“Nope, we’re not talking about this when I’m not even dressed,”Bran hastily said, trying not to feel embarrassed. “I’m up. Go get dressed, and we’ll come get you when we’re ready.”
She couldn’t speak, but she gave him a thumbs-up before darting back out of the bedroom to hers right across the hall. Cillian closed the door behind her, looking a little red in the face. At least Bran wasn’t the only one feeling judged by a thirteen-year-old.
He got out of bed, and they both hastily dressed in the set of clothes servants had set aside. Bran put his bracelet back on, absently touching a finger to one of the beads. Cillian’s outfit was far more elaborate this time around than even the sort Verlin had worn to greet them. The glacial blue court coat, matching pants, and crisp white shirt made Cillian’s eyes stand out. His pale gray boots were knee-high and matched the style Bran had been given, even if his own outfit was far duller than Cillian’s. The brown and cream clothing clearly put him in the category of servant.
Once dressed, Cillian turned toward the side table to retrieve the leash. Bran swallowed a sigh and tilted his head back, giving Cillian room to clip it to the collar. He sighed a little at the sound of the click, knowing he should hate the intended degradation of both, but he couldn’t, not when Cillian held the leash.
Cillian bent his head and kissed him softly. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I’ll keep this one the same way I’ll keep you.” Bran shivered at his words and let Cillian tuck the end of the leash into Bran’s pocket before taking his hand. “Let’s get some food and then go home.”
They left the bedroom, finding Aisling waiting for them in the hallway, hopping around with Jupiter in a game that made no sense to Bran. The dress she wore had a high collar and puffy short sleeves, falling to her ankles in gauzy layers from an empire waist. She looked up at their arrival and frowned at Bran. She gestured at her own throat, then pointed at him.
“Ah.” Bran touched the leash dangling from the collar. “You know how we always said Fae and witches are enemies? Well, it’s true. They don’t like witches all that much in the Otherworld.”
“The collar is mine. It’s to keep Bran safe. As soon as we’re back home, he can take it off,” Cillian said.
The momentary visceral rejection Bran felt at those words startled him. Ducking his head, he hid his discomfort by kneeling and holding his arm out to Jupiter. The familiar hopped over to him, and he lifted her up to his shoulder. She preened his hair as he stood, her presence a soothing thing in the back of his mind.
Aisling picked up her notebook and pen from the floor and pointed down the hallway with a questioning look on her face. Bran shrugged. “Let’s see where it leads.”
They realized fairly quickly they had no idea where to go. Luckily, a servant saw them a few minutes later, curtsying deeply to Cillian, nodding at Aisling, and completely ignoring Bran. He tried not to feel annoyed about that and kept silent as Cillian asked for directions. The servant took it upon herself to lead them to a grand dining hall decked out in reds and oranges and gold, looking like autumn had thrown up in the space.
The table was already set, with three empty place settings on one side of the long dining table. Verlin sat at the head, with Seamus to his right and Carrick to his left. Niamh sat next to Carrick and greeted them with a small smile, the only one to do so.
“I hope you all feel refreshed and the rooms were to your liking last night,” Verlin said.
“It was nice to sleep in a real bed,” Cillian said after a moment.
Verlin gestured at the seats meant for them. “Please, join us for the morning meal.”
Cillian took the chair next to Niamh, and Bran sat beside him. Aisling hopped onto the one next to Bran, setting her notebook and pen on the table. She used both hands to tuck her long hair behind her ears before reaching for her water glass. Bran leaned over to speak softly into her ear. “I know you’re hungry, but eat slow.”
He still didn’t know all that she had gone through since being kidnapped from the Shoppe. She’d been too tired yesterday to write much after her bath, and Bran had wanted her to get some rest. He’d stayed with her until she fell asleep and had meant to go back to her room after speaking with Cillian, but, well. He’d been distracted.
He still was, if he was being honest. The faint ache in his ass was a reminder of last night he couldn’t ignore, and Bran shifted discreetly on the cushioned chair.
Aisling reached for the serving utensil and started poking around the plates and platters in the middle of the table. It was definitely a hearty spread, with pan-fried sausages, small pastries that could have been filled with savory or sweet fillings, fried potatoes and onions, a tureen of porridge, and fresh sliced fruit. Tiny rolled omelets were piled on a plate, and Bran went for those first. Cillian passed him a teapot, and Bran poured out a nice-smelling amber-colored tea for himself and Aisling. It tasted like toasted nuts and honey when he sipped it.
The Fae were nice enough to wait until the three of them had served themselves and eaten a little of the food before initiating conversation. Verlin took the lead, clearly the one in charge of their group. He was dressed just as elegantly as Cillian, in a shade of darker blue that complemented Cillian’s outfit. Some of his locs had been tied back with glittering strands of thin silver chains.
“I researched the geas last night,” Verlin said as he cut apart a sausage. “It is an older one and rarely used.”
Bran looked up from his plate and stared at the Fae lord. “Can it be reversed?”
Verlin’s eyes flicked to Cillian before he answered, and Bran tamped down his annoyance. He had a feeling the Fae were including him at the table only because of Cillian’s wishes. “The only way to reverse it is to return her voice, which means we must locate it first.”
“We believe her voice is in Cernunnos’ possession,” Niamh said.
Bran abruptly lost his appetite. He set his fork down and rested his elbows against the edge of the table, dragging a hand through his hair. “If he has her voice, he won’t stop looking for her.”
“Will he come here?” Cillian asked.
Verlin tipped his head in Cillian’s direction. “He might try, but Cernunnos is of the Summer Court. He would need to find a reason to visit the Winter Court, and Medb has always been wary of his aspirations.”
“What if he travels through the shadow paths in the wyrding?Wouldn’t the wyrding hide his comings and goings? He was keeping Aisling prisoner there,” Bran said.
