Loch.
“Is that why you don’t have staff at the castle?” I ask.
Siobhán shrugs. “With our uncle keeping the magic for his distillery, we got less and less torunour Holiday. The staff and court’ve been slipping away for years. Malachy gives magic to the ones he wants to keep close, but the rest have faded out, and we do na have magic to help with the resources we need in the castle.”
“Wait. You’re saying no one runs St. Patrick’s Day? What does your uncle do?”
“Fucks off in Dublin with his distillery. Shows up at the big parade every year to let people adore him, as if he deserves any of it. Pops in on occasion to check the joy meter and yell about how he does na have enough magic.” She scowls at one of the Green Hills Distillery banners. “Oh, and plasters his adverts on every eventLochcoordinates. Like this race? Malachy’d canceled it years ago. But Loch started it up again last year, and it was a big success. Malachy got right livid with Loch for daring to go against him, but he let Loch keep this race on account of it bringing in more magic. Only he took credit for it, slathering his distillery over everything.”
A picture is starting to form. And it isn’t at all what I expected. It makes my heart rate spike, or maybe it never calmed at all from the run and fall, so it’s banging even harsher now, quaking my chest apart.
“But Loch should be king,” I try. “Why isn’t he?”
Siobhán’s eyes dip over my shoulder.
Loch is talking with a police officer. The press are hovering near him.
“He took it hard when our da died,” she whispers. “He’s alwayscarried too much. He’s a brilliant idiot and an artist to boot so he’s doomed to burn out one day. Uncle Malachy used that against him, pushed our court to believe he wasunreliable.Loch was so young, plus reckless and silly, before Da died, so they believed Malachy.Lochbelieved Malachy. He surrendered the rule on the idea that Malachy would give it back once Loch’sworthy,but we know now, that’ll be never. Which is a heap of bullshite—you saw all the artists’ booths there, yeah?”
She points to the area behind the race registration tent. Where I’d seen Loch talking to the vendors.
“Before Malachy canceled this event, it was a charity race. When Loch brought it back, he got the organizers to bring in local artists, made it a proper large fundraising festival. It’s a celebration now, with Irish artisans and musicians. Loch does stuff of that sort all across the isle while Malachy takes credit. He runs circles round Malachy.”
I press the pad of my thumb between my eyebrows, fighting down a headache—from my fall, from the tension in my shoulders, from this finally making sense in the worst way possible.
I really, really wanted Loch to be the thieving jackass.
He could be. Maybe he’s stealing Christmas’s magic to compensate for his uncle’s stranglehold. But wouldn’t Loch be doing more with magic then? He’s barely using anything.
Malachy’s the one stealing from us, isn’t he? His own Holiday wasn’t enough anymore.
“So—” I shake my head and lower my voice. “That’s what my being here and all this press shit is—he’s trying to change his court’s opinion of him to take back the throne?”
Siobhán looks skyward, pleadingly. “Let it be so. Finn and I both were shocked off our arses when Loch told us he’d planned you coming for the week, and planned more having the tabloids so involved. He’s not told us his reasoning because he’s a grumpy fuck, but we’re hopeful this means he’stryingto replace Malachy.” She glares at me. “I know you’ve got no reason to give a shite, but you’re here, and so help me, Christmas Prince, if ya bring more stress on my brother—”She stops. Considers. “Do ya know what happens to a body when it’s buried in a peat bog?”
“I… I do not.”
“Well. Make trouble for Lochlann, and you’ll find out firsthand. I told ya this for a reason. Ya need to understand him. He lets Malachy take credit and walk all over him, and Finn and I are propersickof people thinking the worst of him. I like you, Kris. You could be good for him. Getting him out of his head like ya do.”
Goodfor him? We’re not friends, and we damn near kill each other in every conversation we have.
I thought Finn had the whole terrifying-sister angle on lock. But the real threat is Siobhán, hiding behind that bubbly façade.
I manage to clear my throat. “I don’t want to make things harder on anyone. But I’m not sure how useful of a… of areal allyI can be.”
“Hm.” She considers me, her eyes toying. “You’ve got a point. You are a right eejit sometimes.”
“Okay, that’s harsh—”
“Why’d ya trip on the road, eh? It’s a paved path.” Her eyebrows lift expectantly.
I think she means that only a dumbass would trip on flat pavement.
But I remember Loch’s laugh. The way it’d sent me toppling over.
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “Fine. I relent. I’m aneejit.”
She grins and jostles my shoulder.
