39. Chapter Thirty-Seven #2
I forced my eyes from Tairngire's and took a deep breath. My fingers still tingled from tugging on the Weave. I shivered with the knowledge of what I’d just done…and the potential consequences for it.
Goibniu broke the silence with a scoff. “Bold words for one who’s never seen a battlefield.”
His red eyes were dimmed now, and they flicked toward me with something closer to caution—maybe even reluctant respect.
Not that I cared for it from him.
“The girl’s right. Pride starts wars, but fire wins them.” Scáthae said, her voice even.
King Domhnall shifted, uneasily. “She silenced gods and kings alike,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Ha! See? Our Seer speaks with spine.” Caedmon winked at me.
The others chuckled nervously, but my words still echoed like footsteps in a tomb.
Tairngire hadn’t moved. He was leaned back lazily, left elbow rested on the arm of his chair, rubbing a thumb over his bottom lip as if none of this mattered. Heat still lingered in his eyes as he continued to ruthlessly stare at me.
My stomach was doing somersaults, but I had questions that I wanted answered. I couldn't afford him distracting me with whatever that look was about.
“Now that I have your attention,” I said, tearing my eyes from Tairngire to assess the room, “perhaps someone can tell me why the Crone of Caer Anam was dragged into this disaster.”
I fixed my attention on Branwyn, the girl who had been my best friend since I understood what those two words meant.
I was willing to sacrifice myself, it was always going to be that way.
But Branwyn? I wanted her far away from all this.
She was far too important, the universe needed her spark if we were going to save it.
She tilted her head, lips quirking, but the Crone offered nothing.
Tairngire cleared his throat, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. “She was…difficult to convince,” he drawled, as if amused by the memory. “But when she learned you were—”
The doors burst open. Mist rolled in, curling low, and through it strolled the last person I expected to see here—
“Eisarnach,” Scáthae and Goibniu spat together, their voices like ice splitting across a frozen lake.
Wait…what the fuck?
The last time I'd seen the god that had just appeared was in Aeos Sítheann, after having trapped me in an illusion. He had told me his name was Caelith.
Tairngire's words from Morhaven's decrepit floor rattled around in my head: Caelith…yes, there is one that goes by such a name. But it isn't his true one. Not the one from long ago…
Eisarnach, the Trickster. Brother to the Veilwalker. Chaos incarnate.
I was frozen in shock, my mouth hanging open.
Tairngire's voice laced with irritation. “You’re late.”
Eisarnach dismissed him with a flick of his hand, his foxlike eyes locking on mine. “Little Seer,” he crooned mockingly, delighted. “You’ve pulled on the Weave. Naughty little thing.”
I swore I heard Tairngire growl. The weight of the Trickster’s words turned every gaze on me.
I sucked in a sharp breath. I remembered his illusions, his laughter, the way he plucked on my nerves like harp strings. And now here he was, striding into Scáthae’s war room, not a care in all the realms.
Everyone bristled. Scáthae’s hand twitched near her blade. Goibniu practically had steam coming from his ears. Eisarnach was not supposed to be here, and he knew it. Yet there he stood, smiling like he hadn't abandoned an entire realm after the Thread Wars.
Accusations erupted.
“Traitor.”
“Deceiver.”
“Breaker of bonds.”
Eisarnach only spread his hands in response, all pseudo-innocent. “Oh, please,” he drawled, eyes flicking over them all before landing on Tairngire. “Tell them, forest lord. Tell them how you invited me back into their realm.”
The words cracked through the air. Every gaze snapped toward Tairngire.
Goibniu’s voice was velvet threaded with poison. “You have invited the traitor into my realm?”
Scáthae scoffed before Tairngire could speak, her laugh uncharacteristically shrill. She was beyond irritated tonight. “Your realm? Do not overreach, forge lord. Cindraloch does not bow to you alone. Your insolence is suffocating.”
The room erupted once again as if my speech had meant nothing.
Voices clashed, gods and kings fought over whose authority had been breached.
Domhnall spat curses, Caedmon’s booming laughter sharpened the edges, and Scáthae threw her weight against Goibniu like a weapon. Through it all, Eisarnach only gleamed.
He leaned lazily against the table, his smile wolfish. The chaos was his music, he was savoring it like he'd waited years to hear this particular cacophony unfold between divines. “Careful…the Seer might tug the Weave again," he said, pitching his words just loud enough to slice through the noise.
