Chapter 19
Aoife woke to a soft touch on her shoulder.
“Someone’s at the door,” Cormac whispered, his voice barely audible.
For a heartbeat she thought he’d dreamt it, then the faint knock came again. She slipped from the bed, pulling on a nightgown. “One moment,” she called.
“It’s only me,” came Clara’s muffled reply.
Aoife moved the chair from the door and opened it. Clara slipped inside, a tray balanced carefully in her hands.
“Lord Halverton sends his regards,” she said. “He hopes you’re feeling better soon. He’s certain it’s the fright from yesterday.”
Cormac shifted slightly against the pillows. “You’re the one from last night,” he said, voice hoarse, breathing laboured. “Thank you.”
Clara blinked at him, taking in the colour that had returned to his face. “I’m pleased to see you alive,” she said honestly, setting the tray down. She gave a quick nod and slipped out again, closing the door behind her.
Aoife took a bite of an apple and offered it to Cormac. He refused. A glare from her did nothing to change his mind.
“In that case,” she said, setting the apple on the tray and placing it on the floor. “Lie still so I can check your bandages.”
She lifted the dressing as gently as she could, but Cormac still fought to hold back a hiss of pain.
“Sorry.”
The wound looked good, if you could call a gaping hole of burnt skin good.
“So,” Cormac said after a moment, watching as she worked. “Was it really as bad as all that?”
“Oh, you know…” She reached for a fresh poultice, her hands shaking as she pressed it against the wound, then secured the bandage. Cormac’s right hand found hers, gripping it, steadying the tremor that ran through her.
“I’m here. I’m all right,” he told her.
Aoife tried to smile, but it slipped from her face at once. Tears pricked her eyes, and she looked away to hide them.
“You lost so much blood I thought…” she broke off. The tears came freely now. “You nearly died.”
Cormac tightened his grip on her hand. “Look at me.”
She didn’t move. He let go of her hand, reached for her chin, and turned her gently towards him.
“I’m right here. You saved me.”
“I was so scared,” she admitted, her voice shaking.
“I wasn’t.”
The words shocked her so much that the tears stopped. “How?”
“Because I had you. I’m sorry I put that on you, but I knew I had nothing to fear if you were there to look after me.”
Aoife let out a wet laugh. “You put a lot of faith in my healing abilities.”
“I put a lot of faith in you,” Cormac reached up with his good hand and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Come here,” he said, holding his arm out.
She hesitated, afraid she might hurt him.
“Didn’t your mam say hugs were healing?”
Aoife gave another watery laugh, then walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down on his good side. She left a gap between them, but he slid his arm around her and drew her close.
They stayed like that for a while. Aoife listened to his breathing, relieved that it already sounded easier, less strained than the night before.
Eventually, the question she had been holding back broke free.
“You’re the Athraith, aren’t you?”
He went still, then nodded once. “Aye.”
She exhaled, halfway between disbelief and relief, and sat up. “You could have told me.”
He picked at the seam of his cuff, eyes down. “I wanted to. Do you know how hard it is to keep it hidden? All your life? Even from the people you trust?”
She studied him. The light caught in his hair, his head at the same stubborn tilt she’d known since they were children stealing apples. How many times had she thought she knew him completely?
“I knew you had secrets,” she said. “I thought they were ordinary ones.”
He gave a small huff of laughter. “Not much ordinary about this.”
“So why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, teasing lightly. She nudged his knee with hers, a small, familiar gesture. “Didn’t think I could handle it?”
He looked up at her, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. “I didn’t want to put anyone in danger. The fewer people who knew, the safer it was for me and for my parents.”
Aoife nodded slowly. “That’s fair.” Beneath the words, a tug of warmth. Even his silence had been a way of protecting others.
“Even with you… as much as I might have wanted to. I couldn’t risk it.”
She smiled. “I understand.” He looked doubtful. She reached for his hand. “I do.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
They fell into a more comfortable silence. Rain tapped faintly against the window.
“So,” she said, glancing at him. “What made you risk it now?”
He looks at her questioningly.
“Letting me see you in the woods, the day the banshee wailed. Was that an omen?”
He shook his head, embarrassed. “No. That was an accident.”
“That’s how you got the smoked fish,” she said as the pieces fell into place.
“It is.”
“I knew you were keeping something from me. There were no fishermen in the village that day.”
“I didn’t lie though,” Cormac said. “I told you I traded with a fisherman and that is exactly what I did.”
