12. Chapter Twelve #2
His gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate, before that infuriating curve took his mouth. “Still dressing impractically for a forest, I see.”
Heat spiked in my chest at his teasing words, but before I could snap, Branwyn burst into laughter next to me. “Oh, I can fix that,” she said, gleeful.
She twirled her fingers, glamour rippling the air. A snap, and the temple’s heavy greens melted away.
In their place: leathers, supple and dark.
A tunic cinched close at the waist, trousers fitted to run or fight, and boots laced to the knee with near-silent tread.
A shorter cloak draped over my shoulders, deep enough to shadow my face but light enough not to snag.
At my thigh, a better dagger than my stolen one was strapped, waiting.
My braid sat tight down my back, heavy as the weight of his stare.
Tairngire’s brow lifted, green eyes sparking with something akin to satisfied recognition. There was a certainty there, like he had just solved the realms biggest riddle.
“Ah,” he murmured, voice smooth as polished steel, “so it was you, then. Scáthae’s chosen with the quick tongue.”
His gaze cut to Branwyn, whose grin only widened.
My heart dropped into my stomach. He knew. He’d known. Every word I’d spoken in that tavern, every moment I thought I’d hidden under Branwyn’s glamour—he’d seen through the fa?ade.
His grin widened, aimed squarely at me. “Tell me, Little Seer,” he drawled, “do you always wear false names as easily as your friend’s little…disguises?”
My jaw tightened, frustration was coiling low in my stomach. Like he had the right to talk, hiding his godhood and using aliases. The way he stood there, with that smug curve to his lips like he was savoring every flicker of irritation, made me want to scream.
“You—” I started.
Branwyn cut me off with a delighted gasp.
“Oh, this is delicious,” she crowed, practically bouncing on her heels. “No wonder you’ve been twitchy, Aurenya. Look at you, like a cat with her fur standing on end.”
“I am not—” I snapped.
Branwyn only hummed, plucking a sprig of goldenroot from the ground and twirling it like a prize.
Tairngire’s gaze never left me. His emerald eyes pinned me in place, intrigued. “If you’re going to wear false skins,” he said slowly, “learn how to keep your tongue in check. It’s always the sharpest thing in the room, especially when your dagger is simply for show.”
My throat worked. Gods damn him. He remembered every word from that night. Heat crawled up my neck, out of embarrassment or fear, I didn’t know. He knew my secret—Branwyn’s secret. All because I couldn’t keep my defiant mouth shut. What would he do with that information?
Branwyn clearly wasn’t worried, she simply just laughed again. I looked toward her with eyes wide, but as usual, she didn’t pay me any mind.
“Oh, he’s got you pegged, hasn’t he? All that holy fire, undone by one cocky god in leathers.” She tipped her head at him, eyes alight with mischief. “I mean honestly,” she leaned closer to him conspiratorially, “you should hear the things she mutters about you when she thinks no one’s listening.”
“Branwyn,” I ground out, low with warning.
Tairngire’s gaze landed on me and stayed there, his head tilting with interest. “Is that so?” His voice was smooth as steel. “Please, do tell.”
“Later,” she purred, shrugging carelessly as she tucked another herb into her satchel. “Wouldn’t want to spoil the suspense.”
I glared at both of them, pulse drumming. He was insufferable. Absolutely insufferable. And Branwyn? Gods, she was worse. And loving every tortuous second of my discomfort.
Dusting her hands after tucking away another sprig, Branwyn lifted her head toward Tairngire, eyes glittering. “So,” she started, as if we were sharing afternoon tea instead of daggers, “why do you hide it?”
I could no longer help myself, I covered my face with a shaky hand. This was my own personal torment, and it was getting worse by the second.
“Your godhood. You cover it. Cloak it. Pretend at being something else. Why?” She continued casually.
The question hit harder than I would have expected. I peeked at her between my fingers. I hadn’t thought to ask him that. And truthfully, I found myself wanting to know his answer. Why would a god so infamous, bound to legend, choose mortal skins and storybook names?
His eyes flashed underneath the canopies above, taking on a captivating golden hue. For a heartbeat I thought he’d answer. Something brimming there—curiosity, maybe. Then his mouth twisted, not quite a sneer—but something more daunting.
“Why does the fox wear shadows?” he said at last, voice soft as clear water over stones. “Why does the river hide its depth?” His gaze locked on mine. “I hope you ask better questions, Little Seer. Considering how much time you spend sequestered in temple libraries.”
Heat scalded my cheeks. My lips parted with a response, but nothing came. Damn him. That wasn’t an answer. And worse, he had been given another opening to taunt me relentlessly.
Branwyn only grinned wider, laughter bubbling. “Oh, that’s good. Evasive, poetic. No wonder you can’t stand each other.”
“Stand each other?” I snapped. “I can’t even—”
“Careful,” Tairngire cut in smoothly, a faint warning under the mockery.
“Your temper has made an untimely appearance yet again.” He leaned back against the tree and crossed his enormous arms, clucking his tongue.
“If you’re going to be following me around, I’m going to need you to work on cloaking that.