So he had witnessed what I'd done. Of course, he had. He and his brother had always been able to touch and see the Weave. And now, apparently, I could too.
I once again had the unwanted attention of the entire room.
Eisarnach gestured with a flourish, rings that looked like they'd been stolen from the temple flashing in the candlelight. “Go on now, forest lord. As you were.”
A muscle feathered in Tairngire's jaw, his control slipping with every second, every breath. His eyes blazed so bright the entire chamber seemed to glow green. Power rolled off him in waves, rattling goblets, making even the Goibniu and all his muscle shift uneasily.
“Enough.” His voice rough. “Aeos Sítheann must be aligned with our cause. That is why he is here.” He glanced at Eisarnach, voice cold. “The old laws no longer apply. Not when the King of Ash claws at the Hearts of the Realms.”
Eisarnach only grinned wider, feeding on the fury suffocating the room.
“Ah, brother of the glade, its always thunder and doom with you.” He tapped the table carelessly.
“You know, I’ve spent more time considering your offer.
Why bind myself to your cause? The last time An Chéadcumtha united, the Thread Wars nearly devoured us all.
If it weren’t for me and my many, many sacrifices, none of you would still be standing. ”
“Sacrifices? You mean taking an entire realm for your own? Good fucking riddance. Some things never change.” Scáthae seethed.
Goibniu grunted in agreement, a temporary truce between the two feuding divines.
Tairngire leaned forward, the glow of his runes intensifying with the low timbre of his voice.
“Play your tricks, Eisarnach. But you’ve already agreed.
The King of Ash will not stop until every stone is his.
And when he has them? The Seer’s fire will be the first thing he snuffs out. Then the Weave follows."
For the first time, Eisarnach’s smile faltered, just slightly. He recovered just as quickly, dropping into a chair he hadn’t been invited to, flashing his devious grin once more.
“Oh, listen to him,” he crooned. “The almighty voice of the Old Ones, throwing his weight around.
" Two fingers tapped against his temple.
“But tell me, what keeps me from letting the King of Ash come for you all first? Would it not be amusing…to see the Seer burn? To watch the Tuatha Dé Danann choke on their own silence?”
The kings shifted in their chairs at the mention of the Godhead .
Scáthae’s fist slammed the table, goblets rattling.
Goibniu glared. Tairngire’s glow pulsed, his eyes flashing.
“Careful, Trickster. Your games might just cost more than your pride this time. We all know that the Weave must stay intact in order for your discord to endure. Without it there is no chaos, and without chaos, you are nothing.”
Eisarnach simply smirked and leaned forward, wine-colored eyes gleaming, as if the very valid threat had never been spoken.
“What will you offer me, hmm? You ask me to break the old accords. To stand with the Old Gods who curse my name. To march into Dorchadas and bleed for realms that would rather I rot in shadow.” He spread his hands dramatically.
“All to protect your precious Seer.” His gaze flicked to me, narrowing. “And what a curious creature you are.”
I glared back at him. Tairngire wasn't doing this to protect me, but the realms. I more than likely wouldn't make it out of this alive, but that didn't mean I wanted to watch the world burn. But Eisarnach seemed content to take the risk.
Tairngire's power cracked through the chamber with the force of a raging bull. I'd never felt it this intensely before. “You want terms? Fine. Name them,” he roared. “But if you subject her to any more of your tricks, I will make due on my threats.”
Eisarnach’s grin stretched slow, savoring the drama around the table.
At last, he lifted a hand in lazy concession and sighed.
“Very well. I’ll play your game. I’ll lend my shadows, my Fae.
But…” His eyes locked on mine. “When she falters, when she pulls too hard on what she does not yet understand, remember, Tairngire, you set this board. And I’ll be there smirking from the shadows when the pieces fall. ”
Tairngire’s jaw worked, but he gave the smallest nod. Eisarnach had conceded—on his own terms. But uneasiness settled in my chest, he couldn’t be trusted. Tairngire had to know that, right? He had to have a plan…
Mairenn rose, her chin lifted in a way that was just so…Scáthae. “Are we truly going to trust this God of Chaos?”
Her golden-threaded mark glowed faintly at her throat, the War Goddess was smiling at her chosen daughter with approval in her gaze.
Ciaran stood beside Mairenn in solidarity. He crossed his arms and focused his hard gaze on Eisarnach. “My sister speaks truth. He is shadow and deceit made flesh. The legends surrounding him aren't what I'd consider kind. Soo…why should we allow him to stand beside us?”