Scáthach pulled the grimoire from beneath her arm and opened it up, the old pages crackling from the motion. “We Fae know each other, and he did not know me.”
“But you know his mother.”
“Everyone knows of the Mórrígan.”
“She’s been missing for years,” Niamh said.
“Has she? Or have you all been looking in the wrong place?” Scáthach closed the grimoire and held it out to Bran. “Your familiar is of war’s calling, and you are the mate of the Winter Prince. The Courts of the Four Lands will consider Cillian a traitor because of that and claim the Dagda was right in punishing the Winter Court.”
Bran slowly reached for the grimoire, wondering if it was a trick. “Then why are you here?”
Scáthach smiled coolly. “To see Cillian survive.”
That sounded more like a threat than a promise of aid. Bran yanked the grimoire out of Scáthach’s hands, clutching it to his chest. Relief flowed through him, making him light-headed for a few seconds. He drew in a shaky breath, holding on to the grimoire and the countless memories he had of his mother flipping through its pages to teach him their history and the magic found within.
“If the lights have been hunting in the forest, then Cernunnos must have been here in Pelham for weeks. We need to let him know we’re here somehow,” Cillian said.
“The only way to do that is with bait.”
Bran followed Scáthach’s gaze to Aisling, and fury slammed through him like a storm. He stepped in front of his sister, pushing her back. “No.”
Scáthach stared down her nose at him. “Yes. He will know she has returned.”
“You are not putting my sister at risk. She’s been throughenough.”
“Do you want to get her voice back?”
“How do you even know it was missing?”
“Small-town gossip is quaint but useful.” Scáthach’s gaze cut to Cillian. “If you want any hope of regaining your rightful place in the Winter Court, then you will need the bean sí’s ability to herald your reign.”
“And if I don’t want it?” Cillian asked warily.
Scáthach snorted. “What will you do when the mortal ages and dies and you do not? Will you stay here and let the witches kill you? No, child. The Otherworld is your home, not this place of iron, and you know it.”
“I don’t remember it.”
“One may not remember and still yearn for a home.”
Bran didn’t like the troubled look in Cillian’s eyes, and his heart clenched at the thought of Cillian leaving him. He shoved that thought aside, needing to focus on the present and not some ephemeral possible future. “You’re not using my sister to lure Cernunnos to us. Find another way.”
Aisling tugged on his sleeve, and he looked at her. She held up the notebook, pages pressed open by her fingers, and read the note she’d written there.I want to help. You’ll keep me safe.
“No. Aisling?—”
“Let her,” Scáthach cut in. “Or do you doubt your magic is enough?”
Bran rounded on her, furious at the accusation but unwilling tobend. “Aisling isthirteen. She’s my sister and the last family I have. Iwon’tput her at risk.”
“She already is. We Fae know what she is, and there are those who would do anything to claim rights to a bean sí and the crown such Fae can offer. Houses have been destroyed over such desires.” Scáthach glanced at Niamh, who said nothing.
“She has a goddamnname. Aisling isn’t a thing. Stop treating her like one.”
“If you care for her, then treat her like she is worth protecting.”
“What would you have us do?” Seamus asked like he had the right to.
“Cernunnos will come. He will not have left her voice behind, so he will have it with him. It must be freed and returned.” Scáthach glanced up at the sharp tip of her glaive. “We must fight.”
