28. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The walk back to my hut was quiet, though my head wasn’t. The Elder’s tale clung to me like a burr, threads coiling, a story unfinished. A sister banished, a promise made.
It gnawed at me, sad in a way I couldn’t shake. The image of that girl, her red hair unbound, chasing Fae through Aeos Sítheann—slipped through my thoughts as if I’d known her. Perhaps I felt like I could relate, constantly running away from the chains that were threatening to choke me.
When I pushed the door open the calm scent of lavender struck first. Saorla was perched on a chair, legs crossed.
“Well, well,” she purred, eyes glittering. “Look who crawled home from the library. Did the little winged mirrors whisper something scandalous in your ear?” Her voice dripped with mischief. That wicked smile always meant she’d sniffed something out.
I shut the door, bracing myself. If Saorla wore that look, I wasn’t breathing easy tonight. Her impish expression deepened as her golden eyes narrowed, peeling me apart with a glance.
“You reek of divinity, girl,” she said at last, inhaling dramatically. “Not temple incense. Fresh. Wild. A god’s scent clings to you, Aurenya. It has for many moons now.”
I stiffened, arms crossed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, old woman."
“Oh, I do.” She tipped her head, silver bun bouncing. “I was bound to divinity once, remember? I know their scent. Their taste. You may as well admit it. This is one secret you cannot hide from me.”
Heat crept up my neck, but I didn’t rise to the bait. “You’ve never told me his name, you know.” I said.
Her smirk slipped and her eyes narrowed to slits.
This wasn't the first time I'd pushed the subject, and one would think I would have learned better than to try it.
She wouldn't answer at best, and turn red with anger at the worst. But if she wanted something from me, I wasn't going to make it easy for her.
“The demigod you were bound to,” I pressed. “Who was he? Which god sired him?”
Her eyes flicked toward the window, the evening sunlight glinting through it. Her previous amused expression was gone and was replaced with a haunted one.
“You don’t want to know,” she said, voice quieter than I’d ever heard it.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
She laughed bitterly. “Let’s just say I know the scent of a divine. And you—” Her gaze sharpened. “You’ve gotten yourself tangled in something like it.”
I sagged under the burden of withheld truths. “I can’t tell you more. Not yet. But know this—I didn’t choose it. Nor did he. The Fates did.”
For a moment, there was only silence. Then Saorla’s eyes flashed, gold hardening into something that felt like a warning. “The Fates?” she echoed, lips curving. “Of course, they’d bind you to a god. Poor thing.” She clucked her tongue. “You’ll never know peace again.”
I glared, but she only leaned in, chin on her hand, grin wide. “Did you at least look at him properly? Or were you too busy sulking to notice gods are carved of war and fire?”
Heat flushed my cheeks. “For gods’ sake, Saorla!”
“Oh, don’t Saorla me,” she cut in, waving a hand through the air. “The Fates gave you a bond half the temple would kill for. A god, tethered to you. And you whine. Honestly, Aurenya, I think the Fates laugh more than they curse.”
I scowled. Her laughter rang like bells, too light for the weight of the conversation we had just shared.
I pushed open the door to my chamber, expecting some much-needed silence. Saorla and I were similar in the sense that emotional conversations made us uncomfortable, and maybe that was because she had a hand in raising me.
But I wasn't going to get that silence today.
Because I found Tairngire lounging on my bed.
Broad shoulders dwarfed my cot, long legs stretched out like he owned the place. No cloak, just bare arms and leather fitted to muscles that somehow looked even larger than I'd last seen them.
And in his hands? A scroll.
My scroll. The one on how to properly notch a bow that took me a good thirty minutes to snag from a very cautious half-born in the village two days ago.
“Really?” I stalked toward him. “Rummaging through my things, are you?”
His mouth curved, that insufferable smirk sliding back into place, as if he’d never left. “Thirty-one days, and you’re still stealing scrolls. No surprise, really. You’ve always done what the temple forbade. You steal knowledge the way you steal life.”
We still hadn’t properly discussed my killings, he only hinted that he knew of them. And to be honest, I preferred it that way. “Maybe if they gave me something useful, I wouldn’t have to.”
I yanked the scroll from his hand. He didn’t resist, only watched, shadows deep beneath his eyes. He looked so….worn down, almost mortal. I hated that I noticed, and even more that I cared.
