“They will have one. Why do you need it?”
“Because I can use it to pinpoint Aisling’s location.”
“We have maps on the ship.”
“Ones that show the wyrding?”
Niamh frowned. “No.”
“I need accuracy.” He didn’t know where Aisling was—in one of the Four Lands or the wyrding—but he needed a map that would show everything.
“If the village has what Bran needs, then we’ll use it,” Cillian said, heading off the argument Bran could feel building.
Niamh sighed. “If we must travel inland, I will instructmy first mate to sail north after some of the crew have traded at the market. I don’t want the Dagda’s hunters to detain them.”
“Will he know where we are?”
“Ainmire and Etain would have made it to Murias by now and given their report to the Summer Court. I am doubtful the Dagda will let the situation be known publicly.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are Fae in the Four Lands who believe he went too far with what happened in the Winter Court. If it is known you survived? That would complicate things. He will not want to advertise his failure.”
Bran didn’t know what to believe, and he hoped Cillian wouldn’t take what Niamh said at face value. Fae weren’t to be trusted. Bran had grown up believing that, internalizing it, but now, everything he’d learned beside his mother was thrown into question when it came to Cillian. His mind and heart were jumping through hoops to separate Cillian from every other Fae in existence.
“You gave Cillian a hat. I don’t know if that will be enough to hide him,” Bran said.
Niamh eyed them both critically. “The skin you say he wore made him appear mortal. I do not want to cast glamour on him to try to change his appearance. That is not my strength.”
“Can you keep people from noticing him?”
“They will notice him because of you.”
“I already said I’d keep my mouth shut.”
“Niamh,” Cillian said quietly. “Please. Do what you have to.”
She grimaced but still raised her hands. “Very well. I will make it so others notice those around you who are not the witch first.”
Bran tensed, wanting to protest. They didn’t have the greatest track record with Fae magic. Cillian braced himself, but Niamh’s magic, when she cast it, was a soft glow that spun around his wrists and head before disappearing.
“How do you feel?” Bran asked.
Cillian tilted his head a bit. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“I would never harm you,” Niamh saidstiffly.
Neither of them said anything to that, and Niamh left with a sigh to take charge of her crew. TheBone Breakersailed into the cove, and the crew laid anchor, winching a pair of boats into the water filled with crates. Bran gripped the edge of the bench he and Cillian sat in as the boat finally splashed into the sea. The crew rowed them to shore with a skill he could appreciate more once the hull of the boat dug into wet sand. Bran scrambled onto the beach, staring up at the rocky cliff. This close, he could see the stone steps carved like a switchback road into the cliffside.
He didn’t see any railings.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not afraid of heights,” Bran muttered.
Cillian laughed, but he still looked concerned, staring at the cliffside. “Yeah. Me too.”
The other Fae in the two boats hauled crates and trunks to the shore. Niamh checked in with everyone, speaking in their language, so Bran didn’t know what her orders were. She approached them after a few minutes, nodding in the direction of the cliffside. “The trade village is up there. My crew will set up in the market square while we check their records for a map so you can do what you need to, witch.”
“He has a name,” Cillian said testily.
