Chapter Fifty-Seven
Fifty-seven
Faolan
Lorcan’s legs drop off the bed as I burst into our hut, Tavin barely stirring from his place by the fire. He’s well used to my tempers by now.
“Pack your bags. We’re leaving.”
That, however, catches him off guard.
Tavin looks up, hand resting on a metal kettle, protected by cloth. “Why?”
“Because we’re going to find the Knowing bloody Sea and end this, once and for all.”
Lorcan rolls onto the pads of his feet, muscles rippling beneath his shoulders—bulged and scarred on one side where it was torn up in the streets of Painted Claw. “And how are we doing that exactly?”
“By trapping Maccus. Playing his game.” I go for the pile of clothes I left in here, pulling on each and every ring: bronze and gold stamped with triskeles or braided knots, emerald and sapphire and slate. “Tavin, you’ll send him a message. You still have his hair?”
“No. I lost my supply when we had to run.”
“Shite. What about Kiara?”
He nods, already reaching for his own bag with the conch shell. “What do I tell her?”
“Send the coordinates to the Scath-Díol.”
Tavin stops, fingers spread over the spiraling shell. “The total eclipse isn’t due. Not for months.”
“Not unless we try and summon it.”
His brows fly up. “The Gan Ainm told you—”
“Well, not in so many words.” I tear my hair out of the knot I’d dragged it into earlier and braid back a couple of strands instead. “They told me what was needed to take care of those who’d drink soulstones.”
“Fantastic. And?”
“It’s not viable.”
Tavin recoils, dark eyes squinting in confusion as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry?”
“It won’t work for us. Not now, not ever.”
“Because—”
“Because my wife’s not a feckin’ sacrifice!” I drag the rest of my things into my bag and latch it shut.
Tavin throws up his hands. “Obviously she’s not. But then why the Scath-Díol?”
“Saoirse and I have a theory—but honestly? If it’s all going to shite anyway, we’ll have an easier time murdering Maccus if we’re in the middle of the feckin’ sea. It’s our territory, aye?”
Lorcan looks from me to Tavin, then snorts. “Fair point.”
“Right. Gods—” Tavin lifts the shell, wrapping it carefully in a blanket. “The real question is, can we man a boat like this on a skeleton crew to get there?”
“Do you see any other choice?”
Lorcan runs a hand over the soft coils of his hair, grown longer since we left our ship behind. “All right. I’ll get the girls.”
“Do. And, Lorcan?” He stops in the doorway, shoulders wide enough to nearly fill it in, abdomen sculpted like a godsdamned statue’s. I look him over once, then shake my head with a grin. “Put a shirt on, would you? You put the rest of us to shame.”
—
An hour later, Saoirse, Brona, and Aisling join us at the end of the row of huts. The air we breathe comes easier. The chant of the Gan Ainm still rings in my mind.
But I ignore it—push it away as I face Saoirse and the others, folding my hands behind my back.
“It’s time to put this all to rights. Retrieve Kiara, Aidan, Callen. Put Maccus where he belongs. It’s time to give the relics back. To meet the Knowing Sea at last.”
Brona raises a brow, and Lorcan snorts. “Told you she wouldn’t go for it,” he mutters to me. Then, clearing his throat, he adds, “To meet the Knowing Sea or kill and dispose of Maccus without interference, assuming that we, ah, run into some difficulty summoning the source of all magic.”
“Excellently put. To the boat with you.”
The others start down the path, but I catch Saoirse’s hand before she joins them.
Bring her knuckles to my lips and close my eyes as I breathe her in.
A thousand more you’ll grant us, by age-old sacrifice.
Just split their bellies open, and bleed the stars dry.
Not on your feckin’ life.
But it doesn’t mean I wasn’t paying attention to the Gan Ainm’s tales. That I didn’t understand what I was meant to, about my parents and stories, legacy and love.
“Faolan? Are you all right?”
“I won’t let him take you.” I wince. “Won’t let anything.”
Her eyes warm and then soften before she smiles and pulls me close. “Then we’re in agreement.” She kisses me, long and slow, hand burying itself in my hair before finally, she lets me go.
“Let’s end this. Together.”