They started walking, the sun well past its zenith as they made their way through the valley toward the lake, escorted by the Fae on horseback. They paused briefly at one point to allow Aisling to climb onto Cillian’s back so he could carry her piggyback-style when she stumbled one too many times, looking dead on her feet. For all that she was tall, she didn’t weigh that much. Cillian couldn’t tell if that was because of his body or hers. He hadn’t yet had a chance to process the strangeness of the face that stared back at him in mirrors or the new strength in his hands.
“She could ride,” Niamh said. “Any of us would gladly give up a horse.”
“No, it’s fine,” Cillian said, not wanting Aisling out of reach. He knew Bran would feel the same way and didn’t bother to ask the other man’s opinion.
She fell asleep before they reached the lake, and Cillian didn’t have the heart to wake her to point out how beautiful and ethereal it was.The lake was so clear and blue, surrounded by large rolling green hills and dotted with trees along the shore. The road that wound past it was shaded in some areas, the dirt path leading them toward a castle that grew larger on the horizon with every step they took.
Cillian hadn’t traveled anywhere back home that had castles, so he didn’t have anything to compare this one to. It sat on top of a small mound beside the lakeshore, its gray stone walls and towers not taking away from the surrounding countryside. The roofs he could see were a dark blue, with pennants flying from the top of the two towers. They were too far away for him to make out the crest on them.
The dirt road turned into a stone drive once they got close. The horses’ hooves sounded louder on stone as their group was escorted up to the castle. Aisling was still asleep on his back, and Cillian was weirdly not tired yet from carrying her. He still held Bran’s leash, and he was glad for it when he saw the person waiting for them in the courtyard once they passed through the guarded gate.
The Fae lord stood alone, with no retinue to attend him. He was tall like all Fae seemed to be, with brown skin and dark hair twisted into locs that fell past his shoulders. He wore a deep green court coat elaborately decorated with gold embroidery over a fancier outfit than anyone in their party currently wore. He was more on the lean side than Carrick and Seamus, and he might have been weaponless, but Cillian wouldn’t believe he was helpless. His piercing amber eyes stared right at Cillian, the expression on his ridiculously handsome face something like relief.
“Cillian,” the Fae lord, who could only be Verlin, said. He spoke English with what Cillian would call an Irish accent if they were back home. “When Niamh scried to let me know of your return, I had thought she’d gone mad.”
“I am not the one haunted by ghosts,” Niamh retorted. She waved her crew on across the courtyard, and Seamus signaled the same for the Fae on horseback, who left through a different door that Cillian assumed led to stables. Soon, it was just their small group standing in the courtyard, Aisling’s soft, sleepy little snores echoing in Cillian’s ear. Seamus and Carrick moved to flank Verlin, but Niamh remained besideCillian.
“I’m not who you think I am,” Cillian said into the silence that settled between them.
“Niamh told me that, too,” Verlin said. He still bowed deeply, locs spilling over his shoulder from the motion, one fist resting over his heart. Seamus and Carrick bowed as well, and Cillian didn’t know what to do in the face of that show of respect he didn’t think was owed him. “Your memories might be missing, but you look exactly as I remember you.”
“I don’t know my own face right now.”
Verlin straightened, gaze meeting Cillian’s. “Perhaps with time, you will.”
“I don’t want to.” Cillian shook his head. “Look. I’m grateful to Niamh for getting us out of Ainmire’s hands, but we only came into the Otherworld to find Aisling. We have her now. We just want to go home.”
Verlin’s gaze flicked briefly to Aisling. “Yes, the herald.”
“She’s not a herald,” Bran said testily. “She’s my sister.”
“And it speaks.”
The condescending words and dismissive tone had ice forming beneath Cillian’s feet without him realizing it, sliding underneath everyone’s boots. The sun was still bright overhead, but the temperature dropped by at least twenty degrees. “Don’t talk about Bran like he’s athing. I’m tired of that shit.”
Verlin stared down at the ice covering half the courtyard, expression impossible to read. Then, he raised his gaze to meet Cillian’s eyes once more. “You used to not care about witches.”
“He cares for this one,” Niamh said quietly.
Verlin looked at Bran for the first time since they arrived, with none of the covetous want Cillian had seen in Ainmire’s eyes back in Tír na nÓg. “You have forgotten your history, my prince.”
“I’ve lived almost twenty-six years in Pelham. That’s the only history I know, and Bran is part of it,” Cillian snapped. Aisling stirred on his back, and Cillian winced as he realized his raised voice must have woken her. She lifted her head, nearly overbalancing before she remembered he was carrying her. She flailed for a second before her hands grabbed his shoulders again. Bran stepped closer, reaching for Aisling and helping her slideoff Cillian’s back. She flinched at the ice beneath her bare feet, and Cillian had half a thought to swing her up in his arms to keep her comfortable.
“Let’s go inside and talk. I instructed the servants to provide an early evening meal for us, and it should be ready,” Verlin said. He made an elegant gesture with his arm, entreating them to follow. Cillian still kept hold of Bran’s leash, not trusting the Fae even if they purported to be his allies. They clearly weren’t Bran’s.
Jupitercawedoverhead before finding a perch on the roof. Cillian eyed her for a moment. “How’s she doing?”
“Hungry,” Bran said. “She’ll find something to eat while we’re inside.”
They crossed the courtyard and passed through an ornate wooden door. Cillian expected the inside of the castle to match the outside with gray stone walls and flooring, but it didn’t. The floor underfoot was green-and-gold marble, the tall entryway flanked by gold pillars stretching down the long hallway. The walls and ceilings were covered in gilded wood with interspersed panels of richly colored wallpaper. It was such a startling juxtaposition from the bland exterior that for a moment, all Cillian could do was stare.
“This way,” Niamh prompted, getting him moving again.
Cillian didn’t see any servants on their way through the castle, which he thought was odd. A structure this size should have had people around to keep it clean and running, but they passed no one on their way to a large drawing room decorated in white, gold leaf, and a blue that reminded him of the lake beyond the castle walls. The elaborately designed furniture looked uncomfortable, but when he gingerly sat on a couch, the cushion was soft.
A side table practically overflowed with food laid out on trays and other serving dishes. Aisling craned her neck around to stare at it, and no one missed the way her stomach growled. Cillian didn’t know the last time she’d eaten, but he wasn’t about to deny her anything. He handed the leash back to Bran, tilting his head toward the side table. “Get her something to eat, but make sure she eats it slowly and in small amounts. We don’t want her getting sick from it.”
Bran nodded. “You want anything?”
