Chapter Seven
Saoirse
Saoirse loosed a long sigh. Upon Arianna’s collapse, they’d all rushed back upstairs to find Rion wincing in pain with Arianna in his arms. Zylah and Raevina had quickly taken their queen back to her room while Saoirse had rushed to her brother’s side, trying to figure out if his mate had stabbed him with a blade or her magic.
She’d been relieved to find no physical wound, but her brother had been gripping the front of his tunic right over his chest so hard she was sure he’d tear the fabric.
After a few agonizing minutes of her wondering if his heart was literally failing, he’d pushed himself to his feet and had made his way downstairs before collapsing into a chair.
She’d studied him for a while before requesting hot water from Tierney.
Saoirse made the tea herself. He’d taken it gratefully, wrapping both hands around the warm mug before staring into the dim fireplace.
His eyes were glazed over, reminding her too much of Ellie.
His body jerked at random intervals as if iron itself were sending a pulsing current straight through his body.
Once Zylah had finished getting Arianna settled, she’d returned to inquire about Rion. Talon had taken her place upstairs. Gavin never left Ellie’s side.
Oddly, her brother had barely reacted to Zylah.
He’d merely told her he was fine. Zylah, like the rest of them, knew better than to touch Rion when she wasn’t invited.
Her brother would likely never grow accustomed to physical touch again, not after everything he’d suffered.
Arianna had started to mend him, but now—Saoirse sighed again.
“That’s the second time you’ve done that.”
Saoirse briefly glanced at the female re-wrapping the bandage on her upper arm. She’d tried to tell Zylah she was fine as well, but the female was having none of it. She’d practically dragged Saoirse up the stairs and into the only other empty room.
Zylah moved to Saoirse’s leg next, checking the area before drawing another rune. The gash there was the worst of her injuries, but between Zylah’s runes and her own Fae healing, she was nearly back on her feet. A day or two more and she’d be able to take on the world—mostly.
Zylah prodded at Saoirse’s other leg, glancing up to gauge Saoirse’s reaction as she always did. Saoirse kept still. Silent. Numb. Her emotions had nearly vanished entirely, overcome by the void of depression that had consumed her.
She’d encountered a lot of failures. It was a normal part of life. When one fails, one learns. But this latest failure carried a weight she’d never experienced. She’d learned, all right. Learned that she wasn’t nearly strong enough to protect the one person she treasured above all others.
Zylah moved back to her previous leg, still fussing over the gash. “You’ll have to stay off this for a while.”
“I’m Fae. It’ll be fine in a few more days.”
Zylah made a face. It wasn’t as if they could stay here forever.
As soon as Arianna recovered enough to travel, they’d move.
Saoirse certainly wouldn’t be the one to hold them back.
She didn’t deserve to be. She was the lucky one among their lot.
She was alive. Her mate and brother were alive.
She’d even been reunited with her long-lost mother.
Saoirse clenched her jaw. She dared to let her gaze roam over the beautiful female kneeling before her. Zylah’s chestnut hair still reminded her of breathtaking sunsets. A fantasy tried to take root in Saoirse’s mind, but she promptly crushed it and turned away.
Zylah leaned back on her heels. Good, she wanted to get out of this room before she did something—Zylah’s cool hand brushed against Saoirse’s forehead and Saoirse’s body ignited at the gentle touch. “What are you—”
“Checking to see if you have a fever.”
Stop touching me. She couldn’t say the words out loud. Didn’t want to. Not when she craved the female’s touch above all others.
Saoirse closed her eyes and tried to ignore the pain searing through her chest. Gods, she loved this.
Just one simple touch. She knew she should pull away, but she was like a fly caught in a beautiful flower’s snare.
The fact that this female was willing to lay a single finger on her, that she cared enough to tend to her wounds.
My mother, my father, and my fiancée.
Zylah had been marred far more by the world than Saoirse wanted to recognize. No, not by the world, but by those from Brónach. The people Saoirse led and commanded. Was she the one who’d given that command? Was she ultimately responsible for their innocent blood?
“No fever,” Zylah commented, shaking Saoirse from her thoughts. Zylah’s hand fell away, but she remained kneeling, staring up at her. Saoirse kept her focus on the grains in the wooden floorboard.
“Look at me.” Saoirse clenched her eyes shut for a moment, but she was powerless against this female’s command.
She met Zylah’s devastating ocher eyes. Rivulets of amber and burnished gold swam within her irises.