I can’t have you embarrassing me with that insolent tongue of yours. ”
I’d never wanted to see a god bleed more than in that moment. My eyes were daggers, and behind them I was plotting ways to get him damned to Dorchadas.
Branwyn clapped her hands together, beaming like a cat with cream.
“Oh, this is much better than gathering herbs.”
Tairngire’s eyes flicked to Branwyn, expression dimming into something softer. “Careful with your tricks, witchling,” he murmured, voice low enough to raise the hairs at my neck. “The Morrígan’s blessing is not one to be trifled with.”
Branwyn only widened her grin, wicked as sin. “Oh, I know,” she purred, adjusting her strap like her bones weren’t humming with ancient power. “But you see, I rather enjoy trifling with it.”
I glanced between them, irritation warring with curiosity before landing on Tairngire. “You know the Morrígan closely?”
His gaze cut to me—fast and unyielding. He didn’t deny it. “Few walk the Seven Realms worth knowing,” he said, cryptic, but the weight in his tone betrayed respect. Maybe even deference.
Branwyn looked far too pleased. “Sounds like you’ve crossed paths with my mother before.”
His jaw ticked, barely perceptible. “Let’s just say hers is a shadow I don’t care to step into.”
The forest seemed to hold its breath in the silence that followed. My pulse hammered, a question forming, but I swallowed it. Even without foresight, I knew—this was one goddess he would not speak against.
I folded my arms across my chest, anger coiling beneath sugar-sweet words. “So tell me, Tairngire, do you always muck about taverns in the Seventh Realm, pretending not to be a god, flirting with unsuspecting mortal mercenaries?”
He stilled, one brow ticking upward. Then the smirk returned—slow, meant to ignite me.
“Flirting?” he echoed, voice low and amused, like it was some private joke.
His emerald flame eyes dragged over me, pinning me in place as he pushed off from the tree to step closer.
“Mercenary, hmm? Was that the aura you were trying to put off in that tavern?” he chuckled darkly.
“What an endearing attempt. No wonder your treachery was so… obvious.”
That damned nickname incited violence in me, but I masked it with a tilt of my chin and a raised eyebrow. He watched too closely—the way a hunter watches prey shift in the brush—every muscle in me coiled tight.
Branwyn laughed, bright and unhelpful. “Oh, I like this,” she said, eyes darting between us as though watching her favorite play unfold.
Tairngire’s lips curved upward again, like he’d just won a game of Divine Chess. Leather pulled tight across his chest as he inclined his head, he was waiting to see how far I’d push. I knew it.
I smiled sweetly, nails biting into my palms. “Don’t flatter yourself, Stagborn. Watching you play at being mortal was treacherous enough for the both of us.”
His jaw flexed, then relaxed. He straightened, eyes flashing dark before the lazy smile returned. “Easy, Little Seer,” he murmured. “Pride sits dangerous on a girl who can’t yet tell a weapon’s weight from its name.”
Branwyn clapped her hands, delighted.
I blew out a sharp breath. He really had no idea. And he called me ignorant. “Why are you even here?”
He only shrugged, calm and casual. “Waiting for you, of course.”
His eyes flicked to Branwyn’s handiwork, green fire sparking with humor. “Now that you’re finally dressed properly…we can officially commence your training.”
The words settled heavy in my chest, an unwelcome stone in still water. Because I didn’t believe I needed him. I was training myself in the art of combat. What lessons awaited me with him? My traitorous mind was curious.
I dared a glance at Branwyn. She was trying too hard to look smug, lips twitching, eyes wide with feigned innocence. A horrible suspicion slithered through me. Had she known? Had she led me here for this moment, knowing he would be waiting?
I pressed my tongue to my teeth, biting back the question, because I already knew the truth: even if she had, neither of them would admit it. Not her, with her sly grin and wicked eyes, and not him, with his cursed smirks and cryptic half-answers.
My patience was long gone. My braid, my temper, my Fate—laid bare beneath the trees. And now? Now I was bound to follow this incorrigible god.
Tairngire didn’t wait for me to speak. He turned, shoulders cutting through the dimming light, striding deeper into the forest as if my following him was inevitable.
“Come,” he said, low and unyielding, leaving no room for suggestion. It was a command, and I couldn’t stand it.
Branwyn snorted, tugging her hood low, eyes glittering.
“Well, I’ve herbs to gather, and mischief waiting for me elsewhere.
Try not to let him bite too deep, Aurenya.
” Her grin was wicked as ever. “And don’t worry, love,” she winked and leaned in close.
“I’ll keep Saorla from chewing the walls down while you’re gone. ”
I shot her a glare that could have incited wars. She only laughed, careless, and melted into the trees. Gone, as though she hadn’t just tossed me into the wolf’s den with a god who could very well be the end of me. But I wouldn’t expect anything less, Branwyn always did love a spectacle.
For a beat, I stayed rooted. Because fuck him and his arrogance. Every part of me wanted to refuse, to snarl I wasn’t some leashed animal. But the bond tugged at my chest—insistent, inescapable. And the thought of him chuckling if I defied it made my stomach churn.
So I let out a low groan, and followed.