Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
Saoirse
I am the lone wolf in a silvered ring of stars.
Torches light the woods, casting long shadows with their provocative flames.
Dancing figures pass between them as the kings and queens gather their courts, honoring the harvest moon and its rich autumn sky.
Whiskey flows freely through the chattering crowd—Faolan made sure of that.
For the thousandth time, I fight the urge to look for him or our crew among the trees, instead paying attention to Aisling’s mill of rumors and her handmaid’s ability to tie a cherry stem with her tongue.
It’s easy enough to do. What’s infinitely harder is ignoring Maccus where he sits with Tadgh by the nearest fire, Aidan having just left them both.
The Stone King hasn’t stopped watching me since I arrived.
Members of the various courts sway and twirl between us to the steadfast beat of the bodhrán and its accompanying strings and pipes. When I blink, I could swear they’re wearing masks, antlers, and wings: a mockery of the Damhsa where Faolan and I first met.
Pain lances through my stomach at the thought, so fierce I curl my toes into the earth until the urge to cry passes.
It’s ridiculous to think this is how it ends—right where it began. But I’ve had enough of tears. And no amount of weeping will resolve whatever Maccus has planned.
Instead, I sip from an amber thimble of whiskey, even though it tastes better from Faolan’s flask.
I smile when Kiara sinks beside Aisling, and ignore the hand she threads tight through her lover’s, because they, too, are saying goodbye.
I slice an apple in half to reveal its star, drizzle it in honey, and bite so that fate may be kind.
A ridiculous notion—one I know better by now because fate is a bitch, and I am her lonely mistress once again.
“Good to see you smiling for a change, Wolf Tamer.” Kiara plucks a sheaf of wheat from a harvest basket and flicks it into the flames. “You had me worried this morning, but you wear the crown well.”
“I was raised by a king, same as you.” My shoulders roll like a wave as I straighten. “Third child or not, I know perfectly well what that duty means.”
Her eyes slant as she considers me, and for all the times Faolan’s teased me about peering into minds, I can’t guess at her thoughts. Whether she’s proud of my bite, or wary to discover I have teeth.
It doesn’t matter. She’ll be gone soon enough, along with the rest of my heart.
“Aisling and Etain brought a full harvest with them,” Kiara says, weighing the words as carefully as sacks of grain. “Enough to distribute, and plenty more to store for winter.” She pauses. “I never did apologize for the delay at the end of summer. I’m sorry.”
“We survived.” The glint of whiskey disappears as I raise my cup, looking past its shallow rim to the dancing courts and thickening crowds. The dark head capped in silver and prasiolite. “Thank you, Aisling, for Bridled Stag’s contribution to our isle.”
Aisling startles. “Of course.”
“I hope the burden of spirits has lessened since your stones have departed? It was difficult enough on Reborn Stalk with the ghosts scattered like the wind. I cannot imagine what it must have been, living among so many, day in, day out.” My smile doesn’t waver, and after a moment, hers returns.
“It’s better. So much better. I could’ve sworn Nana lost half her wrinkles the moment that first ship set off with all the soulstones from our family vault.”
“Let’s hope it continues, then.” I stand, and somehow my nerve stays with me even as Kiara’s and Maccus’s eyes drive into my flesh. “Blessed harvest.”
“Saoirse.”
My foot sinks into the dirt as Kiara reaches for me, then stops. There’s something different about her expression—more open. Less sure. She glances to Aisling, then slowly gets to her feet and rounds the fire to reach me. “I am not your enemy.”
I swallow the urge to laugh. “I know.”
“Good. Keep remembering that.” Kiara pushes a hand through her short red curls, and it’s so reminiscent of Faolan, my stomach twists anew. “Now you’ll have the seanchaí to send messages. Bríd, in particular, seems devoted to you. And I’ll be leaving several of my guard should anything arise.”
“Yes, we talked about this.” My eyes narrow as I study her. “Do you expect me to fail?”
