48. Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Six
The Morrígan’s attention eventually slid from Eisarnach back to Riordan, who looked as though he’d happily strangle the Trickster with a single spell if she gave him leave. Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Riordan, my love. Where does your father linger these days?”
The warlock shuffled his feet, looking somewhat uncomfortable under her intense gaze. “You know as well as I, Queen. He comes when he pleases. And his attentions are…elsewhere, at the moment.”
“Hmm,” the Morrígan's eyes narrowed.
Light cracked open the chamber. Gold spilled through shadow like honey poured over stone. Scáthae sighed. “It would seem his attentions have shifted, unfortunately.”
Even from across the hall he was almost unbearable to look at. Cermait's skin gleamed dark and warm like bronze in firelight, robes stitched with molten amber, wearing a smile that said he had never once been unwelcome anywhere.
“Ah, it’s a get-together. And yet, you are all so grim.” He tapped a finger on his chin. “Why is that, I wonder?”
Goibniu spat a curse under his breath, Scáthae stiffened as Cermait brushed too close, and even Tairngire’s runes flashed brighter underneath his leathers. But the Morrígan, she only tilted her head. Something unreadable flickered in her eyes.
Cermait basked in it. He wanted their ire, fed on it. His smile was merciless beneath all the gold.
“Oh, come now,” he said, spreading his arms as though the hall itself were his stage. “I should be adored.”
I couldn’t believe I even thought it, but his theatrics were worse than Eisarnach’s.
The Trickster’s laugh cut through, bitterness lacing it. “You are endured, golden boy. As one endures rot in the rafters.”
The chamber snapped. Scáthae’s voice turned to steel, Goibniu’s bark shook the air, Caedmon roared with laughter, and Tairngire stood in the center of it all fists clenching and unclenching. This was the first time I’d seen Scáthae, Goibniu and Tairngire all agree with Eisarnach.
Every word in the chamber clashed like swords unsheathed. Cermait must have done something truly abhorrent to warrant this kind of reaction.
But still, he only gleamed, as though the storm breaking loose was the gift he had come to bring.
More chaos ensued. It pressed in on me from every angle. Voices clashing like swords, gods themselves losing control, while the Fate of every realm hung in balance.
Enough, I’d had enough.
The fire broke loose inside me before I thought better of it, and I tugged at the Weave, just like I had in Caedmon’s war room.
The threads pulsed. Once. That was all it took.
The ripple shot through the room like a heartbeat, silencing everything in its path.
Every divine and half-born froze. Their gazes snapped to me as the echo of the Weave thrummed in their bones.
Ailbhe, who moments before had been glaring daggers at me, was staring, wide-eyed, not with contempt for once, but something close to wonder.
Cirian looked at me, too. His eyes hooded, something uncomfortably close to lust in his eyes.
The bond in my chest flared molten before I had time to process whatever I'd just seen, so sudden it stole my breath. A growl low in Tairngire's chest confirmed what the bond screamed. He’d caught Ciaran’s gaze on me, and he evidently was not happy about it.
But when I looked at him, his face was stoic.
The room was silent now, all eyes fixed on me. My fire, unleashed. My voice came rough. “Enough.”
My chest rose and fell, pulse racing, but I held their gazes—divines included.
“You threw me into the fire,” I snapped. “Dragged me from my temple, bound me to secrets and battles I never chose. And yet—” My chin lifted, the spark in me refusing to dim. “I refuse to let it burn me.”
The Weave hummed faintly under my skin, like it was listening, like it agreed.
“I carry a burden none of you want, yet every one of you bickers as though the world will wait for you to decide who is the loudest in the room. The Weave doesn’t wait.
The King of Ash doesn’t wait. And I am tired—” I spat the word.
