Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cillian’s hands shook slightly from leftover adrenaline as they stepped into the Shoppe. The thrum running through his body would take a bit to dissipate. Everyone’s attention was on his mother, who studied the wreckage with an unreadable look on her face.
“I am sorry about Juliana,” his mother finally said.
“Did you lead Cernunnos to her?” Bran asked.
“No. He found his own way here to a border most Fae had forgotten about.”
“You didn’t forget it existed,” Cillian said slowly.
“I have guarded the Four Lands against the wyrding since it was raised.” His mother turned to face him, a weariness in her gray eyes that he hadn’t ever seen before, even when she’d pulled double shifts at the emergency room when he was a kid. “You have questions.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “You could say that.”
“Let’s go upstairs. We can talk in the apartment,” Bran said, already prodding Aisling in that direction. She looked like she was about to pass out from exhaustion, and so Cillian didn’t argue the suggestion.
They all trudged upstairs on creaking steps.
The magic followed them in a golden glow, brightening the apartment.
Bran saw Aisling to her room despite her protests of wanting to stay up.
Niamh and Seamus peered around curiously, while Seamus went into the kitchen to poke at the stove and refrigerator.
Cillian sat on the couch with his mother while Scáthach stood guard by the door.
Bran returned about ten minutes later, just when the silence was starting to get suffocating. He came to the couch and perched on the armrest rather than take the spot between Cillian and his mother. “Aisling is sleeping. Jupiter is with her. Will any more lights come for us?”
“No. The bean sí killed them all,” Cillian’s mother said.
“And Cernunnos?” Cillian asked.
“He knows you are here. That I am here. I do not know what he will do with that information, but there is the risk he will inform the Dagda.”
“He called you the Mórrígan.”
His mother nodded, her gray eyes never leaving his face.
She was beautiful, even in her scrubs, holding herself straight-backed and regally.
Her pointed ears were impossible to miss, as was the power that seemed to emanate from her, a wealth of magic that had been strong enough to force Cernunnos to retreat.
“I am that which the warrior dead cry to. I am the raven of war. But I am also your mother. That is a truth the Dagda could never stand.”
Cillian swallowed tightly, mouth suddenly dry. “So what Niamh said is true. You’ve been Fae all this time.”
“So have you.”
“You didn’t raise me here like that.”
“No, I didn’t, and that kept you safe.” Her gaze flicked to Bran, impossible to read. “As safe as one could be in land guarded by witches.”
“You let us be friends.” Cillian reached for Bran’s hand, gripping it tightly, like the other man was an anchor in a storm. “You always said to never trust a witch, but you still let us be friends.”
“This world of iron poisons us. Nothing could heal you but what the witch could brew, and I knew then the root of what had been done to you. I risked Juliana knowing the truth to keep you safe because I could not undo what Chaos had wrought without risking the Dagda finding you again. He’d taken you from me once before.
I would not allow that to happen again. Not when you were so young and powerless. ”
“Did my mom ever find out what you were?” Bran asked.
The Mórrígan shook her head. “No. She never knew about Cillian. I made sure of it.”
“Did she know about Aisling?”
“Juliana was a witch, but in all the time I watched her, she never went into the wyrding. She never called for your Council. She only kept the lights at bay and kept her son safe. That was a restraint I did not think a witch would ever have, but she did.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Isn’t it?”
Bran hunched his shoulders. “She always stressed our job as witches was to protect Pelham.”
“There are many ways one can twist an order.” The Mórrígan glanced at Scáthach, the pair sharing a look Cillian couldn’t read.
“Bean sí are rare. When they are born, they belong to the Court of the land they are found in. Scáthach brought the infant bean sí to me instead, and I ordered her to give the babe to the witch.”
“Why?”
“I belong to no Court. My life is meant for my students. But I did not care for the Dagda’s ruination of the Winter Court.
When I found the bean sí in Tech Duinn, her parents refused to send her to the Winter Court and solidify Medb’s rule.
They gave their child and their lives to me, and I knew the only place to keep her out of the Dagda’s hands was in the mortal world,” Scáthach said.
“Their lives,” Cillian echoed, tensing. “You killed them?”
“They wanted their daughter safe. They could not ensure her safety if they were alive for Medb to break.”
A queasiness settled in his gut, and Cillian swallowed against it. He looked at Bran, who appeared just as nauseated at the thought of what Scáthach had done.