A laugh barks out of her. “Honestly, Saoirse, I have no idea what to expect of you.”
The words almost make me smile again.
I glance toward the woods. Spy the silver crown.
“You can expect this much,” I say, and toss the apple core into the fire, letting its light play across the pale pink scar on my arm. “I will do everything in my power to protect my people. Allies.” My gaze flits to hers. “And friends.”
Her jaw tightens, then dips in a shallow nod. “Very well.”
Trees stand sentry around the clearing as I wander away from the fire and lace between torchlight, searching for that dark head.
Aidan hovers near the musicians, a look of acute longing stolen across his face.
He’s leaner than when I saw him last, as though whatever training Father had put him through ended with his life.
When the harpist plucks a wrong cord, Aidan quirks a finger against his goblet, like he could correct the music with a touch.
His hand goes still when he spots me.
“Blessed harvest.” I offer my thimble, and he hesitates, then taps his cup to the rim. “Could I speak with you?”
Aidan glances over his shoulder, but the dancers are growing careless with their drink. It’s a whirl of laughter and bright colors—one that conceals us from the Ring of Stars.
“I…”
“Only for a moment.” I take a step back, away from the festivities. “Please?”
His own worry cracks, and for just a second, guilt steals into my heart. But it’s easy to cast it aside when he follows me.
Beyond the celebration, our woods have gone quiet and still.
Moonlight bleeds through the canopy in splashes of milk and honey that light the forest floor, illuminating a rabbit as it flees across our path.
I walk until the wind grows heavy, tinged by salt, and the music is barely a whisper past the leaves.
It’s then that the wolves come forth.
“What the—”
“Quiet, you.” Nessa grabs Aidan by the elbows and tucks them into his sides in an absurd parallel of the chickens currently roasting over the festival fires. As she holds him still, Brona winds a rope around his body while Tavin binds his wrists.
“Sorry, Your Majesty,” he says, but he doesn’t look entirely apologetic when Aidan kicks him in the shins.
“Let me go! I don’t understand. Why are you—?” Shock turns to anger the moment Aidan’s eyes land on me. “Saoirse.”
My heart whips like a flag in a storm as he writhes against their hold.
“You—you arranged this?!”
“Technically speaking,” Faolan says, striding round a tree to my right, “I’m the one who gathered the ropes. Saoirse just gave the order.”
Aidan’s face twists from bewilderment to betrayal, and the swiftness of it stings. “Why?”
Faolan starts to speak, but I lay a hand on his shoulder. Squeeze gently until my husband falls back.
“Because I love you.”
Aidan’s mouth drops open. “Then why—”
“I love you, but I can’t trust you.”
He reacts like I’ve slapped him across the face.
I step closer. Swallow as I fiddle with the bone ring on my finger—the one he helped me recover after our father tried turning it to ash.
The one Maccus called a relic: a piece of seven that could upend our whole world.
“Does he know about the apothecary?”
“Does who know?”
“Maccus.”
“Stars, Saoirse.” Aidan’s laugh is shaky as Brona ties the ropes behind his back. “Everyone at court knew how Father gained his fortune. Half of them still use the potions Sionn produced, for gods’ sake—”
“But did Maccus?”
“I…You have to know this is ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” I drop my hands as Brona and Tavin step aside. “But this way, it doesn’t matter. Maccus can’t hurt you, and you…”
Realization dawns across Aidan’s face. “I can’t hurt you either?”
I shake my head, then startle when he lurches forward—eyes sharp and face going red.
“I protected you, Saoirse! I freed you from Father’s castle and made a way for you to escape. I would never have—”
“You said the apothecary made you an offer.”
Incredulity lines Aidan’s face. “I. Didn’t. Take. It.”
“But you didn’t stop him from leaving, did you?”
My brother goes still, and that last flicker of hope dies in my belly.
