The words were like a slap, making Cillian rear back a little, the plate wavering on his thigh. Bran grabbed for it, keeping it from falling, and set it on the table. “Just because Cillian looks Fae doesn’t mean he’s one of you.”
Verlin cast him a derisive look. “You know nothing of our ways.”
“I know you keep witches as pets and little more than slaves. I know you break my people. I know Cillian isn’t like that.”
“You purport to know him for a handful of decades when we have known him for centuries.”
“But he doesn’t remember, and I won’t let you rip apart his mind like Etain ripped apart his body to get to something that might not even exist anymore.”
“Bran is right,” Cillian cut in before the argument got any more heated. “I don’t know any of you, and from what I’ve seen of the Otherworld, I’m not sure I want to.”
Verlin flinched, those amber eyes snapping back to meet his. “You cannot mean that.”
Cillian shrugged. “My home isn’t here. I don’t know your politics or your culture. You want me to play the part of your prince, and I think that’s the best way for you to lose. For all intents and purposes, I’m human. I didn’t even know witches with real magic existed until a few days ago.”
“Yet you are…friends with one.”
Cillian glanced at Bran, who stared back at him with a fierceness he remembered when they were children and facing off against other kids on the playground. “I grew up with Bran. I know him, and he knows me, better than anyone. You Fae think of witches as pets, and he’s not that.”
“He wears your collar.”
“Yes, because Niamh said that was the only way to keep him safe. But Bran can do what he likes when he’s with me, and Fae are going tohave to just deal with that.” It didn’t matter that they hadn’t spoken for seven years. The moment they’d been reunited, they’d stumbled back into standing side by side against the world again. That gaping hole in his heart had filled up, and it was like he could finally breathe again. Cillian had missed his best friend, but he had Bran back now, and he wasn’t about to let the other man go again. The thought of doing so was ruinous.
Verlin turned his head to meet Carrick’s eye, a silent conversation passed along in that glance. Carrick arched an eyebrow, the motion tugging at the scar between his eyes, before shrugging. “Ainmire and Etain know he’s alive, and that means the Dagda will know as well. But the Wild Hunt stole them from Tír na nÓg, and no one will trace that back to us.”
“Cernunnos can.”
“He won’t. He had a herald and hid her in the wyrding. He had no intention of handing her over to the Dagda.” Carrick looked over at Aisling, his eyes narrowing. “She carries a geas of silence on her.”
Aisling paused with a berry tart halfway to her mouth. She shot Bran and Cillian a frantic look before Bran wrapped his arm around her thin shoulders. “You can see it?”
“Yes.”
“Cernunnos killed our mother and Aisling’s father.” Bran’s voice cracked a little, and Cillian touched a hand to his lower back as a form of comfort. “Aisling got away, but Cernunnos attacked us at home later on and kidnapped her.”
Verlin stood, coming around the table to them. He gestured at Aisling, eyes on Cillian. “May I check her over?”
Cillian raised an eyebrow. “I’m not the one you should be asking.”
“The answer is no,” Bran said before Verlin could ask again.
“I mean her no harm,” Verlin said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Would you have her suffer? If you had the power to lift the geas, you would have done so already.”
Bran glared at the Fae, still holding Aisling close. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you touch her.”
“I won’t harm her. I swear by my House.”
“That doesn’t mean anything to me.”
Verlin shot Cillian an exasperated look, clearly biting back words he knew would only piss Cillian off. “You say you want to return to the mortal world? How will she fare without her voice?”
“Mutism exists,” Cillian said.
“She had a voice. Would you not want to give it back to her?”
