Chapter Nine
Nine
Saoirse
Hours pass in a blur of sweet wine and smoke as I attend to the Ring of Stars and try to puzzle out the strange glint of Rí Maccus’s eyes. I pour honey over spiced cake, eat without tasting it, and paste on something like a smile as the glittering, gluttonous courts pass judgment on my new crown.
All of them save for Aidan’s.
The people of Reborn Stalk avoid my gaze. I don’t recognize the guards he’s brought with him, nor the servants or advisers. Mam still hasn’t made an appearance, and though the wolves have been searching for him, the apothecary’s nowhere to be found.
At first, it’s a relief—fleeting and fickle—to escape my mother’s judgment after what happened in our old home. But as day turns to night and the gathering wears on, a keen frustration takes its place.
So I wait.
I wait as Maccus and Tadgh speak in hushed whispers, then slip out of the grand tent.
I wait as Faolan follows them and the fire burns to ash.
Wait until Aidan is finally alone—and then I grab a pitcher of wine and take the seat across from him.
“I want to play truth or lie.”
He has no choice but to look at me now, eyes the same pale green as the prasiolite mushrooms woven through Da’s crown. It’s a poor fit, the beaten silver spirals too broad by half to suit Aidan’s elegant brow.
It would have been a perfect match for our eldest brother, Conal—a truth I think I might glimpse on Aidan’s face, just before he turns it away.
“It’s getting late.”
“Aidan.”
“Besides, you don’t know how to play.”
“I do. The wolves taught me.”
He flattens a hand to the table, pushing his body upright. “Then go play with—”
“Aidan.” I grab his arm before he can go. “Please.”
Regret spills between us like blood.
Swiftly, I tear my hand away from his skin and wrap it around the pitcher’s handle instead, bronze cool against my palm. “Play with me.”
Aidan’s gaze shifts, tracking a weary path from my own to the dwindling crowd, and finally to his nearly empty goblet of wine.
“Bleeding skies,” he mutters, then downs the rest of it in one firm swig and sits down.
“I should know better than to play this game with a goddess of fate, or whatever they’re calling you. ”
I fill both our glasses to the brim. “You could have played it with me before we knew.”
Aidan hesitates, then taps the table with his thumb. “You were too young.”
“So were you and Conal.”
“Lie.”
I take a sip, late-summer cherry coating my tongue. “Only because you declared fifteen old enough for mead.”
“Be grateful it wasn’t whiskey.” Aidan swipes at his forehead, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s to hide a smile.
At least until he looks up, eyes wounded, mouth grim.
“You wanted Da to die.”
I stop breathing. But I don’t look away. “Lie.”
Aidan flinches, hand tightening around his cup. “He hurt you.”
“Aye. Many times, for most of my life.”
“Then why—”
“He was still my da.” I nod to his hand. “Drink.”
Aidan does, draining the cup in one long swallow before frowning at me. “I know about the tattoo, Saoirse.”
My heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”
He scoffs. “You’ve always been a bad liar.” Tapping my cup, he waits until I drink to go on. “I know because Sionn came to me the night Da drove his head into a wall.”
I can’t help the visceral jolt of my chest at the apothecary’s name. “What did he tell you?”
“You mean what did he offer.” Aidan glowers as he fills both our cups. “He told me Da had developed a way of controlling you with caipín baís, and that for the right price, I could have it too.”
At last I flinch.
Conversations die to a buzz around us, like a fly baited closer by sweat. The wine sours on the back of my tongue.
“Did you pay it?”
A candle flickers between us at Aidan’s sigh. “Did they really mark up your back? Mam too?”
I tuck my hands beneath the table, nails biting into wood. “She’s the one who held me down.”
Aidan watches me and then slowly lowers his cup. A truth.
Relief crashes through me. “Aidan, I—”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the tattoo?”
Pain leaches off his words, startling me. I shake my head to clear it. “I didn’t know if you would believe me.”
“Lie.”
I hesitate, then drink. “I didn’t think you would believe me.”
“I believed everything else.” He scowls into the cup. “I believed you about the magic, about the wolves and your pirate—”
“And then you changed your mind!” Anger coats my mouth, tasting chalky and foul. “All it took was one instance to lose that belief.”
“Father was going mad, Saoirse! You were crying. I—I didn’t know what to think.”
“You—”
The candle flickers again and Aidan glances to the side, recoiling at the stares we’ve drawn. He sits up, cheeks flushed, though whether from anger or wine, I’m not certain.
Heat courses beneath my own skin, making me wonder…
“You’re still angry with me.”
A drop of wine spills over Aidan’s cup as he turns it, considering me.
“No.”
My heart twists. “A lie.”
“It’s the truth.” He extends a hand over the table. “See for yourself.”
I stare at his palm, and all those calluses where they shouldn’t be. My brother who was meant for music, not weapons and strife. But I don’t touch it—not when I don’t know if he means it or not.
Instead, I close my eyes and drag a finger along the rim of the cup.
“Did you pay the price?”
When I open my eyes, Aidan is staring at me, his cup empty and his eyes full of wounds.
“Do you really think I would?”
I blink. Try to make sense of the game—start to wonder if we’re still playing, or if it even matters, when Aidan stands and sets his goblet aside. “I’m going to bed.”
“Wait—Aidan!” My cup clatters faintly as I lurch to my feet as well. “I need to know. Where did Sionn go?”
His pale blue eyes harden. “Shouldn’t you be asking about our mother?”
Guilt turns my stomach. Or maybe it’s the wine.
“Of course I want to know about Mam, but…she’s not the one who could paralyze me. Take my magic away.”
