Chapter 20 #3
“He won’t. He had a herald and hid her in the wyrding. He had no intention of handing her over to the Dagda.” Carrick looked over at Aisling, his eyes narrowing. “She carries a geas of silence on her.”
Aisling paused with a berry tart halfway to her mouth. She shot Bran and Cillian a frantic look before Bran wrapped his arm around her thin shoulders. “You can see it?”
“Yes.”
“Cernunnos killed our mother and Aisling’s father.” Bran’s voice cracked a little, and Cillian touched a hand to his lower back as a form of comfort. “Aisling got away, but Cernunnos attacked us at home later on and kidnapped her.”
Verlin stood, coming around the table to them. He gestured at Aisling, eyes on Cillian. “May I check her over?”
Cillian raised an eyebrow. “I’m not the one you should be asking.”
“The answer is no,” Bran said before Verlin could ask again.
“I mean her no harm,” Verlin said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Would you have her suffer? If you had the power to lift the geas, you would have done so already.”
Bran glared at the Fae, still holding Aisling close. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you touch her.”
“I won’t harm her. I swear by my House.”
“That doesn’t mean anything to me.”
Verlin shot Cillian an exasperated look, clearly biting back words he knew would only piss Cillian off. “You say you want to return to the mortal world? How will she fare without her voice?”
“Mutism exists,” Cillian said.
“She had a voice. Would you not want to give it back to her?”
Cillian hated that Verlin made a good point with that argument. He sighed, gently nudging Bran in the side. “You said it was Fae magic that put the geas on? Maybe he can tell you how to undo it.”
“Are you seriously taking his side right now?” Bran asked in aggravation.
“I’m taking Aisling’s.”
That seemed to deflate some of Bran’s anger. With a sigh, he tilted his head in Verlin’s direction. “Get me a notepad and a pen or pencil, something she can write on. We’re not doing anything unless she wants to do it.”
Niamh stood. “I’ll retrieve one.”
They sat in awkward silence until she returned, holding a small leather notebook and a slim fountain pen that must have been self-inking since there wasn’t a pot of ink to go along with it.
She offered both to Aisling, who hesitantly took them.
Aisling scooted farther back onto the couch so she could sit cross-legged, still barefoot and still in need of a warm bath and clean clothes.
She scribbled for a minute in the notebook before lifting it and holding it open so he and Bran could both read it.
“She wants her voice back, but not if what you’re doing is going to hurt. It hurt when Cernunnos took her voice,” Bran dutifully read for Verlin’s sake.
Cillian ground his teeth, unaware that his magic had reacted to his anger until Seamus looked askance at the tall windows in the drawing room. “You’ve frosted the windows.”
Cillian contained a wince, a little embarrassed at the ice coating every single pane of glass. “Sorry.”
“It will melt.” Verlin knelt in front of Aisling, wisely not reaching for her. “If your…brother allows it, I would like to check you over. I promise you, it will not hurt.”
“If it does, tell me, and I’ll hex him,” Bran told her. Aisling bit her lip, staring at them both with her wide, deep blue eyes. She scribbled something into the notebook before showing them again. Bran pursed his lips before nodding. “All right. She says you can try.”
Verlin lifted a hand, talking through every motion and every step he took in his spellcasting, even if they didn’t understand it.
Aisling held herself stiff beneath the barest touch of his fingers against her throat, flinching when the geas appeared on her skin, the magic terrible to look at.
Cillian hadn’t ever seen something like it before, but the ugly black lines of it were horrific to look at against her pale skin.
“Does it hurt?” Bran asked, hands twitching as if he were ready to haul Aisling out of reach.
She shook her head. A few minutes later, Verlin pulled his hand away, frowning thoughtfully. “Her voice isn’t suppressed. It’s gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“A bean sí’s magic is in their voice. To remove it is to deprive them of their power. But stealing a voice is meaningless without the body to carry it.”
“So you’re saying Cernunnos is still going to come after her?”
Verlin nodded. “He most likely killed your mother to get to Aisling.”
“Why? What’s so special about a bean sí? Aisling is just a kid.”
“A bean sí is rare, even amongst Fae. They are known to herald the crowning of kings and queens for our people in all Four Lands as much as they herald death.” Verlin looked over at Cillian, catching his gaze. “For what is a reign if not the burying of one era in favor of a new one?”
“That’s what the Dagda did, isn’t it?” Cillian asked into the silence. “With the Winter Court.”
“He tried, but you came back.”
Cillian didn’t know what to say to that and could only look away from the hope in Verlin’s eyes.
“Aisling is tired. I’d like to get her washed up and in a bed to rest,” Bran said stiffly.
Verlin stood and gestured at the door. “The servants have set aside rooms for each of you.”
“The rooms better be together. I’m not leaving Aisling.”
“I’ll take a room next to theirs,” Cillian said.
Verlin pursed his lips slightly, which told Cillian that Bran had probably been given a room somewhere not in the vicinity of Cillian’s and Aisling’s. “Of course. Whatever you wish.”
Cillian shared a look with Bran, relieved that this time, they wouldn’t be separated how they had been at Ainmire’s estate. The last thing he wanted was Bran out of his sight.