“What about Seamus?” Cillian asked.
“I will stay with you until we retrieve the young lady’s voice,” Seamus said.
“Seamus knows his way through the shadow paths. He’ll be able to make his way home,” Niamh promised.
“You could always go with him,” Bran said as he raised an arm so Jupiter could fly down and land on it. He guided her to his shoulder and stroked her beak.
Niamh ignored him. “Let’s go.”
They trekked deeper into the wyrding, leaving behind all the warmth of the forested valley. Cillian missed it with a depth that surprised him as the world became endlessly gray around them. Bran kept Aisling close, holding her hand and never letting her go. Cillian was never more than an arm’s length away from them both, always keeping them in his sights. No one spoke in the hushed quiet of the eerie border between the Otherworld and the mortal world. It was depressing, the way the wyrding sucked the life out of everything.
He thought about the argument in the dining room that morning and the accusations that made too much sense not to be true. If the Fae and witches had been at war for centuries—maybe millennia—Cilliancould see how they’d each fight to use such a horrible place against each other. That didn’t make either side right, though.
This time, they steered clear of the lights as Tev led them to that first shadow path. They left him behind and continued clawing their way through pitch-black holes buried in rot. Niamh led them through shadow paths and the fog of the wyrding until they stumbled into a boneyard Cillian knew he’d never forget.
“Here,” he said into the eerie quiet. “We came through here.”
The standing stones were still present, bones scattered about and snapping underfoot as they walked toward the center. Cillian breathed through his mouth from the stench of half-eaten, rotting bodies tossed around the clearing. Niamh led the way, pausing outside the hole in the stone. She crouched, picking something up from the ground. Bran made a startled sound at the sight of the brilliant blue flower resting in the palm of her hands, the color shocking against the surrounding gray. “Those were twined around Cernunnos’ antlers.”
“It’s a sign he might have come through this way,” Niamh said, letting the flower fall back to the ground. She straightened, frowning at the way that would take them home.
“He may have left a trap on the other side,” Seamus said, unsheathing the sword from his back. He wasn’t in full armor, but the cuirass and shoulder pauldrons he wore were matte black, making it easier to go unnoticed. Cillian didn’t know if the knight had any magic or a title that would hint at a particular skill, but Niamh seemed to have no problem stepping aside.
Seamus went first through that nightmarish hole, and the rest of them had no choice but to follow. Cillian reached for Bran’s hand rather than the leash, holding on tight. Bran gave him a grimace of a smile, holding on to Aisling with his other hand. “Let’s go home.”
Cillian nodded. “Yeah.”
Clawing his way through the terrible dark of the shadow path connecting the Otherworld to the mortal world was just as stomach-churning as the first time. Vertigo hit hard, making it impossible to find his center in that pitch-black space. But Cillian kept moving, kept driving himself forward, never letting Bran go.
He didn’t know how long they were there until he stumbled over arock, his hand sinking into bioluminescence. Something soft gave beneath it, and he kept pushing, prying those weird mushrooms away. He shoved his way forward into that hollowed-out tree they’d passed through what felt like a lifetime ago.
Cillian gasped, breathing in air that still smelled like rot, black sap smeared over his hand and arm, but beyond the broken-up tree trunk was a place he recognized. He pitched his way toward it, dragging Bran and Aisling with him as they stumbled into a forest that looked like home. The summer heat and humidity felt hotter than when they’d left for the Otherworld, and he wondered how much time had passed. His stomach clenched with nausea, and it took a couple of hard swallows to steady it.
Seamus stood off to the side at the base of the hill, keeping an eye out as they all staggered away from the tree. Cillian strained his hearing, wincing when he accidentally set the pitch higher than a normal human’s would be. He shook his head, hoping his senses would settle, glad when they did.
“It’s safe enough for now,” Seamus said, not taking his eyes off the surrounding forest. He didn’t seem bothered by the heat that was such a jarring change from the chill of the wyrding.
“Where are we?” Niamh wanted to know, frowning at the trees around them. “This forest feels sick.”
“Pelham,” Cillian said. “I can get us home.”
He finally let go of Bran’s hand, dredging up the direction they’d originally approached this location however many days ago. Once he was oriented, Cillian started walking, and the rest followed after him. The sounds of the forest slowly crept over them as they walked, and the familiar noise settled Cillian somewhat. The sunlight slanting through the branches had an angle to it that spoke of midday sun.
Cillian mentally calculated the best route home and angled them west, thinking they could maybe find the kayak again and cross the reservoir or, at the very least, hike along the shore rather than over hills. They passed witchmarks on the way through the forest, spots of magic that drew Niamh’s and Seamus’ curiosity, but no one stopped, and no one questioned when Bran slapped his hand over each one, magic sparking gold beneath his palm as he walked past.
They’d brought supplies with them, pouches of dried fruit and meat and leather canteens of water. They ate and drank while on the move, finally making it to the reservoir, breaking through the trees to stand on the shore. Unease settled in his gut as Cillian eyed the sun’s trajectory.
“If we try going north, we’ll be stuck in the forest by the time nightfall hits,” he said. They had a better chance of crossing to the other side and hiking to State Route 202, but only if they could remember where they’d stashed the canoe.
“Freeze the water,” Seamus said. “We can cross it that way.”
Cillian stared at him. “What?”
“You’ve done it before when we needed to cross rivers and lakes. Build us an ice bridge.”
“It’s summer.”
Seamus shot him a droll look, amusement in his pale blue eyes, some of his moss-green hair falling across his forehead. “And you are the Winter Prince.”