“Tired of your games, your posturing, your endless noise while the realms unravel around us. "
I turned toward the Crow Queen. "Now, I may not be trained for war like your Kathari, and I may not carry the strength of a divine or the bloodline of royalty. But I have the Sight. Apparently, the stone of a realm chose me.” I shot a glare toward Tairngire, who was trying really hard to look unphased.
“And I can feel the Weave fraying while you all waste breath on your petty arguments.”
I took one step forward, retaining my grip on the Weave.
“So fight if you must, claw at each other like children. But know this: I will not let your squabbling dictate the end of the universe. The Seven Realms do not belong to your pride, or your grudges. They belong to the Weave itself, and I will carry that burden. So you can either stand with me…or you can get the fuck out of my way.”
Eisarnach started to clap slowly, leaning up against a column in the corner. “A Seer,” he drawled, “who not only sees the Weave but dares wield it like a whip. How utterly delicious.” His eyes gleamed. “Oh, Little Flame, you might yet be my favorite entertainment in all the realms.”
Questions broke like waves in the hall.
“When do we leave?” King Domhnall’s voice boomed first, his scarred hand gripping the hilt of his sword.
“Where do we go?” Mairenn asked, her voice steady. “The Iron Vein, where does it lie?”
“Aurenya is to carry the burden of the stones alone?” Ciaran pressed, eyes flicking to me, then to Tairngire, who was already glaring daggers at the half-born general.
Ailbhe’s acid tongue unfurled like a snake. “Why has the Trickster been allowed to flit in and out like smoke while the rest of us bleed the road?”
Eisarnach gasped in mock honor, one jeweled hand clutching his chest. “Are you saying you’d rather I did?”
Tairngire let out an exasperated breath. “Do any of you truly wish him at your side?”
Glances flicked from one face to another. Not a single voice rose in Eisarnach’s favor. Riordan smirked, muttering something low in his sorcerer’s tongue.
Eisarnach pouted, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “You all wound me so.”
Tairngire ignored him, stepping forward, his presence filling the chamber like a storm rolling in.
He held his arms behind his back like the commander he was, and addressed the chamber.
“You ask where we go next. That will be decided once we find the heart of Cindraloch. The Iron Vein is most likely here, waiting below in the Kathari archives. The Seer and I will journey below to retrieve it come morning light.”
His gaze swept over every soul gathered. “You wonder why the Trickster drifts where he pleases? Because he can, and because Fate, damn it, finds him useful in ways we do not yet see. Don’t mistake his absence for weakness. He will play his part, or find his lands burned to ash.”
A murmur rippled, uneasy, but none dared challenge him outright.
“But mark this: Aurenya is right. There can be no more bickering. No more squabbling like spoiled heirs and pride-bruised divines. I did not pull you here to posture in one another’s shadows.
You are here because the Weave unravels.
The King of Ash gains allies. If you cannot stand together, then you will fall alone. ”
The silence after Tairngire’s words was heavy, the kind that pressed into bones. No one dared move.
“Ah, forest lord,” the Morrígan purred, stepping forward in a sweep of black feathers. “How commanding you’ve become. Tell me, do you rally for the Godheads’ will…or for your own?”
The question slithered through the room. Even Scáthae flicked her questioning eyes toward Tairngire. Goibniu smirked, waiting for the blade to fall.
“Does it matter?” His voice was a growl, steady, unyielding. “The Weave frays. The King of Ash moves, and he has more than just Neit’s armies at his side.”
A chill ran down my spine. What exactly had he found out in the village? He still hadn’t shared that information.
“The road from here will be harder.” His words seemed to press into the stone itself.
“Battles will not stay confined to Cindraloch’s borders.
The Seventh Realm will see blood spilled on its soil.
Neit knows what we build here. He feels the threat.
He is gathering allies as we are. That of Domnu and Taranis. ”
Gasps came from around the room. I knew enough to know that if this were true, it was very, very bad.
Domnu was the Goddess of Monsters, the abysmal matriarch of the Fomorians. Destructive beings who embodied chaos and brutality.
