Cillian couldn’t help the way his fingers dug into Bran’s shoulders. “And me?”
Bran rolled his eyes, but he didn’t try to pull away. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Cillian tugged Bran forward, wrapping his arms around the shorter man. Bran tucked his head beneath Cillian’s chin, his breath hot against the hollow of Cillian’s throat. He wanted nothing more than to keep Bran safe from all the hurt in his heart but knew that was an impossible task.
“I warned you this would be a problem,” Scáthach said, staring at the Mórrígan with a disappointed glare.
“I know,” the Mórrígan said, soft and resigned, staring at them with something like regret in her eyes. “I knew then when they first met what the witch would be to my son.”
Cillian tightened his arms around Bran, refusing to let go, even as Bran raised his head. “What are you talking about?”
Scáthach sighed. “A weakness.”
Cillian frowned, staring at his mother. He thought about everything that had been cracked open in his life, all the secrets that had been revealed, and the history of a past he’d barely scratched the surface of. “Verlin thinks Bran is my mate.”
The Mórrígan smiled tightly. “Verlin is not wrong. I knew you would love Bran, and he you, and that you would be bound to each other. I thought—if I had to let you grow up a second time, why not do so here, in this town, where a witch could maybe see you for yourself before he saw you as the enemy?”
Bran’s fingers twisted in the back of Cillian’s shirt before he sighed and let go, shifting so they could both face everyone else. “You didn’t want me to hate Cillian.”
“I know what it is like to lose a mate, to feel the other half of one’s soul be ripped away forever. I did not want that for my son. So yes, I let you be friends. I gave you Jupiter. I gave Aisling to Juliana when Scáthach would have preferred I raise her. I tied you as best I could to the core of my son, hoping you wouldn’t hate him when it mattered.”
“I don’t,” Bran said after a moment, voice a rasp in Cillian’s ears. “I couldn’t.”
“I know.”
Cillian felt a little sick at the thought he might not have had a choice of who he loved, but whatever anger he had for his mother’s machinations didn’t burn hotter than embers. Because Cillian had lived his life without Bran for seven years, and he never wanted to suffer through that ache again.
He couldn’t hate his mother for making sure he never did.
“And my coven’s grimoire?” Bran asked, looking at Scáthach. “How did you come into possession of it?”
“Your mother gave it to me,” Scáthach said with a careless shrug.
“She’d never willingly give our history and power to the Fae.”
Scáthach smiled, the curve of her mouth sharp like a knife. “She would if it would keep her children safe. I heard rumors an incursion into a witch’s territory was imminent, and when I learned the location was here, I came to warn the Mórrígan, only I couldn’t find her. So I warned the witch, and she remembered me. She gave me the grimoire of her own free will to keep it safe.”
“But not Aisling?”
“Your mother would give up her magic, but she would never give up her daughter.”
Bran made a wounded sound that had Cillian wrapping his arm around Bran’s waist and pulling him close. He looked at his mother, exhaustion tugging at his limbs. “What now? Ainmire and Etain know I’m alive, which means the Dagda has to know. They might not know where I am, but Cernunnos does. And I don’t—I’m not who everyone thinks I am.”
The Mórrígan smiled sadly at him, but there was love in her eyes, and that wasn’t a lie. “I know. Chaos bound your body and your mind. But you’re older now than you were. You can fight.”
The problem was Cillian didn’t know if he wanted to.
“I think it’s been a long day. A long week,” Cillian said after a moment, reluctantly pulling away from Bran. “I think we all need some sleep.”
His mother nodded and got to her feet. “I’ll take Niamh and Seamus home with me. We can talk more in the morning.”
“Seamus needs to return to Verlin.”
“I wish I did not have to return alone,” Seamus said quietly.
Cillian said nothing to that, and Seamus didn’t press the issue about staying. He’d already promised he would return to the Otherworld, and so he left with the others. The Mórrígan was the last out the door, but not before she paused by Cillian to tuck some of his hair behind his ear and press a kiss to his cheek.
“My ravens will guard the Shoppe,” she promised. “Get some rest.”