“The bean sí would have been used to enshrine Medb in the Winter Court, forever removing Cillian’s claim to it,” the Mórrígan said.
“Aisling has a name,” Bran said hoarsely.
“Yes. The witch gave it to her,” Scáthach said.
Bran stood and stepped away from the couch and out of reach. Cillian wanted to pull him back and hold him tight, but the antsy way Bran paced told him it was probably best to let the other man move around. “So you gave Aisling to my mother. You had to know it could have ended wrong.”
The Mórrígan arched an eyebrow. “You think your mother so cruel?”
“My mother is dead.”
“Juliana knew what Aisling was, and yet, she still took Aisling in and loved her as she loved you. She didn’t blame a babe for someone else’s supposed crimes.”
“She never told me.” Bran halted in the middle of the living room, staring at a point in the distance. “I don’t remember her being pregnant.”
“She was raising you to be a witch. She couldn’t risk a child spilling the secret of her transgression.”
“What did you do?”
The Mórrígan hummed, staring at Bran, and Cillian had the strange urge to stand between them. “What makes you think I did anything?”
“You’re Fae—”
“And your mother was a witch. Pelham was her town to guard. What makes you think I was the one who altered your memories? That I would risk mine and Cillian’s cover in such a way as to use magic on a witch’s child?”
The disbelief and horror that crossed Bran’s face had Cillian finally rising to his feet. He closed the distance between them, putting his hands on Bran’s shoulders. “Hey. Look at me. Your mom wouldn’t ever hurt you.”
Bran’s hazel eyes were watery with unshed tears. Cillian wished, right then, that he could take Bran’s grief and bury it where it wouldn’t hurt. “She used magic to make me believe she’d given birth to Aisling.”
“She’s still your sister.”
“I know that.” Bran dragged a hand over his eyes, lashes clumping wetly together. “I’m not going to stop loving Aisling just because my mother lied about what she was.”
Cillian couldn’t help the way his fingers dug into Bran’s shoulders. “And me?”
Bran rolled his eyes, but he didn’t try to pull away. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Cillian tugged Bran forward, wrapping his arms around the shorter man. Bran tucked his head beneath Cillian’s chin, his breath hot against the hollow of Cillian’s throat. He wanted nothing more than to keep Bran safe from all the hurt in his heart but knew that was an impossible task.
“I warned you this would be a problem,” Scáthach said, staring at the Mórrígan with a disappointed glare.
“I know,” the Mórrígan said, soft and resigned, staring at them with something like regret in her eyes. “I knew then when they first met what the witch would be to my son.”
Cillian tightened his arms around Bran, refusing to let go, even as Bran raised his head. “What are you talking about?”
Scáthach sighed. “A weakness.”
Cillian frowned, staring at his mother. He thought about everything that had been cracked open in his life, all the secrets that had been revealed, and the history of a past he’d barely scratched the surface of. “Verlin thinks Bran is my mate.”
The Mórrígan smiled tightly. “Verlin is not wrong. I knew you would love Bran, and he you, and that you would be bound to each other. I thought—if I had to let you grow up a second time, why not do so here, in this town, where a witch could maybe see you for yourself before he saw you as the enemy?”
Bran’s fingers twisted in the back of Cillian’s shirt before he sighed and let go, shifting so they could both face everyone else. “You didn’t want me to hate Cillian.”
“I know what it is like to lose a mate, to feel the other half of one’s soul be ripped away forever.
I did not want that for my son. So yes, I let you be friends.
I gave you Jupiter. I gave Aisling to Juliana when Scáthach would have preferred I raise her.
I tied you as best I could to the core of my son, hoping you wouldn’t hate him when it mattered. ”
“I don’t,” Bran said after a moment, voice a rasp in Cillian’s ears. “I couldn’t.”
“I know.”
Cillian felt a little sick at the thought he might not have had a choice of who he loved, but whatever anger he had for his mother’s machinations didn’t burn hotter than embers. Because Cillian had lived his life without Bran for seven years, and he never wanted to suffer through that ache again.
He couldn’t hate his mother for making sure he never did.
“And my coven’s grimoire?” Bran asked, looking at Scáthach. “How did you come into possession of it?”
“Your mother gave it to me,” Scáthach said with a careless shrug.
“She’d never willingly give our history and power to the Fae.”