“There is a chance he will be on the lookout for you in the wyrding. I think it highly more likely he will return to where your coven is, still following the gist of the Dagda’s order to exterminate you.”
Bran’s stomach sank somewhere to his feet. “He’s going to Pelham?”
Verlin arched a dark eyebrow. “You are going there, so Cernunnos will likely follow if he is not already in the mortal world.”
Bran closed his eyes at the thought of Pelham being ravaged by lights in his absence. If he was here, that meant no witches were left to defend the town, and that failure would surely make it back to the Council of Witches if the Fae managed to gain a foothold in the mortal world. “We have to go back.”
“That was the plan,” Cillian reminded him.
“No, I mean, we need to go back today. Remember how time flows different here than it does back home? It’s slower, but weeks would have passed back in the mortal world while we were here in the Otherworld.” Bran shoved his chair back and stood, looking at Verlin. “How do we get back?”
Verlin’s lip curled faintly, unable to hide his distaste at being ordered around by a witch. Whatever he would have said died on his lips as a commotion at the entrance to the dining room had Verlin rising to his feet. Bran turned and watched as an almost too-thin Fae lady stepped into the room, servants hovering behind her worriedly, though they didn’t try to stop her.
She was tall like every other Fae Bran had crossed paths with. Her deep purple gown hung loosely on her, the belt around her waist doing more to highlight the starved look of her body than anything else. Her hair was a mass of black curls cascading over her shoulders, streaks of white cutting through the dark ringlets. The shade of her skin was as dark as Verlin’s, and the resemblance was impossible to miss.
Verlin greeted her in the Fae language before hurrying around the table to her. He offered her his arm, which she gamely took with a shaking, bejeweled hand. Her dark-eyed gaze darted around the room, and she said something that Bran couldn’t understand.
Cillian stood, discreetly tugging the end of the leash out of Bran’s pocket to hold it. The tension didn’t leave Bran’s body as the lady zeroed in on Cillian, paling a little. Verlin had to brace her before Seamus reached them, helping to guide the lady to an empty chair at the other end of the table. Verlin spoke low and quick in their language before finally switching over to English. Bran knew it wasn’t for his benefit but for Cillian’s.
“He does not remember, Mother,” Verlin said, looking down the table at them.
The lady drew in a breath, one thin hand clutching at the collar of her gown. “He looks exactly the same.”
Her words were spoken in heavily accented English, that same, almost Irish lilt to her words. Bran wondered how it was the Fae could speak the language so well, thinking it had to be magic of some sort. Maybe a translation spell or something similar.
“My mother, Lady Fiadh,” Verlin said by way of introduction, speaking mostly to Cillian.
“A pleasure to meet you?” Cillian said, sounding unsure. Bran kept quiet, resting one hand on Aisling’s shoulder in a comforting way as she leaned toward him.
“Welcome back, my prince,” Lady Fiadh said, ignoring Bran. “Our home is yours, as is our House.”
“Thank you.” Cillian cleared his throat. “But we were just leaving.”
She blinked at him, as if his words didn’t make any sense. “Why?”
“Because the Otherworld isn’t our home.”
“Our,” she echoed, finally dragging her gaze away from Cillian to meet Bran’s. “You include a pet in your words?”
Bran raised an arm and held Cillian back when the other man would have headed toward the other end of the table out of anger. “I’m not a pet.”
“You are collared and leashed like one.”
The temperature in the room plummeted when Cillian growled, “Don’t speak to him like that.”
Verlin eyed the windows, which Bran assumed were covered in frost again. He didn’t look to check. “Like we told your son, Cillian grew upwith me in Pelham. We met as children. He doesn’t remember who he was before that.”
“Then we can help him regain his memories,” Lady Fiadh said shakily, raising a hand toward Cillian in entreaty. “My mate may not have been so lucky, but you arehere. We can help you.”
“I don’t want to recover them,” Cillian said flatly. “I don’t know who I would be if I did, and I like who I am now.”
Cillian stepped closer to Bran, making his side known. Lady Fiadh leaned forward to brace herself against the table. “You cannot mean that. You cannot give your allegiance to awitch. You are the Winter Prince.”
“I’m a ranger back home, and I’d rather be that than someone cruel.”
“You think us Fae cruel when you stand beside a witch? Their cruelty is what banished us to the Otherworld in the first place.”
“Mother,” Verlin said in a tight voice. “Please stop.”