Disgust colors Aidan’s features as he shakes his head. “You don’t have to worry about the apothecary. He’s not welcome on Reborn Stalk anymore.”
“Then where—”
“Sionn cleared off during summer solstice while I was here. Confirming you as Ríona.” Aidan’s voice drops a measure, his shoulders hunched. “By the time I got back, he’d nicked a trunkful of our family heirlooms and stowed away on a ship with the last of those damn mushrooms.”
A faint buzz settles in my ears, growing louder in my head.
“So he could be anywhere?”
“He’s not.” Aidan shoves a hand through his hair, then swears when it catches on his crown. “Sionn’s a rat. He’ll be hiding somewhere damp and dark, waiting for the chance to sneak out long enough to sell whatever he can before going underground once more.”
“Then we could help. If you let me, I could tell Faolan—the wolves. They could track him down—”
“Just leave it, Saoirse. There’s enough going on as it is. Tomorrow…”
“What about tomorrow?”
He casts a glance across the tent, faster than I can follow. “Get some sleep.”
“Wait—”
I reach for him, but Aidan is gone in three long strides.
The candle sputters as wind slips in, cold enough to raise gooseflesh along my arms. I swallow all my bitterness and blow it out in one hard puff.
Steps sound behind me, muffled by the rushes, and for a second my body tenses as I imagine Maccus—eyes lit like a forge, hand marked by my blood.
But then laughter brushes my neck, and it’s so achingly familiar my shoulders drop at once.
“You know,” that voice says, wrapping around me like a blanket of salt and silk, “you caught my eye earlier, but I rather think you stole my heart as well.”
Faolan lifts my hand to his lips, lingering at the parts scraped red from gripping the branches last night. His eyes dance over their tops—a beautiful glassy blue—as he takes my smallest finger in his mouth. “Be a dear and give it back?”
“Faolan.” It’s more breath than bite as I sway into his shoulder, my free hand clinging to his shirt.
He hooks an arm around my waist, eyes skating over the table. “What happened?”
“I lost a drinking game.”
His snort ruffles my hair. “Course you did. I’ve never known someone to have less of a handle on their liquor.”
“I know.” My eyes close again, and when they open, Faolan’s guiding me up and out of the tent. “Aidan knows too.”
“Knows what, Trouble?”
“About the tattoo. The apothecary. Gods, everything.”
His hold falters on my waist, and I nearly slip until Faolan hauls me properly against his chest. “Easy. How—?”
I explain in a tumble of words, hoping he can make sense of them as the breeze picks up, skating mist across the sea. Still, it’s not until I tell him the apothecary ran off that Faolan swears, and reaches for his belt only to thrust a waterskin into my hands.
“Drink this.”
I obey as Faolan steers us into the woods.
“Is there any chance Aidan was lying about the apothecary?”
Water trickles down my cheek as I shake my head. “Why would he?”
“To hold an advantage over you.” Faolan ducks beneath the arm of a pine, its fragrant needles catching on his coat. “He said something about tomorrow. Could be that he’s keeping Sionn as a chip up his sleeve, to use against you in a vote or—”
“Aidan offered to let me touch his hand so I could see he wasn’t lying.” My fingers fumble the waterskin, slipping over the cork. “He wouldn’t have done that if he was hiding something.”
“Maybe not.”
“Faolan.”
He walks faster, heedless of the dark. “Magic isn’t a fixed thing, love. There are ways to manipulate it, and we haven’t discovered half of what yours is capable of. Maybe Sionn knew a few tricks from studying you and your gran—or maybe he’s run off to join Maccus, and—”
Frustration spurs me on. “Faolan, would you listen to me? I—”
A fern tethers my ankle, but Faolan catches my waist before I can fall.
It’s only then I see the panic in his eyes.
His arms are trembling where they cradle my middle, hands curled tight against my ribs.
Without thinking, I reach for his face. Palm his cheek and wait for that sharp huff of breath that lets me know he’s with me.
It’s only when he nuzzles into my wrist, lips passing over the woad tattoo of a wolf, that my wine-soaked brain clears long enough to allow him in through flashes of color, music, and light.
A bottle of Stiff Wind, uncorked below the sails.
Golden dots on the horizon, forming ships.
His wolves howling. Blades drawn.
But then the sea retreats.
The ship is on fire.
And Faolan…
The vision takes a sharp turn—one that sends me reeling even as he holds me closer, both our bodies locked together as one. Flames morph to furious waves, rolling all around us until, with no warning, they go still. Silver specks glimmer across the surface.
I blink and am suddenly alone.
No. Not alone.
Maccus is there at the pool’s edge—not at the rocky border like before, but inside the waters, a scarlet streak on his palm.
What are you?
That is something I hope you hold the answers to, my queen.
One more image leaps across my mind—iron gray turned ember bright—and then the vision breaks.
We’re alone in the fern-strewn forest, Faolan gaping as silvery beams flash across our faces.
Not from the moon or starlit sky.
From us.
His hand lies open between our bodies, half-clenched around my skirts. Mine is empty, the waterskin spilling out where I’ve dropped it in the dirt. And across both our palms…
Opalescent light dances from his bargainer’s mark to mine.
It doesn’t make sense.
The edges of his are still blackened—I released him from his oath—yet colors swirl like a diamond held up to the flame: rose, copper, azure, plum.
Pearly streams swirl beneath the joints of my fingers, over my lifeline and down to my thumb.
Everywhere I touched Faolan as I bathed his hand in the soul pools, everywhere his mark became my own, hums with vibrant life.
And then it slows.
Fades.
My heart gives a violent stutter as it pulses once, then stops altogether, leaving us in the dark.