“Did my mom ever find out what you were?” Bran asked.
The Mórrígan shook her head. “No. She never knew about Cillian. I made sure of it.”
“Did she know about Aisling?”
“Juliana was a witch, but in all the time I watched her, she never went into the wyrding. She never called for your Council. She only kept the lights at bay and kept her son safe. That was a restraint I did not think a witch would ever have, but she did.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Isn’t it?”
Bran hunched his shoulders. “She always stressed our job as witches was to protect Pelham.”
“There are many ways one can twist an order.” The Mórrígan glanced at Scáthach, the pair sharing a look Cillian couldn’t read. “Bean sí are rare. When they are born, they belong to the Court of the land they are found in. Scáthach brought the infant bean sí to me instead, and I ordered her to give the babe to the witch.”
“Why?”
“I belong to no Court. My life is meant for my students. But I did not care for the Dagda’s ruination of the Winter Court. When I found the bean sí in Tech Duinn, her parents refused to send her to the Winter Court and solidify Medb’s rule. They gave their child and their lives to me, and I knew the only place to keep her out of the Dagda’s hands was in the mortal world,” Scáthach said.
“Their lives,” Cillian echoed, tensing. “You killed them?”
“They wanted their daughter safe. They could not ensure her safety if they were alive for Medb to break.”
A queasiness settled in his gut, and Cillian swallowed against it. He looked at Bran, who appeared just as nauseated at the thought of what Scáthach had done.
“The bean sí would have been used to enshrine Medb in the Winter Court, forever removing Cillian’s claim to it,” the Mórrígan said.
“Aisling has a name,” Bran said hoarsely.
“Yes. The witch gave it to her,” Scáthach said.
Bran stood and stepped away from the couch and out of reach. Cillian wanted to pull him back and hold him tight, but the antsy way Bran paced told him it was probably best to let the other man move around. “So you gave Aisling to my mother. You had to know it could have ended wrong.”
The Mórrígan arched an eyebrow. “You think your mother so cruel?”
“My mother isdead.”
“Juliana knew what Aisling was, and yet, she still took Aisling in and loved her as she loved you. She didn’t blame a babe for someone else’s supposed crimes.”
“She never told me.” Bran halted in the middle of the living room, staring at a point in the distance. “I don’t remember her being pregnant.”
“She was raising you to be a witch. She couldn’t risk a child spilling the secret of her transgression.”
“What did you do?”
The Mórrígan hummed, staring at Bran, and Cillian had the strange urge to stand between them. “What makes you think I did anything?”
“You’re Fae?—”
“And your mother was a witch. Pelham was her town to guard. What makes you think I was the one who altered your memories? That I would risk mine and Cillian’s cover in such a way as to use magic on a witch’s child?”
The disbelief and horror that crossed Bran’s face had Cillian finally rising to his feet. He closed the distance between them, putting his hands on Bran’s shoulders. “Hey. Look at me. Your mom wouldn’t ever hurt you.”
Bran’s hazel eyes were watery with unshed tears. Cillian wished, right then, that he could take Bran’s grief and bury it where it wouldn’t hurt. “She used magic to make me believe she’d given birth to Aisling.”
“She’s still your sister.”
“Iknowthat.” Bran dragged a hand over his eyes, lashes clumping wetly together. “I’m not going to stop loving Aisling just because my mother lied about what she was.”
