“I don’t have any magic,” Cillian automatically said.
Niamh walked across the ice with an ease Cillian was a little wary of. She set the tray down on his blanket-covered lap, gesturing at it. “Eat. We still have a ways to sail.”
The food was simple fare: slices of bread, dried fruit, a hard cheese, and a bowl of seafood soup that was more broth than anything else. There was enough for two, but Cillian wasn’t sure how easy it would be for Bran to chew right now.
“Can you bring something to help with Bran’s wounds?” Cillian asked. “And then get us to shore. We need to find Aisling.”
Niamh frowned at him, one hand on her hip. “Why? You must know she is dead.”
“I’m not going to believe that unless I see her body,” Bran bit out, pale-faced with anger around his bruises.
“And where do you think to look for her after all this time?”
“I can find her.” Cillian’s eye was drawn to the way Bran touched the bracelet around his wrist and how areas of his tattoos seemed to shine bright for a second. “I just need to be on land to do it.”
“We’re going even if we have to dive overboard,” Cillian warned.
Niamh shot him an exasperated look. “You are still so stubborn. Like an unmovable glacier.”
“Then take us to shore.”
He stared at her expectantly, wondering if she would listen. And maybe there was something to being this Winter Prince after all because Niamh’s shoulders fell when she sighed, giving in. “Very well, my prince.”
She left, presumably to give her crew their new orders and hopefully bring something back that would take away Bran’s pain. Cillian looked down at the tray of food, wondering if he could even choke any of it down with the way his stomach felt. He set the tray aside, meetingBran’s gaze as the ice on the floor started to fade, the same way it had back in that cell. “We’ll find your sister, and then we’ll get back home.”
Because Cillian didn’t care what anyone said about him or this place. Home was Pelham and the forest he patrolled as a ranger. Home was the people he knew and had grown up with.
Cillian would get them back there to make a life with Bran, even if it killed him.
Chapter Seventeen
Bran followed Cillian up the narrow stairs to the deck above hours later, ducking his head against the wind filling the sails. The sound of the crew calling to each other momentarily paused as they came onto the deck. Bran shielded his eyes with one hand, squinting against the sunlight at the shore some distance away. In the middle of the day, with clear skies, the pitch of the ship wasn’t as terrible as it had been last night when motion sickness had been a constant companion. Right now, the waves didn’t look too bad, but he wasn’t a sailor, so he couldn’t say.
The crew stared at them—well, they stared at Cillian. They glared at Bran if they even bothered to look his way. Cillian noticed, judging by the way his mouth firmed and he stepped closer to Bran, still a little wobbly on his feet. Bran put a hand on his arm to steady him, and he swore several of the Fae started reaching for some hidden weapons.
“I’m all right,” Cillian said.
“If you face-plant on the deck, everyone is going to blame me,” Bran muttered.
Cillian tossed a smile his way, and Bran found himself wanting to stare into Cillian’s eyes and look away in equal parts. He was so different yet exactly the same—still tall, still the same stormy blue-gray eyes, butthere was a presence around him now that was impossible to ignore. A kind of magnetism every Fae seemed to possess, but Bran noticed Cillian more than anyone. He always had.
“My prince,” Niamh called out, clattering down the stairs from the wheelhouse and coming over to them. “You should not be up.”
“I’m fine,” Cillian said. “I wanted to see where we were heading.”
Niamh ignored Bran, which shouldn’t have bothered him. All the Fae in the Otherworld treated witches and mortals like servants or worse. The only reason Bran wasn’t dead or forced into servitude on the ship was because of Cillian.
Acawfrom above had Bran looking up, automatically raising his arm to give Jupiter something to land on. The raven flew toward him between the sails, wings flapping for balance as she angled her taloned feet to grip his forearm with a gentleness few people realized she had. He hefted her close, smoothing two fingers over the feathers on her head as shecawedat him in greeting. She blinked her starry black eyes at him before leaning close to preen his dirty hair.
“Yes, yes, I know. I need a shower,” Bran said.
He smoothed his hand down her back, scratching between the feathers there, before lifting his arm a little higher so she could hop to his shoulder. Jupiter’s weight was familiar after so many years of carrying her, as was the way she kept preening his hair. When he finally looked away from his familiar, he found Niamh studying him through narrowed eyes, and she wasn’t the only Fae doing so.
“She’s not hurt?” Cillian asked, reaching around to pet Jupiter.
Bran tugged at the bond, the connection soft and open between him and his familiar. “No, she’s fine.”
“How did she even know who to go to for help?”
