“Cernunnos won’t. He conspires against the Dagda. Why else seek out a herald? He will not confess to going behind his king’s back in order to steal his crown.”
“What herald?” Cillian croaked.
Carrick frowned, gaze dropping to Aisling, who still wasn’t looking at any of them. “The bean sí. Is that not why you wanted to rescue her?”
“I wanted to rescue her because she’s mysister,” Bran rasped, eyes wide with shock. “She’s not Fae.”
Carrick gave him a scornful look. “For a witch, you truly are blind.”
Aisling squeezed Bran tighter, shaking her head in silent denial. Cillian forced himself upright, resting a hand on her head. “It’s all right. If you’re like me, Bran will still love you.”
He felt Bran jerk at that, but the other man didn’t pull away. Bran stared at him, mouth pressed into a hard line, but it was telling he didn’t argue. All he did was hold Aisling closer, refusing to let her go, the same way he’d refused to leave Cillian behind in Ainmire’s estate.
And Bran calledhimstubborn.
“The shadow paths await,” Niamh said pointedly.
They left that pocket of winter and retraced the way back through the wyrding. Bran and Aisling walked beside him, all three of them huddled close, surrounded by Fae that Cillian wasn’t sure they could trust, no matter the kindness shown so far.
Chapter Twenty
They came out of the wyrding not in a forest this time but a valley between two mountains, stumbling between large rocks and boulders as the afternoon sun overhead burned away the fog. The cold from the wyrding disappeared the farther they got from that blight in the countryside.
“Where are we?” Cillian asked, squinting as he shielded his eyes against the sunlight with one hand. He could see a lake in the distance and mountains beyond, the land a riot of lush greens and rich browns, trees scattered in thick clusters. The air smelled of living things, and after hours in the wyrding and the shadow paths that only smelled of rot, he breathed it in gratefully.
“Gleann Bheatha,” Niamh said. “The country home of Verlin’s House. He is expecting us.”
She pointed ahead of them as they walked, and Cillian could see a smudge on the other side of the valley that rapidly grew into individual horses. The Fae in their group didn’t seem afraid, no one reaching for weapons, but Cillian wasn’t one to trust them completely. He dug out the end of the leash from Bran’s pocket, ignoring the tired but annoyed glance the other man tossed his way.
“When we get to wherever we are going, you’re taking this damn thing off,” Bran said, gesturing at the collar around his throat with one hand.
Cillian tried not to look at it, rubbing his thumb against the thin metal chain wrapped around his fingers. He did his damnedest to ignore the hot feeling in his gut that came from the sight of Bran collared and leashed, telling himself it was wrong to wonder what Bran would look like on his knees. “If it’s safe.”
Bran huffed at him but didn’t argue, turning his head to mutter something to Aisling, who had yet to stop clinging to her brother. Dried tear tracks streaked over her dirty cheeks, and her long white-blonde hair was a knotted mess, bits of leaves and twigs tangled in it. Cillian was so incredibly glad they had found her, but they didn’t know what she had endured. She still couldn’t talk—Bran had told them about the geas on her throat on the walk out of the wyrding—and her forced silence made Cillian want to inflict the same sort of terror on Cernunnos.
Everyone seemed to think she was Fae, though her ears were rounded like Bran’s. If she wore mortal skin like Cillian once had, he didn’t want her to experience the pain of having it ripped from her. Bran wasn’t treating her any differently, though, even if the other Fae were. They looked at Aisling with equal parts wonder and calculation in their eyes, and Cillian didn’t trust what that might mean. Aisling was barely a teenager. He wouldn’t let her or her brother be harmed, not if he had anything to say about it.
And he would, it seemed, far sooner than he thought as that group of Fae soldiers thundered closer on their horses, dust kicking up behind them. They were all armored and armed, the crests painted on their chest plates that of a fox within a circle of flowering vines. The lead rider let out a shout in the Fae language that Niamh responded to in kind. Bran stepped closer to Cillian, bringing Aisling with him. Cillian pressed his free hand to Bran’s back, keeping the leash clenched tight in his other.
Niamh turned away from the rider and tilted her head in Cillian’s direction. “They’ll escort us to the castle. It is perhaps an hour’s walk from here along the shore of the lake.”
“A castle?” Cillian asked dubiously.
“It belongs to Verlin’s House and is far from the viper’s nest that is Gorias these days with Medb on the throne.”
“Is it safe?” Bran asked.
The Fae on the horse said something sharp, his tone not one Cillian cared for. Niamh didn’t react other than to speak over her shoulder at him. The deep frown the Fae sent Bran’s way didn’t sit well with Cillian. “What is he saying?”
“He wonders why the witch speaks out of turn. I explained you have him on a long leash.”
“It’s actually pretty short, but I know that’s not what you meant. Tell everyone that Bran isn’t to be treated like a servant or a pet. I won’t stand for that.”
It was Niamh’s turn to frown at him, but Cillian stared her down until she complied. He couldn’t understand what she told the newly arrived Fae but could only hope it was the exact order he’d given her.
“Thanks,” Bran muttered, jaw tight when Cillian glanced at him.
“Don’t thank me for that.” Cillian still held Bran’s leash, and that was a cultural aspect of the Otherworld he didn’t think he’d ever get over.
