They didn't speak for a while after that. Slowly, Eoin made his way over to the bed and sat down next to her, close enough that she could be reassured by him, but not quite touching her.
"I'm sorry again for kissin' ye like that," he said at last. "It wasnae right. I ken it's nae what ye're thinkin' about right now, but I have tae say it."
She nodded absently, her mind still whirling.
The quiet continued. She spent some time remembering her childhood, back so long ago that she seemed to be another person. Her father had always been a cold, cruel man, but she could recall, ever so long ago, a time when he had shown her some care. Little things: a new dress, permission to adopt one of the kitchen cats. Probably they had meant nothing to him, just part of his duty as a father, but she recalled them and held them close at that moment. He had never been a good person, never made her feel loved—but he was, just as everything else seemed to be, more than one thing at a time. As Eoin had put it, complex.
And now he was gone. It was over.
"What will happen tae Nessa?" she asked quietly. "Is there any value tae what those men were sayin' about her?"
Eoin considered for a moment, then shook his head. "I willnae lie tae ye, Breana. I dinnae ken exactly what will happen tae her. He may keep her around as a useful pawn, or he may make an example of her. In either case, I have tae admit tae ye, her position willnae be enviable. She's entirely under his control now."
Breana closed her eyes. She'd known that, but she'd needed to hear someone lay it out like that, completely honest andwithout anything held back so that she could admit it to herself, too. Nessa was in danger in one way or another. Even if she was safe, her life would likely never be comfortable again—unless, of course, she wormed her way into the False King's favor as she once had with their father.
Fear for her youngest sister swirled in the already chaotic tempest of emotions, and she put her face in her hands as they threatened to overwhelm her entirely. The tears started without her realizing, but she did not try to hold them back.
"If… if ye think it's worth tryin' tae save Nessa—if ye think she'd welcome our intervention and come with us—then we can go now," Eoin told her. He placed a hand lightly on the small of her back, a delicate comfort. "Cailean would understand. We can go and save her, send her back tae Bruce Castle, then return here tae resume our mission."
Breana looked up at him, her face wet, her eyes still prickling. For a moment, she was tempted to agree. They could go now and try to find her sister, unite them again, and then… then what? What if it was too late to come back here? And what if Nessa wouldn't even come with them?
No. It was too much to risk.
"We cannae do that," Breana whispered. "What we're doin' here is more important."
She tried to speak bravely, but her body betrayed her, and this time the sobs burst out in earnest. They ripped from her chest, deep cries of agony, and she curled up upon herself, desperately trying to stop the agony in her heart.
Eoin's arms slipped around her, and he gently pulled her close, allowing her to lay her head on his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowing into his shirt as she cried. He held her, letting her express her grief, never telling her to hush or quiet. He allowed her the space she needed to let out her pain, and she needed him there with her right now.
Held safe in his arms, Breana cried. She sobbed for Nessa, for her father, for Maeve and for herself. She cried for the childhood she'd lost and the life she'd gained. And she cried because she knew that, no matter what happened, nothing would ever be simple again.
"Father. May I take Maeve some supper? I'm sure she's sorry for the way she spoke tae ye," twelve-year-old Breana said timidly, standing in the doorway of her father's office. "Ye ken she's still young, and?—"
Her father looked up from the letter he was reading, seeming perturbed that she would disturb him. Nevertheless, he beckoned her inside.
Surprised, Breana entered, standing close to the bookshelf on the corner near the door. She kept her eyes on him, wary.
James O'Sullivan looked up at his eldest daughter, the look on his face thoughtful rather than just its usual dismissive coldness. "Nessa is three years younger than Maeve. Five years younger than ye. And yet, she manages tae show her father proper respect. So do ye, in many respects, though ye wouldnae ken it from the way ye're actin' now. Why should Maeve be allowed tae act differently?"
Breana chewed on her lip. "Perhaps, if ye were kinder tae the maids, Maeve wouldnae feel the need tae…"
He pursed his lips. "They arememaids. Maeve needs tae learn that everyone has a place in this world. It would do her well tae remember where ours is in it."
The young girl bowed her head. She knew she should speak up, but her nerves overtook her. "Aye… as ye say, Father. Forgive me for interruptin' yer readin'."
She turned to go.
"Breana. Wait."
She turned back to face her father, her eyes widening at the fact he'd called her back by name. He rarely addressed them directly in that way, except for Nessa. "Aye, Father?"
He stood and approached her, holding the letter in his hands. She stood still, determined not to shake or let her fear show on her face. She did not think he would hurt her, not now, but she could never be sure.
"Do ye ken what this is?" he asked, holding the letter out.
She glanced at the wax seal and felt herself trembling a little. "A letter from the king himself," she whispered, recognizing the Ashkirk symbol.
"Exactly that. At least yer lessons are teachin' ye well, despite the coin I have wasted upon them," O'Sullivan replied. "It's a letter commendin' me for me recent service, and remindin' me that one day his son will choose a bride. If we continue tae serve faithfully, it may even be from amongst me daughters."
