2. Chapter Two #2
Golden hair curled above his brow, firelight caught in the strands.
It was impossible not to look, though I tried.
Because not only did he appear as if he was carved by divinity, he was also wearing a gods-awful smirk.
And it wasn’t the kind born of kindness or petty amusement, rather, it was the deliberate curve of someone who knew exactly where he stood.
He wore an expression that asked without words, what will you do when the blade falls?
My mouth was suddenly dry as ash.
Great divine.
This was really him—my bloody executioner. This had to have been a cruel trick of the gods, to make him so easy on the eyes. Or maybe it was a mercy, that his face would be the last one I saw before the blade fell.
Brannach sat at his table, gaze flicking between us with, what was that? Amusement? I shuddered. I would take his looks of disdain over that one any day of the week.
Yikes.
The High Priestess stood beside him, carved of ice, that signature stoicism painted on her unnaturally beautiful face. Neither of them spoke.
And the man, massive and imposing, was far too at ease for someone about to bring forth my execution,
By the roots of the World Tree, this was positively infuriating. I was beginning to think that I was missing something here…
The door swung shut behind me, and the wretched cedar smoke pressed closer. “So,” I said, voice hard enough to hide the shake in it, “we’re just letting…whatever that is stand here and wait to swing his glorified blades around?”
I glanced back at him: one leg crossed lazily over the other, leaning against a wooden beam as if he had all the answers. Not a knife drawn, but a promise that he could. That he would when the time came.
Brannach’s glare snapped to me. “Mind your tongue, Seer. Remember your place, or I’ll have to remind you.” His mouth turned up into an unctuous grin, like he was imagining the means by which he would remind me of my place.
Brannach had a thing for whipping unruly acolytes. I’d seen the look on his face when he took the business end of his cane and delivered a flogging, and there was a sick sort of satisfaction lurking behind his deadened eyes. That was the only time he truly looked alive, to be honest.
I was grateful that at least when I got the cane, I didn’t have to watch his eyes light up while he struck me.
I was starting to welcome the thoughts of a clean death.
My executioner didn’t move a single inch, though. Didn’t flinch or advance to take me outside, to do me a favor and grant me passage to the afterlife. He only watched me through those narrowed, piercing emerald eyes. Like the Elder’s warning had never been spoken at all.
The High Priestess’s glacial regard slid to me knowingly.
She’d seen me notice him in the Grove, and was waiting, measured and patient, to see how I would react.
She always knew more than she let on. I was now convinced that I wouldn’t be executed after all.
That my fate would be worse than an easy death.
The corner of her mouth almost curved upward before she turned back to the table. The look slid under my skin like a splinter.
Her voice cut in smooth. “Threads have loosened in the fragile tapestry of the Weave, slipping free of their usual patterns. You’ve felt it, yes?”
I held my breath. I thought of the vision I'd had, where the realms seemed to be bleeding into one another, and the creatures that slipped through the veil.
I braced myself for the inevitable verdict.
I thought of the fates of recent interim bonds—grotesque and cruel, limitless in their destruction, and gave a wary nod.
“The Old Ones have taken notice,” she said, snapping my attention back to her and out of my head. “They’ve sent…protection. For the Weave.” She stared straight through me, a pregnant pause lingering in the air. “And for you.”
My jaw locked. What? I stood in stunned silence, but it didn’t last long.
They were offering protection, not execution, not banishment.
This was far, far worse.
They'd sent me a damned bodyguard, wrapped in a divine package.
Ridiculous. A joke. It had to be. I’d confronted a shadow tonight, killed a beast with my blade.
I needed no protection. I could handle myself.
But, of course, I wasn’t going to worsen things by spewing out that fun little fact.
I'd somehow evaded the Old Gods notice, and that was a gift in itself.
And even though I'd already accepted my fate, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to enter the Underworld, where those… things had come from.
Okay, Aurenya. In hindsight, calling a godsent bodyguard worse than death was a tad bit dramatic.
But also, kind-of warranted considering the fucked-up circumstances.
Your feelings are valid. No more swooning, though.
He’s no longer a beautiful angel of death, but a threat to the tiny shred of independence you still have.