“You didn’t keep him on Reborn Stalk. You’d always hated him—you were glad to see him go.” My throat tightens as I swallow. “Aidan, he was already brewing more of the caipín baís ink by the time Faolan and I had reached the Teeth. He said it takes three months to mature. It’s autumn now.”
“But I…I destroyed his workshop.” Aidan stumbles back. “Burned every vial. Ground the rest of the caipín baís in our crypt to a paste.”
“But you didn’t imprison him quickly enough, and you didn’t hunt him down.
He had time to salvage what he needed to before he ran away.
” I take a breath. “Time to take other things too. Family heirlooms, you said?” His eyes darken, brow pinched with the same worry that coils in my gut. “Did that include Eabha’s veil?”
Aidan’s silence is all the confirmation we need.
“Then it’s done.” Faolan swears behind me, and I lower my voice to keep it from shaking. “You’ll be safe with Faolan—take an adventure like we always talked about. You’ll help him find the apothecary, and if you know anything of Maccus, you’ll tell Tavin to relay it to me.”
“What do you—? Saoirse, you can’t actually mean it.” Aidan struggles against the ropes, glaring at Nessa, who’s barely hiding a laugh. “I’m not going with them. I have an island to run! My court will miss me, the crew will search—”
“Your crew’s been paid off to depart right after us, courtesy of Ríona Kiara.
” Faolan loops an arm around my waist as Lorcan wraps his around Aidan, hauling him against his side.
“Reborn Stalk won’t be without its king for long, though I can’t see that it matters much.
Judging by what we found out, you’ve let your advisers more or less run the place. Not that I blame you.”
“Saoirse, please.” Aidan writhes against Lorcan’s hold until our bosun is forced to throw him over his shoulder. “This is absurd. If you’d just talked to me—”
“You had your chance. Just like I did. The only trouble is…” My cheeks strain as I shape the parting words he gave me last summer. “I don’t believe you.”
“Saoirse!”
“See you soon,” Lorcan says, nodding to me before jostling Nessa’s arm.
She blows me a kiss, and Tavin hesitates, then touches his chest where a pouch hangs, containing several strands of my hair.
I watch them go, Brona glancing over her shoulder every other step, until they’re through the ferns and out to the nearest beach, where a currach waits at the ready.
Only then do I let my face fall.
“Stars above, my dramatics have rubbed off on you.” Faolan tucks his face against my neck. “It’s a thing of beauty to watch.”
I don’t say anything. Can’t.
Instead, I lay my arms over his and pull until they form bands of hot iron across my chest, pulled so tight I can hardly breathe. But I don’t want to breathe. I don’t want to think, or feel.
Faolan is leaving me.
Nothing could hurt worse than that.
As if sensing my thoughts, Faolan eases one of his hands free to cup my face, tucking it back on his shoulder so he can kiss the warm, wet curve of my cheek. “Ah, love. We could still—”
“No.”
His thumb scrapes the swell of my bottom lip. “Then I could…”
I shake my head. Close my eyes tight and listen for the waves. But all I hear are our heartbeats.
We stand like that in silence, until clouds shift to cover the moon.
I turn in Faolan’s arms and search those beautiful eyes—dark and rich like the farthest reaches of the woods around us. Familiar and yet still so wild.
“Go after him. Hunt the relics. Sail the seas.” I kiss his knuckles. The hollow of his throat. “Keep your promises, and let me keep mine.”
“Saoirse—”
“Hold me to my vow.”
Faolan fists my hair and tips my head back, kissing me until both our lips are bruised.
Until my heart swells near to bursting, and I’m half-convinced to leap into the sea after him—damn the consequences.
But then he lets me go. Steps back through the ferns.
And I don’t follow.
I watch until darkness swallows him and no more twigs snap underfoot. Wait for the woods to settle back in. Once it’s quiet and no one is left to hear me, I finally let myself collapse, weeping into the ground.
He’ll return. He promised. And I will hold him to that, just like I will hold on to the fact that Faolan is clever, courageous—nothing if not a legend.
And legends don’t die.