherworld, I’m not sure I want to.”
Verlin flinched, those amber eyes snapping back to meet his. “You cannot mean that.”
Cillian shrugged. “My home isn’t here. I don’t know your politics or your culture. You want me to play the part of your prince, and I think that’s the best way for you to lose. For all intents and purposes, I’m human. I didn’t even know witches with real magic existed until a few days ago.”
“Yet you are…friends with one.”
Cillian glanced at Bran, who stared back at him with a fierceness he remembered when they were children and facing off against other kids on the playground. “I grew up with Bran. I know him, and he knows me, better than anyone. You Fae think of witches as pets, and he’s not that.”
“He wears your collar.”
“Yes, because Niamh said that was the only way to keep him safe. But Bran can do what he likes when he’s with me, and Fae are going to have to just deal with that.
” It didn’t matter that they hadn’t spoken for seven years.
The moment they’d been reunited, they’d stumbled back into standing side by side against the world again.
That gaping hole in his heart had filled up, and it was like he could finally breathe again.
Cillian had missed his best friend, but he had Bran back now, and he wasn’t about to let the other man go again. The thought of doing so was ruinous.
Verlin turned his head to meet Carrick’s eye, a silent conversation passed along in that glance.
Carrick arched an eyebrow, the motion tugging at the scar between his eyes, before shrugging.
“Ainmire and Etain know he’s alive, and that means the Dagda will know as well.
But the Wild Hunt stole them from Tír na nóg, and no one will trace that back to us. ”
“Cernunnos can.”