And Taranis? The God of Storms and Sky. He was known to mortals in Morhaven as “the Thunderer,” a god who was feared for demanding human sacrifice, specifically by the wheel of fire.
If the King of Ash had them at his side, along with Neit? His forces would be damn near impossible to stand against.
The very air seemed to bend around those names. I caught Scáthae’s profile, the cut of her jaw tight as iron. Goibniu’s arrogant smirk barely masked the flicker of unease in his eyes.
Tairngire’s eyes found mine, and the bond between us burned hot as he spoke the final truth, not just for them, but for me. “They will not only hunt the stone.” His voice lowered, near a growl. “They will hunt the Seer. And when they come for her, they will find us.”
Scáthae leaned forward. “Time is wasted here. The Stones run deep. We’ll need more than the Sight.
We'll need scouts, soldiers, weapons. Domnu, Taranis and Neit cannot be taken down.
They will demand battle, we will need a way to subdue them long enough to stand judgment in front of the Godhead.
The Ash King cannot leave his realm, so we must cut out the rot before it spreads. "
Goibniu’s arms folded, voice a grind of stone. “My smith’s will forge what’s needed for the journey ahead. Blades, flails, shields, etched with runes. Cindraloch’s steel will not fail.”
“Steel alone won’t win this,” Cermait shot back, ocean blue eyes flashing. “The Kathari will lend their spells. Sorcerers to bind the field, shatter Neit’s curses before they settle. Magic must answer magic.”
The Morrígan, seemingly appeased now, grinned. “Our children will rise.”
Domhnall regarded the room. “My brigade will be the front. No warlock or warrior will matter if Neit’s men break through. The Ard-Connacht will hold the breach.” Bram and Maddox nodded, silent iron behind him.
Ciaran’s steady voice slid in. “Neit, Domnu, and Taranis undoubtedly have spies. We need to move like every move we make could be watched. We’ll need deception as much as strength.”
Eisarnach grinned, lounging back like a cat. “At last, someone speaks my tongue. Deception. Distraction. Delight in misdirection. While you hammer down doors, I’ll slip through the window.”
The room groaned.
“You would like that,” Scáthae muttered.
“Like it?” Eisarnach cackled. “I live for it.”
Then Tairngire’s voice cut low, silencing them all.
“Steel. Spell. Shadow. Sight. All will be needed. None alone wins this battle.” His gaze swept the room, pausing just long enough to burn.
“The Seer finds the stones. The rest of us make sure she lives to take them. You’re dismissed.
Rest. The journey ahead will be trying, and we cannot afford failure. ”
The oak door shut behind us, muting the fortress’s roar. Our chamber was dim, a single candelabra throwing gold across stone.
Branwyn flopped onto the nearest bed with a sigh, laughter spilling out. “Gods, did you see Goibniu’s face when Scáthae cut him off? By the crows, I’ve missed this place.” Her eyes glinted in the firelight.
Mairenn perched on her bed, tugging at her feathers. “You’d think you’d been gone centuries, the way you’re carrying on here.”
Branwyn kicked her boots free, tossing her curls back. “Feels like centuries. It’s been a long time since alliances were forged against a mutual threat.”
Their chatter barely touched me. I sat on the last bed, the satchel heavy at my side. The stone sat inside, silent, waiting.
My fingers curled tight in my lap. Tonight I learned the truth: the Obsidian Heart chose me, and I had no idea what that meant.
Gods of Destruction, Domnu and Taranis, were now looming in the game alongside Neit. Every step forward twisted into another knot, another line crossed.
I dragged in a breath, but it caught in my throat. The bond yanked in my chest before I understood what was happening. Heat shot through my veins, and then – mist swallowed me whole.
“Oh, for fucks sa—” I started, but my words dissolved with my body, fading from Branwyn’s smirk and Mairenn’s stifled laughter. The last thing I saw was their grins as I unraveled into smoke.