Before I could come up with an acceptable counter, Brannach cleared his throat. His eyes cut to me, a silent warning to hold my tongue.
What an asshole.
“There are adversaries to the Weave,” he said, enunciating each word. “Some would twist it, sever it clean, point it forever in their favor if they could. Its protection is paramount. More so now, with the shifts you’ve noticed.”
All truths, I knew that. Which was why I’d taken it upon myself to guard the realm with a shitty fucking dagger I had to steal, for gods’ sake.
If anything, my wardens should be supplying me with better weapons and sufficient training, my sacred purpose be damned.
If only I could voice my opinions and desires openly, but I knew better than to do that, a lesson I’d learned a long time ago.
If I dared try that again I would no doubt end up out of Saorla’s hut and sequestered in the temple under the watchful eye of the Elders, and I couldn’t accept that. Not when I had a realm I wanted to protect with fire in my chest and steel in my hands.
Brannach leaned back slightly, his voice lowering. “They’ve sent us Tairngire.”
The name stopped me cold.
I’d heard it before—in whispered tales from acolytes, in the half-drunken boasts of hunters around a tavern hearth, over the splashing sounds of mead sloshing in overfilled mugs.
The Awakener. The Stagborn whose roots reached deeper than the World Tree’s own.
Protector of crossings. The one who woke wild places when balance faltered.
A god who bent to no rhythm. Oh no, his fire burned too bright for that. He did as he pleased, when he pleased, and if the Old Gods disapproved…well, the tales said he never cared.
And now he was standing here. In the Elder’s hut. For me.
Heat licked at the back of my neck. I could no longer hold back. I was spiraling further with each word spoken. “So the Old Gods think I need another warden? Is that what this is?” I bit out behind gritted teeth.
From the shadows, Tairngire’s mouth curved—not quite a smile, but a silent yes was undoubtedly behind it.
Bastard.
I could practically feel the smoke coming out of my ears. I was one wrong sentence away from spontaneously combusting and blasting the Elder’s hut straight into Dorchadas.
The High Priestess’s gaze didn’t waver. “He’s not only here to guard you and the realm, Aurenya. He will train you in the ways of the wilds. Teach you what your Sight cannot. There are things you haven’t learned and must.”
I arched a brow. Hadn’t learned?
If I hadn’t learned them, it was because I was never permitted to.
All I’d ever been allowed were the books and scrolls in the temple’s library.
While it was true that I’d stolen my fair share of tomes and scrolls from traveling merchants, my wardens didn’t know that, and I needed to defend myself without giving them evidence of my sinful behavior.
“The Shaman teaches me everything I need,” I scoffed. “What could I possibly gain from him? Another lesson in moss and bark?” My hand flickered toward Tairngire without granting him the courtesy of my eyes. If only they knew what I’d already learned earlier tonight in the belly of the First Forest.
The temperature must have dropped at least ten degrees.
When I looked back, the derisive expression was gone from Tairngire’s face.
He moved from the wall without hurry, arms folding in front of his chest, firelight catching across the planes of his sharp jaw.
The hut shrank around him. Even Brannach’s breath seemed to hold, which said something because the man was far too self-important to back down from anything.
Tairngire’s eyes caught mine and held, unrelenting. Gods, that stare—steady, unreadable, like a blade deciding whether to cut deep or simply slice. “You think knowing this forest means you know them all?” His voice was low, rough-edged, dangerous without needing to rise.
The sound settled instead of striking, dragging across my nerves until my pulse stumbled.
I refused to move. The Weave pulsed somewhere behind my ribs, warning—or maybe just to mock me, who knew? It wasn’t on my side lately.
“The Shaman’s stories might keep you breathing when the Old Gods turn their gaze,” he went on, each word measured. “But when the wild places forget your name…” A flicker of an immortal glow flashed in his eyes. “Your Sight won’t save you.”
His voice raked across my nerves. He wasn’t boasting. He was making a promise.
“Your petty arrogance,” he said, voice dipping lower still, “will get you killed faster than your ignorance ever could.”
Ignorance? Petty Arrogance?
I’d stood alone against tooth and claw tonight!
No, this wouldn’t suffice. He was about to see just how unaccommodating I could be.
Divine or no, I refused to be put in a box because of an inaccurate perception on his part.