Those eyes used to be so full of hatred; now they carried something softer.
Concern. “Look,” she started, “I know there’s a lot going on, but you can’t just let yourself fall apart.
Too much is relying on everyone functioning together, and I think Rion might need you more than he lets on. ”
Saoirse’s lips parted, and she nearly laughed. “You think I’m worried about our future?”
“It’s what all of them are worried about,” she gestured downstairs.
“It’s what they’ve been talking through while you just stare into the fire, lost in your own head.
” Saoirse winced a bit at the words, but also found herself surprised the female had even noticed.
She’d been so busy tending to Arianna and Ellie.
Zylah hadn’t rested for a single moment since they’d stepped foot inside the house.
But she’d been like that in Ruadhán, too.
Conall’s hideout hadn’t been any different. Zylah just never stopped.
“When was the last time you slept?” Saoirse asked.
“We’re not talking about me,” Zylah countered with a stern look. Saoirse still noted the dark circles beneath the female’s eyes. “What’s going on in your head? I’ve never seen you so …” she paused, searching for the right word, “down.”
A myriad of agonizing images assaulted Saoirse’s mind, flooding through her all at once. Cruel visions of Máili’s death. The way her lips had curled back from her teeth due to an invisible inferno. The way blood had leaked from her eyes, her nose, choking the female’s screams.
Even crueler voices blamed Saoirse for the same death. They told her it could have been easily prevented. Saoirse hadn’t been fast enough. She hadn’t been strong enough. But cruelest of all was her inner voice, telling her she was nothing more than a failure.
Zylah’s hand rested on Saoirse’s knee. “You’re doing it again.”
Saoirse loosed an unsteady breath. “I watched you fall.” Her gaze dropped. “I thought—” She clenched her fists. “You pulled on the bond.”
Zylah shrugged. “Given our circumstances, it was the fastest way to find you.”
“You were scared.” Saoirse’s breath trembled. She clenched her fists. “You were afraid and calling for me. When I saw you go over the edge,” her voice cracked and the wall holding her emotions at bay nearly shattered with it. “I thought—”
Zylah pressed one fingertip to Saoirse’s lips.
“I have my magic. You don’t have—” Saoirse caught her wrist and dragged her close.
She slid one hand behind Zylah’s head and buried her face in the crook of her neck.
Zylah’s breath hitched and the female froze.
She didn’t pull away. She didn’t reciprocate.
Saoirse didn’t care. She just needed to breathe her in once.
She just had to remind herself that Zylah was alive and her nightmares couldn’t take that away.
“I know you hate me,” she said against Zylah’s skin.
“I know you’ll always hate me. I know when all this is over, you want a life far away from here—away from all this.
” She pulled Zylah closer. “I just want to give you the chance to live it. I want to see you smile. I want to see you free.”
The room—no—the world had fallen silent.
Saoirse wasn’t sure she’d ever get the image of Zylah falling out of her head, nor the scent of Zylah’s fear.
Not just the physical scent, but the way it had shot straight down that bond, directly into Saoirse’s soul.
Saoirse could handle the hate. She could even handle Zylah putting a knife in her back if that were her ultimate wish, but to lose her—to know the female was calling and Saoirse couldn’t make it. That was a burden too great to bear.
Tentatively, Zylah wrapped one arm around Saoirse’s back. The other followed. Saoirse just held her. The female was too generous for Saoirse’s own good.
“I’m not your responsibility,” Zylah whispered.
Saoirse laughed, her ribs aching with the movement. “Just because you don’t want to be doesn’t mean you aren’t.”
A bite of anger trickled down the bond, but it quickly dissipated. “I’ll never be rid of you, will I?” Saoirse laughed again, relishing in the feel of Zylah’s soft skin. Then a sob escaped from somewhere deep in her chest. It took her too long to rein those emotions back in. Zylah just held her.
“No,” Saoirse finally said when she could speak properly. “I’ll disappear as promised. As soon as this is all over and you’re safe.” She paused briefly. “But if you’re ever in trouble. Should you ever call, I’ll be there. Always.”
“Why are Fae so dramatic?” The words didn’t have the bite Saoirse was sure Zylah intended. Zylah placed her hands in Saoirse’s hair, running her fingers through the strands.
“What are you doing now?” Saoirse asked, her voice raw.
“Checking to see if you hit your head.”
A lie, and they both knew Saoirse could scent it.
But it seemed neither cared.