43. Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-One
The inn was squat and timbered. Firelight glowed inside, but the air was thick with unease.
Scáthae strode to the desk, her glamour dimmed, but her authority was unmistakable. The innkeeper looked up, eyes narrowing.
“Evening,” he said flatly. “Travelers, are you?”
“We are,” Scáthae replied, smiling without warmth. “Rooms for the night, please.”
The man hesitated, then clattered heavy keys onto the counter. “Two rooms. Two beds each. Dinner in the hall.”
“No,” Scáthae said, hardness in her tone. “Dinner in our rooms.”
He froze, eyes darkening, but slid the keys forward without argument.
Scáthae turned, cloak whispering. As we climbed the stairs, her voice brushed my ear. “You’ll room with Branwyn and Mairenn. I’ll take Goibniu’s daughters.”
I glanced at her, startled. She only smiled thinly beneath her hood. “I'd like to watch them.”
I did not envy Saorise and Ailbhe. When we stepped into our room, it smelled faintly of hearth fire and lavender.
Branwyn flung herself onto the nearest bed with a dramatic sigh, golden hair spilling like a halo. Mairenn joined her, grinning, and the two collapsed into giggles that felt almost out of place with the unrest waiting outside.
“You’d think we weren’t about to march into the jaws of war,” I muttered, though I couldn’t quite stop my lips from twitching upward.
Branwyn propped her chin on her hand, eyes wicked. “Darling, that’s precisely why we laugh. You’d go mad otherwise.”
Mairenn leaned forward, with her braids sliding over her shoulder. “Besides, the look on Ailbhe’s face when my mother said she was going with her and Saoirse? Worth every godsdamned second of training.”
They collapsed into yet another fit of giggles. I had to admit I missed this. I missed Branwyn’s wit, the easy banter. Now, seeing her tangle with Mairenn like an old friend, something in my chest…loosened.
“You two are unbearable,” I said.
“Unbearably delightful,” Branwyn sing-songed, tossing a pillow.
Mairenn caught it and hugged it close. “Admit it, Aurenya. You needed this.”
I did. More than I wanted to say.
The firelight flickered across their faces as I leaned against the bedpost. “I don’t understand something. If Branwyn can glamour us, why can’t the gods? Why not vanish into unrecognizable mortal skins at will?”
Branwyn’s smile curved. “Because they can’t.”
That startled me. “They can dim their light. I’ve seen it.”
“Oh, certainly. They can veil divinity, hide their brilliance, so mortals don’t fall to their knees. The Chéadcumtha can hide themselves from the Weave. But glamour?” She twirled a strand of gold around her finger. “That changes the shape of what’s seen. Only my mother’s blood can do that.”
Mairenn tilted her head, intrigued despite her hard nature.
Branwyn’s voice softened, edged with pride. “If gods could change form at will, there’d be no balance. No one could know who walked among them.”
“But…if the Morrígan’s gift is glamour, can’t she do it to herself?”
Branwyn shook her head. “No. She can glamour others, but not herself. Only her chosen daughter can. It’s learned.” Her gaze flicked to me, mischievous. “And lucky you, I happen to be her Crone.”
Mairenn laughed. “So we can traipse around in Branwyn’s spell while the gods grumble behind our backs.”
Branwyn’s expression was smug. “They may command storms and war, but this? This is mine.”
The laughter faded, the fire popping the only thing breaking the silence.
I lingered by the window, staring at the black stretch of Cindraloch at night. It was so peaceful, like the weather here never did anything unpredictable. It probably wasn't allowed to.
Exhaustion finally dragged me to the bed. I sank down, with my hair spilling across the coverlet. Branwyn perched bright and golden on the other bed. Mairenn was beside her. Both of them watched me like wolves cornering a deer.
I blew out a breath and turned to face them. “Fine. Tell me how it happened, Branwyn. How he brought you here. He just…appeared with you after—”
“Oh, Aurenya,” Branwyn interrupted with an excited squeak.
“It was delicious. He stormed into Caer Anam like a brute, no knocking. His manners are terrible. Just mist, pine, and arrogance, standing in the Crone’s hall, huge and unrelenting, demanding an audience with me.
He unsettled all the acolytes instantly. ”
Mairenn clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh.
“Saorla nearly threw him out with a broom,” Branwyn continued, rolling her eyes. “He ignored her and declared he needed me. Imagine it: the forest god in my hall, demanding as if he were some regal lord come to fetch me.”
I swallowed. The mention of Saorla made my heart ache. “What did he say?”
“That the Fates had spoken. War is imminent” she mocked his voice and mannerisms as if a pending war was just another day. “And if I were half the Morrígan’s daughter I claimed to be, I’d follow him. I told him to piss off, more than once, naturally. He didn’t listen, obviously.”
