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“I have some chilled sweet tea in the cold storage.” Sloga patted my shoulder as he made his way past, heading into the sidhe. “Let me fetch it.”
“And a blanket to sit on,” Idony called after him. “Where shall we sit, prince? Your choice.”
Unbidden, my eyes drifted over to the silver birch tree standing proud in the sunlight, its pale bark peeling in places and its leaves rustling gently above.
“By Faulis’ tree?” Idony’s voice was gentler. She gave a resolute nod. “Yes. Let’s.”
We made our way over and stopped a short distance away, sinking down onto the grass to wait until Sloga returned with a blanket.
“So.” Idony busied herself with the basket, pulling off the cloth to reveal three large oranges, some cold chicken legs wrapped in brown paper, a jar of nuts and freshly baked bread. “Do you trust me enough now to tell me why you’ve come back?”
I hesitated. In my gut, I did trust her, because something bone-deep had made me trust Sloga completely. Perhaps his gentle nature. Perhaps our shared grief. Perhaps the knowledge that he had once protected me when I was a boy.
And if she was planning on warning the Carlin that I was here, she’d already had a chance to do it.
Still, I found myself answering cautiously. “You already seem quite sure you know.”
She chuckled. “Yes. But…” She looked up at me, her expression growing serious. “It is not just your mother you will have to worry about, Lonan, but your brothers too.”
“I know.” I rubbed my face. “At least Bres and Cethlen are still incapable of killing me. As far as I am aware, at least.”
Her head cocked. “What do you mean?”
“The Carlin never showed us the way to Ogma,” I said woodenly, plucking grass stems from the ground. “And ordered us to never kill each other.”
Which, knowing what I did now, made a lot more sense.
“I found another way a few months ago,” I continued. “Balor has had his second name for a while now, so he is more of a threat, but I don’t know how he did it.”
“Gods, what a despicable woman.” Idony bit into a chicken leg and chewed thoughtfully. “Maybe Sloga knows.”
“Knows what?” The Higher Spirit joined us, setting down a jug and three glasses, as well as a butter dish.
“How Balor found Ogma,” Idony told him, already pouring out our tea.
Sloga’s expression grew grim. “Yes. I know how he did it. Many years ago, the Carlin employed a drachmsmith—”
“Do you mean Briordan?” Idony cut in, then added to me, “He used to live in that cottage.”
“Yes, Briordan.” Sloga nodded. “When he and his lover Eowan were forced to flee unseelie, I visited them and they told me what had happened. Balor had threatened to kill Eowan if Briordan didn’t make him an elixir that would show him the way to Ogma. So Briordan did. And then Balor tried to have them both killed anyway to protect his secret. He told the Carlin that Briordan had betrayed her—technically the truth, seeing as he had helped her son gain his second name against her wishes. They had to leave everything behind and run when they realised she was coming after them.”
“Balor is a snake,” Idony spat. “I hope you give him a painful death, prince.”
I picked up my tea and calmly took a sip. “I will.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ash
I wasn’t dealing with Lonan being gone well.
In fact, I’d spent most of the last few days drunk.
It was the only way to dampen the emotions always flaring too hot and sharp inside me. One minute, I wanted to weep. The next, I wanted to smash everything in sight. I didn’t feel fit to be around anyone, so I cancelled the open court, I cancelled all my meetings, I hid away in dark corners of the palace because I couldn’t bear to be in our bedroom on my own so much.
Nua would turn up every morning with Jora to ensure I at least ate breakfast. He would try and get me to go for walks with him, to go down to the drachmsmith’s chamber and practise potioncraft, to spend the day with him and Gillie. I refused, and always managed to shake him off at some point in the day so I could snag a bottle of wine from the kitchen and find a hidden spot to nurse it.
I couldn’t handle not knowing if Lonan was alright. I just kept picturing that panicked blackbird chained to the Carlin’s wrist. I kept picturing her bronze teeth sinking into its delicate leg. I kept picturing Lonan’s unconscious body, his skin grey and clammy, blood pumping from the jagged stump of his thigh.