It was high time to find out if he could taste his own medicine.
Without it leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, because the Old Gods knew that it left one in mine.
I forced a smile, brittle as glass about to break. “You call me arrogant?”
His mouth curved up on the left side, revealing the slightest dimple. The faintest challenge.
“Funny. You know, the legends say the almighty Awakener once believed the Weave itself bent to his will. That he tore open a forbidden hunting ground in Cindraloch, ripped through its wards, and slaughtered what no mortal or divine dared touch. You paraded the carcass through sacred woods as if Fate itself had crowned you and granted you sovereignty over an entire realm. Tell me, Tairngire, was that bravery? Or arrogance so bloated it mistook itself for divine right? Or are you just…delusional? Thinking that rules don’t apply to you because of the blood that runs through your veins? ”
Heat rolled beneath his skin, green runes with hues of gold flickering faint beneath his robes. They bled across his chest and shoulders. His jaw ticked once, twice, but his voice brushed bone-deep.
“Ah, there she goes—showing the full scope of her ignorance.” He let out a low chuckle that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise.
“I’ll advise you to choose your next words with more wisdom, Seer.” He placed his hands on the table between us, effectively pushing Brannach to the side with a scowl on his face and a glare directed in Tairngire’s direction.
Brannach had balls, I would give him that.
Tairngire ignored him completely and continued to tower over me, leaning in so close that his pine scented breath overcame all my senses.
I met him eye to eye, refusing to back down under his imposing presence.
Because while I didn’t have physical balls like Brannach, I sure as all the realms had metaphorical ones.
“You speak of things you do not understand, little girl. And the next time you speak of me, you will understand before you open that vile little mouth of yours.”
Little girl?
Gods were immune to death, but I vowed then that I’d find a way to kill him even if it were the last thing I ever did.
The glow in his emerald eyes surged as if he had just read my thoughts. Shadows leapt against the cedar walls, caused by the silhouette of the flames crackling in the hearth. Another blast of pine bit the air.
Was he doing that on purpose?
The scent was overwhelming to say the least.
My skin still hummed with the memory of my own kill, and the stubborn thought twisted deep inside me.
I already understand more than you think. And you dare to presume me ignorant?
Before I could snap back and inevitably out myself and my prior transgressions, Brannach cleared his throat. His gaze flicked between Tairngire and I. “Enough of this. It has been decided.”
The words slammed between us, authority pressed like forged iron until even the angry god’s blaze dimmed to embers.
Tairngire backed away from the table and leveled me with a hard stare, crossing his enormous arms over his chest once more.
“At first light of the new moon—fifteen eventides from now—you will begin training with Tairngire.” Brannach’s eyes locked on me, daring me to argue. “Until directed otherwise.”
My mouth opened with protests waiting on my tongue—duties, obligations, anything to refuse trailing some self-important god through the woods—but Brannach’s hard gaze cut me off before I could voice any of them.
“You will do everything he asks of you. You will learn the forests of Anamcroí through his eyes,” Brannach continued.
“You will learn how to walk unseen, how to read the signs when your Sight goes quiet. And you will do it without complaint, because the Old Gods sent him here for you and your duty.”
My spine stiffened at the last words. For you and your duty. Spoken in a tone that indicated I was a weakness that needed strengthening. As if tonight’s blood hadn’t proved otherwise.
But that was only for me to know, and I didn’t need anyone’s approval but my own. If Tairngire’s intent was to lord over me, he could damn well try. But I wouldn’t make it easy for him. I crossed my arms, creating a stand-off with the incorrigible forest god glaring back at me.
I was every bit the defiant woman, not little girl, Saorla had raised me to be, and I couldn’t help but think she would be proud if she saw me right then. I fought back the urge to smirk at the thought, because gods forbid the brute in front of me get any ideas.
Tairngire’s face barely shifted, but the faintest flicker of satisfaction touched his eyes, cocky enough to make my teeth clench.
I turned my attention away from him, giving Elder Brannach and the High Priestess a shallow bow—out of habit, not respect—and turned for the door before my tongue invited worse trouble.
The holy radiance had dimmed from Tairngire’s runes, but the weight of him followed me out into the night like a shadow that refused to leave me be.