TWENTY-SIX #3
I haven’t given up on you. I’ll never give up on you. Tell me you’re alright.
Declan
He may not have given up on the girl I used to be, but I have. How does one remain unchanged when faced with everything that’s happened? How does one smile and pretend it’s all alright? Nothing about this is alright. With a heavy heart, I refold the paper and put it away.
Odhran, Sloan, and Sheridan are all seated in the living room. There’s no need to conceal the windows as Odhran did before, the sun having already set. The darkness on the other side of the glass panes is all too real.
“I thought I told you to be back before dark,” Odhran says into his glass, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. The room is heavy with tension.
Sloan’s head rolls against the upholstered backrest. “Women are always late.” He chuckles to himself, but his eyes betray his annoyance. Despite his casual demeanour, there’s an unmistakable tension simmering beneath the surface.
Sheridan, on the other hand, remains silent. His eyes dart across the room, surveying his surroundings with an intensity that borders on paranoia. Every corner, every piece of furniture, seems to be under scrutiny.
“I came back like I said I would, unlike the Slìbhìn you believe me to be.” Mimicking the posture my mother taught me, I jut out my chin, channelling her strength and resilience.
Odhran’s grip on his glass tightens, his knuckles turning white.
“How much is she allowed to know?” The muscles in Sloan’s jaw tense, his smile fading.
“If she comes with us… there’s only so much we can hide. Do we trust her, Odhran? She is a liar, after all.” Sheridan’s hands fidget restlessly. Do we trust her?
“The whole reason she’s here is for her ability to lie,” Sloan says, clearing his throat.
Aed stirs beneath my skin, ready to snap at the insult. His tension builds, as does the anger he tries to control. Never did I imagine the monstrous voice in my head to be offended on my behalf, but he is.
“I am only human,” I tell them. “If you don’t trust me, I can stay at the palace with—”
Odhran stands so abruptly his chair falls back. The floor beneath my feet trembles, and the building groans around us. Every muscle in my body tenses. My heart pounds in my chest, my breath catching in my throat. The weight of uncertainty hangs heavy, threatening to suffocate us all.
Sheridan’s hands still, their fidgeting replaced by a tight grip on the edge of the table. “What is your decision, Odhran?” His gaze darts between Odhran and me, searching for reassurance, for a sign that he can trust me, the mysterious human who entered their lives.
Aed pulses beneath my skin like a coiled snake ready to strike. That’s right, what’s your decision? Mine clearly doesn’t matter one bit. I tense, balling my hands into fists.
Eadan, direct and unapologetic, steps forward.
She clears her throat, breaking the uneasy silence that’s settled in the room.
“I vote for a geas. Compel her against betrayal.” Her voice, steady and unwavering, cuts through the tension like a knife.
I gaze down at my arm and the faint white line only I can see.
A geasa draíochta, the second one I will enter.
“No.” Is Odhran’s single worded response.
“Personally, I don’t give a shit,” she declares with a shrug. “I think we can trust her. But if it would set all of you at ease…”
Do I want another decision stolen from me? The room falls silent once more. What will happen if I agree? Will their trust buy my freedom?
“Is this something you want?” Odhran closes in on me.
I swallow, looking into his eyes. My irritation fades. “I don’t know.”
“Never strike a bargain with a faerie. Not if you need to, and especially not if it sounds appealing,” Aed snarls, setting every muscle in my body on edge.
I don’t miss the bob of Odhran’s throat or the feathering of muscles in his jaw.
“Then it’s settled. There will be no bindings or oaths.
No curses. And no robbery of free will.” He looks around the room, locking eyes with each of his friends, one after another.
“I take full responsibility for her. If she oversteps in any way, you’re free to take it up with me. ”
When he looks back, those piercing grey eyes see through me, right to the girl celebrating her marginal freedom. “Get your things together. We’re leaving shortly.” The atmosphere is charged with unspoken words.
I don’t question him and head down the passage, bags of clothing in hand, to pack what’s needed. Reaching the bedroom, I throw my bags onto the mattress, emptying their contents.
An outfit for training.
An outfit for dancing.
Two outfits for everyday wear.
And…
A parchment slides out from between two shirts.
The handwriting is one I recognise. Declan.
In the midst of it all, I find myself longing for a glimmer of normalcy.
So instead of ripping the envelope open, I stare at it, then slide it into my bag along with my mother’s book where I can hide it from my guilt.
He may still believe in the idea of me, in the idea of us, but I don’t.