Chapter 2
Chapter two
“Thank the Lord my brothers are here. Perhaps Father will let me out of my lessons?” – from the diary of Oren Byrne, age eleven.
Sevrin tousled Aidan’s red hair, earning a frown.
I grinned. Aidan much preferred a handshake.
I didn’t mind my brothers’ affectionate ways.
I squeezed Phineas, who held me just as tight, before turning toward Sevrin, and subsequently, rescuing Aidan.
Sevrin held me close, and I rubbed my face against his shoulder.
“I missed you,” Sevrin said.
“I missed you too.” I always missed them.
I pulled back to look up at my older brother, not finding anything truly wrong from my intense inspection, but I couldn’t help but catalog all of the small differences, like the dark circles under his brown eyes, the slight lines near his mouth, and his mussed black hair.
His severe features and long face looked even more haggard than normal today.
It might have been the journey, though that was relatively short and one that he made frequently. It was more likely lack of sleep. Sevrin had a bad habit of staying up late and drinking under the stars. He often slipped into his cups—more often than he should.
My gaze flicked to Phineas, and he seemed perfectly fine as he spoke to Aidan in his smooth, even voice.
I smiled at hearing him discussing their horses.
He was always so calm, not necessarily serious, but like he was at peace.
Whenever there was a dispute, Phineas was often the mediator between us.
I traced his features, unable to stop myself from comparing him to Sevrin and then myself. He and Sevrin shared the same mother, Briella, but they looked nothing alike. I shared only blonde hair with Phineas, but mine was paler in comparison to his golden strands.
Out of all my brothers, only Phineas with his blonde hair, green eyes, and square jaw looked like our father. The rest of us, even Aidan, resembled our mothers.
“Sons,” Father said as he came out the front stairs of the Byrne Manor.
Aidan stiffened, and I grabbed his hand, tucking it into the crook of my elbow. This short amount of time wasn’t enough to acquaint himself with having a father.
“Father,” Sevrin and Phineas said at the same time, shaking his hand before hugging him.
“How was the trip from Byrne Ranch?” Father asked.
“Decent,” Sevrin replied.
“Almost shockingly so,” Phineas added, glancing at Aidan, who didn’t even blink.
He’d probably smoothed the land in front of them to keep them safe, even though none of us wanted him to use his magic more than required. The danger of losing Aidan seemed far too real at present, with the lingering memory of Sídhetír taking over him.
Cethin brought him back, I reminded myself. When no one else had been able to reach Aidan when he’d been lost in Sídhetír, Cethin had.
“Aidan?” Father asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Yes?” Aidan asked with an almost identical expression. As much as both of them would’ve loathed to be told, they resembled each other in the oddest ways. And both were stubborn asses when they wished to be.
Rather than force a confrontation, Father sighed and let the matter go. Besides, what could he say? Aidan was Lord of Sídhetír, and what he did or didn’t do was no one else’s concern.
Thankfully, Mother stepped out of the manor, coming to stand by Father. I looked so similar to her—delicate features, white-blonde hair, lithe frame, and short stature. Father appeared much larger next to her, with his broad shoulders, strong jaw, and tall stature.
“Sevrin. Phineas,” she said, pulling them both into a warm embrace. Mother rubbed her arms. “Why are we all outside in the cold? Cethin, have you offered your guests tea?”
Aidan invited everyone in, and we settled in the family parlor on the second floor.
My eyes gravitated toward the doors that led to the balcony overlooking the garden.
The normal greenery was gone, replaced by empty trees and snow-laden grounds, but still, I adored it.
My brothers and I would often sit on this particular balcony to drink.
It was a tradition we’d kept most of my life, sans the drinking when we were younger, and it was one I’d come to rely on as well as love.
One I would miss when I went to town for school.
Cethin came in last and glanced at the other people in the room with a bored expression before wandering over to Aidan’s side. He carded his fingers through Aidan’s hair, then perched on the arm of his chair.
“I’m pleased you have arrived,” Cethin stated much after the fact.
Phineas nodded, but Sevrin asked, “You are?”
“Aidan much prefers you here.”
“Cethin,” Aidan hissed, turning red.
