Chapter Two #2
Slowly, cheeks straining with the effort, I lift my head and smile.
“Thank you. Please, prepare the body in the traditions of his people. I’ll order a pyre built, and we’ll release the stone at sunset.
” Taking the basket from Bríd (and avoiding her tearstained touch), I drop the soulstone inside and walk carefully away.
It takes everything in me not to run.
But even if I started now, I wouldn’t get anywhere fast. The encampment spans half the bay, extending deeper into the trees, though several families have begun to clear parts of the forest for cottages.
Tents have served us all well up to a point, housing families from Ashen Flame, Frozen Hearth, Reborn Stalk—the islands most affected by misspent magic.
Some of the people who came on those first ships were looking for safety from storms or sinkholes, disastrous lands that stole half their lives; others sought healing after a lifetime surrounded by grief; and still others, opportunity and a fresh start.
But the days already grow shorter, darkness and wind creeping in.
Our plan was to have more permanent shelters built by the first snow, to house the elders and small children, as well as anyone whose condition might worsen with the cold.
Already, I wonder if we’ll have enough.
My lungs burn as I smile and nod and wonder how we’ll possibly feed all these people when we had to scrounge to feed ourselves.
How we should handle conflict and death—if there’s a tradition I should establish, or a slew of funeral rites I’ve never heard about.
I pray a pyre was the right choice for Uilleag.
I pray that he wouldn’t wish to be sent to the sea or buried or left on a barren rock for the gulls to eat.
But honestly, I wouldn’t know.
I’m not the one who’s sailed every bloody nook of the Crescent, and the one who has isn’t—
“There you are!”
I stop. Feel the wind tease more curls from my unkempt braid as I slowly lift my gaze.
The Wolf of the Wild stands directly in my path.
Water glints from every crevice of muscle sculpted along his torso, pooled at the collarbones and over all those fresh pink and silver-white scars.
A pair of sodden trousers rests low at his hips, the same dark reddish brown as the hair currently tangled with his beard.
Rings glimmer off every finger, the only riches he’s kept save for a few hoops along his ear. He’s frustratingly beautiful.
And he’s holding a netted sack of bumpy pink shells.
“I’ve been looking all over for you, Trouble. You’ll never guess what I’ve found.”
“What you found?” I shake my head. Flex my fingers, still cool and wet from Uilleag’s limp tongue. “Faolan, where were you? I needed you and you just—”
It comes out harsher than I meant it, dulling the spark in Faolan’s eyes, but his smile doesn’t falter.
He pretends not to be hurt, even as his feeling seeps into my too-thin skin where the seanchaí’s panic left me raw—but he’ll deny it if I apologize, so there’s nothing left but to pretend it hasn’t happened.
Over and over again.
Biting my cheek, I wipe my hand on my skirt and try again. “What are those?”
He opens his mouth, but a voice interrupts—warm and vibrant as the first taste of honey in spring.
“Don’t bother asking, lass, we’ve already tried!”
Nessa swings around the side of him, hefting a pack higher on her shoulder as she winks. “You could say the captain’s clammed up.”
I don’t think as I bolt forward past my husband, reaching for Nessa’s shoulders and squeezing hard as the basket holding Uilleag’s soulstone cracks in protest between us.
“Shite. One second—”
“Don’t you dare let go.” Brona steps out from behind Nessa and grabs hold of the basket, thrusting it into Faolan’s arms. Then she and Nessa embrace me and I finally give in.
I lock my arms around them, doing my best to ignore the memories that unspool wherever our skin connects. Instead, I focus on the softness of Nessa’s chest as she envelops me. The warmth of Brona’s thick curls against my cheek.
“I’ve missed you both so much.”
Tears pour down my face as my relief blends with Nessa’s easy affection and Brona’s hard-won love.
“All right, enough of that,” Brona says after several moments have passed, voice thick as she shoves me away. “My skin has enough salt as it is.”
I can’t help but laugh, swiping a sleeve across my face. “When did you arrive?”
“Not an hour ago,” Nessa says, her smile lazy and wide. “And would you believe it, our grand welcome was a half-naked hermit swearing at the sky?”
