They couldn’t be.
Bran glared at Verlin, at Cillian’s supposed right hand, and refused to back down. “We’re going home. I won’t let Cernunnos raze our town, and I’m getting my sister’s voice back.”
“You call her sister, yet she is Fae,” Verlin said.
“I don’t care what she is, the same way I don’t care what Cillian is.”
He loved them both in different ways but noless deeply. He wouldn’t apologize for that, and he’d fight for them until his dying breath—against the Fae, against fellow witches. It didn’t matter who stood against them; Bran would not back down if it meant he could keep them safe.
Aisling pulled away, and he let her, staring down into her wide-eyed, upturned face. Then she grabbed her notebook and pen, writing quickly. What she showed him seconds later made Bran’s heart hurt.
Really? You love me?
“Hey,” Bran said, sinking back down into his seat so he could be at her level. He reached for her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I mean it. You’re my little sister. I’m always going to love you. I’m not letting you go into foster care or anything like that. I was working with a lawyer to make myself your guardian before Cernunnos took you.”
Aisling’s expression crumpled, and she lunged for him, crying almost silently as she hugged him. Bran hugged her back, wishing he could take her grief, ball it up, and set it aside so she wouldn’t have to feel it. “I know. I’m sorry. I wish Mom was still with us, too.”
Their mother would know what to do. She’d have answers. But she wasn’t here, and she never would be again, and Bran had to learn to be the leader of their coven and carry the mantle on his own now.
A warm hand settled on his shoulder, and Bran looked back at Cillian, who gave him a crooked little smile. “Let’s go home.”
Bran nodded, more than ready to leave the Otherworld behind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
None of the Fae were happy with his decision to return to Pelham. Cillian told himself he didn’t care, but some small part felt a little guilty. Niamh had made it possible for him and Bran to escape Ainmire’s clutches. Verlin had provided his home as a place to hide, but Cillian didn’t trust the Fae lord. Kindness wasn’t kind when there was an ulterior motive behind the smiles.
“You would go with him?” Verlin asked, looking at Cillian. “You would leave your people to Medb’s terror? Your kingdom? You would let the Dagda ruin the Winter Court?”
Cillian squinted against the sunlight in the castle’s courtyard, watching Niamh and Seamus call out orders to the Fae who had been chosen to escort them to the wyrding. Cillian refused to show how Verlin’s words worried him. “This isn’t my home.”
“Itwas.”
The argument from the dining room had followed them outside and would most likely follow them home since Niamh had declared she would be staying with them in Pelham. Seamus would join them only long enough to help fight Cernunnos before reluctantly returning to the Otherworld. Cillian was glad because that meant they only had one Fae to deal with in Pelham, but it also meant Verlin wouldn’t be targetedby Medb for Seamus’ absence. Cillian didn’t want to be the cause of someone else’s agony.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Cillian said in a low voice, turning his head so he could meet Verlin’s gaze. “I told you I have no memory of this place.”
“We can give your memories back to you.”
Cillian shook his head, glancing over at where Bran and Aisling stood by the horses so that Aisling could pet one under the watchful eyes of one of Niamh’s crew. “I don’t want them. Not if it means losing Bran.”
Gaining what everyone said he’d lost would make Cillian lose the one person he loved, and he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t promise Bran he’d be the same man who’d grown up in Pelham if he took back the memories of a Fae who had lived centuries. The Fae wanted him to be their Winter Prince, but all Cillian wanted to be was someone Bran wouldn’t look at in horror.
“You truly love him,” Verlin said, sounding aggravated. “This witch whose people would see ours destroyed.”
“He’s not like that.”
“They arealllike that.”
Cillian clenched his jaw. “I won’t leave him.”
Verlin stared at him, expression impossible to decipher. Then those amber eyes closed, and something like pain crossed his face. “Is he your mate?”
“What?”
Verlin opened his eyes, pinning Cillian with a look he couldn’t turn away from. “Your mate. You didn’t have one before the purge of the Winter Court. You had hoped for one, taken countless lovers, but none were your mate.”
“I don’t?—”