“Oh, I know. It’s one of your best skills: not lying, yet still not telling the whole truth.”
“I’d honestly hoped for more than a handful of kippers at the coast that day, but there was no one willing to trade.
Seeing me in the forest that day was an accident, but I let a few people see me after that.
In case you mentioned it, I didn’t want anyone saying you were imagining things or making things up. ”
“And you’ve been sneaking around here keeping an eye on me since?”
“Something like that,” he said, still smiling.
She shook her head. “Typical.” Aoife thought for a moment. “Can you change whenever you like?”
“If I have enough space. It’s not something you do inside.”
“Good to know,” she said dryly.
For the first time since he’d arrived, he looked relaxed, tired, pale, but lighter. The tension in his shoulders had eased.
A thought struck her. “Athraith can live for hundreds of years, right? So, how old are you, really?”
He gave her a look of amusement and exasperation. “You’ve known me since we were babies.”
“Sure,” she said. “But maybe you just looked like a baby. Maybe you were twenty already.”
He laughed, deep and rough. “No, Aoife. We grow at the same rate as humans. My parents are old, though. Mum turns ninety next year.”
“Ninety?” Aoife breathed.
Cormac nodded. “Don’t tell her I said it. As far as the villagers are concerned, she’s turning 40.”
Relief loosened her chest. After everything, it was strange to sit here and talk about parents, about ordinary things, as though the world hadn’t nearly ended for her last night.
She leaned her head against the wall. “Are any of the stories true?”
“Which ones?” he asked.
“The one you told me about Athraith taking people to the Otherworld.”
He smiled. “That’s happened a few times, sure. But only when the person wanted to go.”
She studied him. “You and your parents, you could have gone, couldn’t you? To the Otherworld. You could’ve escaped all this: hunger, war, the empire.”
He was quiet for a moment. “We could have,” he said finally. “But this is home. They chose to live here among humans. I’ve never even seen the Otherworld. Everything I love is here.”
Aoife turned to him. His face was pale in the candlelight, with the faintest curve of a smile at his mouth. And she saw him not as the boy she’d grown up with, nor the creature from the woods, but as the man he’d become.
“Why didn’t you reveal yourself at the hawthorn tree?”
Cormac’s gaze dropped to his hands. “I was scared.”
“Of what?”
He hesitated, fingers worrying the seam of his cuff. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
She almost laughed at that. She was lost to him at the moment as it was, trapped inside the estate, but she didn’t want to break the moment. Instead, she reached for his hand. “You won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”
Literally.
His fingers tightened around hers. “Then come with me. Leave this place.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” His voice was firmer now, his eyes searching her face. “You don’t belong here, Aoife. Not with him. I could carry you off to the Otherworld, like in the stories.”
“You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?”
She hesitated too long, and the realisation dawned in his eyes before she spoke. “I swore an oath,” she said.
He sat up straighter despite the pain. “What kind of oath?”
She could see the apprehension in his eyes. She knew what he was hoping she would say or wouldn’t say. “To the Sheedar.”
“Curse the crows.” He sank against the headboard. “Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice.”
“What exactly did you say?”
“I swore I wouldn’t leave the estate until I gave my heart to one who abides here.”
“Did you…?”
He didn’t need to finish. She knew what he was asking. “A drop of blood to the hawthorn tree.”
“Crows,” he swore again. “The Sheedar won’t let that go.” He looked away, jaw clenched. “That goat’s arse.”
For a long moment neither spoke. The fire crackled faintly in the grate.
He stared down at his hands, shoulders tense. The news had hit him harder than she’d expected.
She reached for the tray and nudged it toward him. “You should eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need your strength.”
It was the same argument they’d had a dozen times since the harvest failed. It had never seemed as important as now.
He gave her a tired look. “You eat it.”
She smiled faintly. “I’ve had enough. Please, Cormac.”
He didn’t move.
“You’ll have to stay here a few days at least, heal, recover your strength. You might as well eat while you can.”
But as soon as she said it, guilt settled heavy in her chest. He must have noticed how her cheeks had filled, how her wrists no longer looked like they might snap in the breeze.
To him, it must look obscene her eating at Halverton’s table while the village starved. She looked down at her hands, ashamed.
“Cormac,” she said, “I…”
He reached across and rested a hand on hers. “We received the food. That was your doing, wasn’t it?”
Aoife nodded.
“I knew it.” He smiled. “You proved me wrong.”