“It’s true, dearest. They make you happy, so they should stay. Though I find their constant interruptions of our personal time rather irritating. However, I am glad for my mate.”
Mother, thank God, spoke. “Cethin, love, you are forgetting something.”
“Am I?” he asked, running his fingers through Aidan’s hair.
She coughed politely, gesturing toward Sevrin and Phineas.
Cethin didn’t seem to understand her hint, because he looked at me.
I supplied, “Fortification. Rooms.”
“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten. The human customs.” Cethin summoned tea and asked for Sevrin and Phineas’s rooms to be prepared.
Aidan shot me a grateful look before asking Sevrin and Phineas more about the latest from their ranch, which they happily related.
I listened, tea in hand, with a smile on my face, but an odd chill stole into my heart.
I would miss this, desperately. Spending the days with my family.
Listening to them talk and laugh. I wouldn’t have this when I went to town in the spring.
Yes, Nevan and Neil were coming with me to apply their skills at speculation once again. I’d see them when they sponsored me for balls, plays, and musicals, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be daily.
I couldn’t imagine it.
Tea bled into lunch, and we all moved to the dining room.
Cethin growled under his breath as Mother spoke to him in hushed tones in the corner.
My brother-in-law didn’t appear to be enjoying his lessons in running the estate.
I fought a smile when Cethin crossed his arms and stared down at Mother.
She wasn’t the slightest bit deterred from her lecture.
She planned to educate Cethin and nothing would turn her away from completing the task.
After a few moments and a particularly vicious snarl from Cethin, Aidan snagged him away and pulled him to the table. I followed the couple, simply listening to the general conversations buzzing around the dining room.
Every moment was like a goodbye, and I was unsure of how I was going to actually leave Sídhetír.
I’d spent my life here, never taking a single step over the boundaries.
But even with my tension, I didn’t feel any desire to abandon my plans.
I wanted to go to Wellington. I wanted to see the capital.
I wanted to learn. My fear wouldn’t hold me back; I refused to let it.
Home would still be here when I was done.
“Should we go for a ride?” I asked as lunch was nearing its end.
Aidan started to nod, but Father cleared his throat. “We have to go over the books, Aidan, and respond to letters.”
Aidan looked calm, but Cethin captured his hand, not speaking, when a sudden wind picked up, rattling the windows as clouds gathered and obscured the clear sky.
“Aidan,” Father said in a low voice full of warning.
“Breathe, dearest,” Cethin whispered against Aidan’s ear, though loudly enough for me to hear. “There will be plenty of time to spend with your brothers.”
With a deep inhale, Aidan calmed, because so did the weather. Sídhetír and Aidan were inextricably linked. His emotions were reflected in Sídhetír, which was one of the reasons why Father had remained so steady during our childhood. He’d had to, lest he inflict his temper on the whole providence.
“My apologies,” Aidan said. “I hadn’t thought about my responsibilities.” He faced me. “You’ll have to go without me.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Aidan,” Phineas said, reaching rather rudely across the table to pat his hand. Mother eyed the movement but refrained from commenting, and he continued, “As Cethin said, we will be here for the whole of the festive season.”
Aidan smiled, and the sun shone brightly through the windows. “Good. I missed you.”
Sevrin grinned, taking a drink of wine. “And we missed you.”
Hat donned, gloves on, and scarf secured, I led Phineas, Sevrin, and Cethin outside.
Aidan had retired to his bookroom with Father, and Nevan and Neil had begged off.
It had surprised me when Cethin had offered to come.
Perhaps he’d realized Aidan would be busy and Mother would’ve given him more instruction on running Byrne Manor if he’d remained.
We stepped into the stables, and stablehands rushed about to saddle our mounts. Sevrin’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped when he caught sight of the horseflesh in the back of the stable.
I laughed as I petted the nose of the closest horse, who’d stuck its head over the door for attention. “You like Aidan’s wedding gift from the Day Court’s Queen Laoise, I take it?”
Sevrin nodded, mouth still open like a hooked fish.
When Princess Enah had brought the pegasus on her mother’s orders, I’d probably looked much the same. Even Aidan had been surprised by the generous gift, though he’d expressed it less dramatically than I or Sevrin.
