“Whatever you’re eating, if it looks safe.” It already looked better than the food Ainmire had fed him.
Bran took a wide berth around the Fae, escorting Aisling to the side table. Cillian watched them start to fill their plates with food before returning his attention back to the other four. Niamh had taken a seat in a chair next to the couch he sat on, while Verlin perched on the opposite couch, a rectangular wooden table with gold trim between them. Verlin folded his hands together over his lap, staring at Cillian without blinking. The weight of his attention was more than a little disconcerting.
The pair came back a few minutes later with two plates filled with food, Bran’s having more than his sister. Bread, various cheeses, savory sausage rolls, and tiny berry tarts covered their plates. Aisling already had crumbs on her lips, chewing fast.
“Take it slow,” Cillian reminded her.
Aisling scrunched her nose at him and nodded, then proceeded to ignore him by shoving a berry tart into her mouth like any normal teenager would. Bran sighed and passed Cillian his plate before taking Aisling’s, holding it hostage in the face of her pout. “Sit.”
She took the far spot on the couch, leaving Bran to sit between her and Cillian. The end of Bran’s leash was tucked into his pocket again, the metal chain out of the way as he started to eat. Cillian kept the plate steady, popping a triangle of soft cheese into his mouth. It tasted like a garlicky brie, rich in a way he liked. The Fae let them eat for a couple of minutes before Verlin cleared his throat.
“Niamh said you have no memory of your life in Tech Duinn,” Verlin said.
“None,” Cillian agreed, looking at the Fae lord.
“You truly don’t remember me?”
“She said you were my right hand, but I still don’t know what that means. If you’re like Etain, then I don’t want to know you.”
Verlin reared back a little. “I was—am—your most trusted companion. My House has been allied with yours for centuries.”
“But you weren’t there when the Dagda took him,” Bran said.
Cillian couldn’t tell if the flash of anger that crossed Verlin’s face was because Bran spoke or his words. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
“No, you don’t. But you have to explain yourself to Cillian,” Bran said before taking a bite of the sausage roll. He looked down at it in surprise. “This is good.”
“Is it?” Cillian reached for the other sausage roll. He sank his teeth into the flaky crust and the spicy meat inside, thinking Bran was right. Itwasgood. “Better than anything Ainmire gave me.”
Bran grimaced. “Sorry.”
Cillian shifted so he could press his thigh against Bran’s in a comforting way. “You have nothing to apologize for. You kept me fed even when I told you to go find Aisling.”
Bran shot him a withering look. “I wasn’t leaving you with that bastard.”
“You bargained for Cillian’s safety?” Verlin asked sharply.
“Ainmire knew who Cillian was before we did. He kept me in line by threatening Cillian. I think he was only humoring me when I bargained to keep Cillian fed.” Bran touched the collar, a troubled look in his eyes. “He could have killed me anytime he liked.”
“If he had, then he would not have needed Etain to break through Cillian’s glamour to reveal his skin and regain his magic. Your death would have been enough of a catalyst, and I think Ainmire knew that,” Niamh said.
“Yes, I can see that,” Verlin said, eyeing the plate Cillian and Bran were sharing.
Cillian passed a berry tart to Bran. “Do all Fae talk in riddles?”
“You were one of the best when it mattered.”
“I’m not that person.”
“Yes, I see that, too.” Verlin sounded wistful, almost mournful, as he met Cillian’s gaze. “But you came back to us, and I will not be regretful of that, even if you have no memory of your life before. If there is a way to reverse that part of the spell, then we must try.”
“Whoa, wait,” Bran said. “Messing with someone’s mind is powerful magic. Cillian says he doesn’t remember. Maybe you should accept and respect that and back off.”
“The glamour hid that he was Fae. Theremust be some other element in play if it took his memories as well. If one can be reversed, then so can the other. It needs to be if he is to survive.”
“Ihavememories,” Cillian snapped. “Of my life growing up in Pelham. Of going to school with Bran. Of beinghuman.”
“But you aren’t.”