Faolan clears his throat, pushing a hand through his hair—wincing as his fingers catch a knot. “Aye, well, there hasn’t exactly been much time for grooming.”
Brona’s lips quirk, but concern tugs at her brow. “Clearly.”
“Again with the cheek,” Faolan says, reaching into the sack. “Look, forget the hair and mess. You’ll understand once you—”
“Bandia Saoirse!” I tear my gaze away as two men approach from the tents, abalone pendants hanging from their throats. “You requested a pyre?”
Nessa cocks her head as they bow, my cheeks heating in response. “Yes. By sunset, if you would. That should give the other seanchaí time to prepare the body and say their goodbyes.”
“As you wish.”
Brona’s gaze burns a hole in my side as the men retreat, an awkward silence descending between us until Nessa catches a lock of my hair and gives it a tug.
“Goddess, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“No, it’s something I can get used to.” She grins as I squirm, giving the strand a thoughtful twirl. “Have they built you an altar yet? Or even better, a statue? Are the breasts as big as those of Eabha on Reborn Stalk?”
“Nessa!” The banter comes easy now, even as I push her away. “There are more important things…”
I trail off as past her shoulder I see Faolan standing blank-faced, an oyster limp in hand. My heart twists violently, and it takes me a moment to understand why. Not three months ago, it was Faolan at the center of everything, and me standing off to the sidelines.
I feel as though I’ve usurped the sun.
My toes dig into the sand and pebbles as I nudge Nessa’s hand out of my hair and give Brona’s shoulder a squeeze. “Your tents are right where you left them, freshly cleaned. But if you want to move them deeper into the woods, or come stay with us in the cave—”
“Gods, no.” Brona bumps my hip with hers, already walking away. “The echoes off that stone are something fierce, or don’t you remember?”
Nessa chuckles heartily as I slap a hand over my eyes.
“I’ve done my best to forget.”
“As if we’d ever let you.” Brona hooks a hand in Nessa’s shirt, tugging her down the path. “Send someone when Lorcan arrives, would you?”
“Done.”
“Oh, and Aisling wants to see you once you’re finished with…” She glances at Faolan, cheek dimpling with a slight smile. “She has gowns for you to try on. A lot of gowns.”
“Understood. Thanks.” I take a step closer to my husband as Brona rounds the corner, disappearing with Nessa between two trees.
“Faolan?”
He blinks. “Yes, love?”
I lay a hand gently on his arm, squeezing the place where it tenses. “Why did you go diving for oysters?”
“Ah.” Faolan glances down at the splotched pink shell. “Right. I just thought…” His eyes wrinkle as he runs a thumb along its edge, thinking up a reason to dismiss whatever’s really in his head. “When it comes to softening up a royal crowd, oysters usually do the trick.”
His lip curls even as he says it, disgusted as he drops the shell back into the sack. “It’s stupid, really.”
It is, but I don’t say it. Because Faolan is lying, but I’m not supposed to know he’s lying.
Or hurt. Or angry. In those quiet moments when both our walls are down and my magic flares to life between us, I can’t tell him that I feel his emotions as though they were my own.
So instead, I watch him spin stories and try to allow him the dignity of believing them.
No matter how exhausted we both are because of it.
“It seemed important to you.”
“It’s not.”
“Then why—”
“I just fancied a swim, Saoirse, that’s all.” He smiles, but those blue eyes I love so much remain dull as he wipes a hand on his trousers and reaches for my cheek. Thinks better of it and sighs. “Go on. Aisling will take care of you, and if she’s here my cousin can’t be far behind.”
“…Faolan.”
“Stars above, I swear I’m fine!” He laughs, an edge to the sound even as he shakes his hair back and straightens up. “I’ll see you at dinner. Just—” Faolan leans onto his toes, eyes skating over my body before he takes a step closer and kisses my cheek. “Leave it.”
I breathe. Don’t tell him I’m angry. Don’t show my concern.
“I will.” I love you. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ll see you later.”
With a final, forced laugh, Faolan stalks into the woods.