Mairenn let out an undignified snort. “He never does.”
Branwyn’s voice softened, regarding me with a serious face. “But then he mentioned that you were thrown into this mess. I couldn’t say no, Aurenya, not after that. You’re my little sister.”
The words lodged in my chest, hot and aching. Branwyn had always been a loyal friend, more than I deserved. Even though she was far older, she had always talked to me like an equal, never making me feel small or childlike, even when I acted that way.
Mairenn sighed. “Gods, I’d have given anything to see it. I’d have paid to watch.”
I ran a hand down my face and groaned. “It sounds like a nightmare.”
Branwyn only laughed, merciless and bright. “Oh, it was. But watching him bristle while I made him wait? Worth every heartbeat.”
The next question tumbled out of my mouth, quick. “In the war room, you said you knew him. Eisarnach. How?”
Branwyn eyes lit with mirth. “Mother calls him the meddling peacock.” Her smile turned wicked.
“She’s always adored his tricks. Fae magic delights her, and Eisarnach drips with it.
I mean seriously, that purple cloak, golden hair, more fit for a stage than a war council. No wonder she’s soft on him.”
Mairenn sprawled at the foot of the bed and lifted her chin.
“But he’s not supposed to be here. Aeos Sítheann cut itself off centuries ago.
And yet—” She shifted and hugged her knees, voice lowering.
“There he was. That golden hair, cloak smelling like someplace not of this world…” She hesitated.
“Gods, I shouldn’t say it, but…he fascinated me. ”
I gasped and put a hand to my chest dramatically. “You? Fascinated?”
Color touched her cheeks, but she didn’t back down. “Apprehensive, yes. But curiosity doesn’t care. I’ve trained under my mother my whole life. I know when to fight. But Eisarnach? I just wanted to watch.”
Branwyn let out a delighted laugh. “That’s how he gets you. He stirs the pot, makes you think it’s your idea to stay close. Fae magic is dangerous—it doesn’t force you. It makes you want.”
Her words sent a shiver through me. For one traitorous second, I thought of Tairngire. His golden skin, how he made me burn and crave in ways I wouldn’t admit when Eisarnach cast the damned illusion that started all of this. And wasn’t that the cruelest trick of all?
I lay back against the bed frame, staring at the carved beams of the inn ceiling. “Do you remember,” I asked Branwyn quietly, “that first night we met Davorin Kesh, and he called Tairngire Eryndor Vale?”
Branwyn barked an unrestrained laugh. “Of course. I could smell the Fae magic on him. Fae stink of twilight and honey. You can’t miss it.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” The words snapped sharper than I intended, but I didn’t soften them, letting her hear the bite. “Is that why you asked if I thought Tairngire was a Fae god that night?"
Her laughter died. Regret shuttered her face and I hated that look.
It carried the weight of someone who always knew what I didn’t.
“Aurenya, you weren’t ready for that truth.
You were raised in chains—taught only what your wardens wanted.
I couldn’t step between that. I would have been burned for it. ”
My nails dug into the blanket, anchoring me against the sudden surge of memory.
It didn’t return gently. It ripped, jagged, and merciless.
“I read something,” I whispered. “The Chronicle of Eryndor Vale. The Elder Sgàthánwing gave it to me in the temple library, and it transported me somewhere. I think it was…Aeos Sítheann.”
Branwyn and Mairenn stared at me like I’d sprouted horns, and for a sick heartbeat, I almost wondered if I had.
“That was where I met Caelith,” I whispered. “Or who I thought was Caelith. But now…I know it was Eisarnach.”
Their mouths hung open.
“You were invited into Aeos Sítheann?” Mairenn whispered. “By the Trickster God himself?”
I curled into myself, knees drawn hard to my chest, mimicking Mairenn.
“I’m not sure I was truly there. But it felt…
familiar.” I admitted, the words scraping out raw.
“Eisarnach has found me in dreams, and in the second one….” My throat tightened.
“He cast an illusion, of Tairngire, teaching me to use a bow. "
For a heartbeat, neither of them breathed. Then Branwyn threw her head back and howled, clutching her side like she’d split apart.
“So that’s it,” she gasped between fits. “That’s when the desire sparked? Not when he dragged you out of Anamcroí, not when he taunted you in the forest. No, it took the trickster god dressing the brute in illusion to light your fire.”
Heat roared up my neck. I wanted to throttle her. “That’s not—”
“Oh, it is,” Branwyn managed between giggles, eyes wicked.
Mairenn was lost in her own fit of giggles.
“Tell me, was it the bowstring you wanted to pull…or something else?” Branwyn raised the back of her hand to her mouth, eyes twinkling with mirth.