The mare was pure gold, with downy feather wings that hugged her svelte body.
Her white mane was long enough to brush the top of her spindly legs, and her full tail dragged on the ground.
She was all grace and softness, and her brown eyes glimmered with far more intelligence than any other horse I’d seen.
“Her name is Eibhlin,” Cethin said, his voice darkening. “Evil thing.”
Servin jerked toward him. “Evil? She’s lovely.”
Cethin snorted.
“Eibhlin doesn’t like him,” I commented, swallowing my amusement.
That was an understatement. Eibhlin hated Cethin, and I was fairly positive the feeling was mutual.
She loved Aidan with a passion. She was all kindness and sweetness with him.
The instant Cethin appeared, she would snap and kick at him.
Eibhlin would always try to get between Aidan and Cethin, which annoyed Cethin to no end.
Their dance was hilarious, to say the least.
With slow movements, boots crunching on the fresh hay, Sevrin approached Eibhlin, who watched him closely.
“I wouldn’t,” I cautioned. Eibhlin didn’t care for me. She tolerated Nevan and Neil being near her or petting her, but she hated me almost as much as Cethin, and I had no notion as to why.
Sevrin ignored me, which wasn’t shocking.
He’d never met a horse—or in this case, pegasus—he hadn’t wanted to pet, and he wasn’t going to stop now.
Father often told stories of Sevrin loving horses since he was a toddler and sneaking into the stables, and I could readily believe it.
As he approached, Eibhlin’s nostrils flared, and she snorted, tossing her head.
He paused, seeing her distress as easily as I did.
He pulled an apple from his coat and offered it to the mare.
She spurned his gift, lifting her head and ears flattening.
Giving up, Sevrin said, “I shall have to charm her.”
Cethin snorted. “She’s not worth your effort. No doubt a bitch from the bowels of hell. I hope she returns and leaves my mate in peace.”
“She is worth every effort,” Sevrin protested. “And do not call this glorious creature foul names.”
Our brother-in-law snorted again.
I agreed with Sevrin that Eibhlin was indeed lovely, but I also agreed with Cethin that she wasn’t worth the effort. She was a stubborn beast who was attached to Aidan and Aidan alone. I felt we should allow her preference and leave it at that.
Phineas stepped closer to the stall, and Eibhlin turned in his direction, ears perking. She whickered in welcome, stretching over the door toward Phineas. He didn’t react more than to stroke her nose and press a kiss to her face.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Sevrin said as he watched her lean into Phineas’s touch.
I had no answer, because I was just as surprised. Eibhlin might tolerate Nevan and Neil, but she certainly didn’t allow them to pet her with such familiarity. She only let Aidan touch her so freely.
“As I said, evil.” Cethin glared at the pegasus. “She probably sensed you craved her attention, Sevrin, so she denied you.”
“Is that why she doesn’t like you?” Sevrin asked, his brown eyes glimmering in obvious mischief while a smirk reminiscent of Nevan’s played on his lips.
“No. She must sense my desire to see her gone from my mate’s side, so she clings to him,” Cethin replied. “Perhaps Queen Laoise is punishing me for Aidan not granting them the gate for the entire year.”
Previously, when the heir became the Lord of Sídhetír, he would align with one of the courts, allowing them access to the gate that connected our realms for that lord’s lifetime, but Aidan had done something different—he was something different.
He’d chosen both courts. The gate moved with the seasons.
In spring and summer it was tethered to the Day Court, and during the fall and winter months, it resided in the Night Court—balancing the magical power and monetary gains.
But when Aidan had discovered he was the heir and the late Day Court representative, Lady Blowen, had declared war because of the lies Father had told about I, not Aidan, being his heir, Queen Laoise had demanded the gate as recompense for her calling off the war.
Aidan hadn’t capitulated to her demands, but she’d chosen to forgive him.
Perhaps in Aidan’s stead, she was punishing Cethin. It was possible. I’d never met the Day Court queen, so I was merely guessing from what little Aidan and Cethin had said about her.
Nonetheless, it was amusing to watch Eibhlin and Cethin despise each other.
A shot of grief rushed through me. Yet another thing I would miss when I left.