His gaze shifted toward the outer chamber, where Saorla’s laughter could be heard. His expression was curious. “That woman…she’s always known more than she should.”
I sucked in a breath. “You know of her? And the demigod she was bound to?”
He studied me, cocking his head to the side, Then leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. A hurricane barely held at bay.
“I will tell you,” he said at last, voice carrying a hint of sadness. “What Saorla will not. Grab the Heart. We’re leaving.”
I didn’t question him. I snatched the satchel from my bedpost. The Heart pulsed like it was glad to be held. Mist swallowed us whole, cool and silver, dragging me out of my chamber and into the First Forest. The air there was older, richer.
I stood on a riverbank I’d never seen. The water was dark and glassy.
Runes matching those on Tairngire’s chest burning faint across the trunks.
The aforementioned god waited with arms folded, as if the forest itself had chosen him sentinel.
When he moved, I followed, wordless, boots crushing wildflowers I had no name for. His steps made no sound at all.
I kept my silence for once, no questions, no fire, I simply waited for him to start.
The river’s song filled the space between us until at last his shoulders eased and his gaze drifted.
I walked toward the river’s edge and sat on a bank overlooking the rushing water, dangling my feet over it.
I knew Tairngire was unusually silent because he had something important to tell me.
Something I’d learned about him. Unwillingly, of course.
He always avoided telling me something he didn’t want to. And this time it involved my Saorla.
I sat there for a while before I felt him grunt as he sat down next to me, staring out at the river.
I saw an otter peak its head up and shimmy up onto a rock across the river.
I remembered reading about the spiritual significance of otters—they were one of the oldest animals in all the history books. Sacred.
As if reading my mind, Tairngire chuckled. “Behold the otter, the creature mostly likely to slither its way between realms, comfortable on both land and in water. Slippery little things. Smart, too.”
I looked at him, leaned back casually, looking far too at ease for the situation at hand. Did anything ever bother a god? I didn’t have much time to think on it before he let out a sigh and spoke.
“Saorla’s bound was a demigod. Sired by Neit.”
I felt all the air leave my lungs.
Every child of the temple knew that name—Neit, the Warbringer, the Blood-Drinker, the god even divines avoided…
And Saorla’s beloved was bound to him? No wonder she never mentioned it to me.
Tairngire’s jaw clenched. “He doesn’t love his children.
And though love is different for divines than it is for mortals, they are still able to…
” He paused, as if searching for the right word, “express it in their own way. Neit is incapable of this He doesn’t raise his spawn in ways that allow for independence, or for them to safely develop their own personality.
He breeds them. Claims women with shadow and steel, sometimes with charm, more often with force.
They bear his offspring, his soldiers. He seeds them for war like spring fields. ”
His voice was flat but edged with loathing. His eyes stayed on the water, glowing with untapped divinity. “And like all Neit’s brood, Saorla’s husband’s end was the same—torn apart in a war that was never his to fight.”
At last, he turned, meeting my gaze. The storm was there, heavy in his eyes, though never spilling. The truth settled somewhere low in my gut. Saorla’s lover. Sired. His life was created for battle. Stolen for war.
Then a darker thought crept in. If Neit could sire demigods, then so could others.
Not just half-born, but true demigods. I’d seen the golden threads in taverns, gods’ fingerprints etched in mortal veins.
But demigods? They were rare, and potentially dangerous.
The Fates had to allow their creation, and if not, the god who sired them would be shackled, bound forever to the will of Caerthannas.
A new uncomfortable thought wormed its way into my head. Tairngire had never spoken of any of this—goddesses, mortal women, offspring. Whether he had…chosen any.
The questions flowed through me like an uncontrollable tide. Had he sired golden-threaded children? Half-born with mortal women? Demigods with ascended goddesses?
I shook my head. No, that didn’t fit. He was too cold, too restrained. I’d never seen that hunger in his eyes—not for power through bloodlines, not for armies bred like cattle.
Still, the doubt scraped.
He raised a brow. “Doing a lot of thinking over there, hmm?”
I ignored him, working my bottom lip between my teeth, the questions brimming underneath the surface.
He sighed dramatically, waving a hand in through the air. “Out with it, then. Ask the questions burning on your tongue.”
I wasted no time obliging him. “What about you? Do you have half-born? Demigods sired to you?”