The words were so close to my own thoughts that I had to bite back a flood of imprudent words. Words I wanted to scream at him. Words I couldn’t—wouldn’t—say to him.
Words likeI miss you.
I love you.
But then his own words—still caustic enough after four and a half years to make me flinch—drowned them out.
I am a prince. And you—you are no one.
I would not show him where he’d broken me. I would not show him the cracks where I’d patched myself back together. And I would not show him how fragile those seams were, stitched together with little more than brittle threads of flagging resolve.
“Things change.” I made my voice hard. “We’re not children anymore.”
“No. I suppose we’re not.” His gaze lost its warmth. “At least tell me what happened to you in Tír na nÓg.”
I lifted my chin. “We’ve been over this.”
“Twice now, I’ve found you frightened or injured at the Gate.” His mouth tightened. “I’m just trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” I spat the words at him. “Do you need my help to rescue your princess?”
“Yes, in fact. I’d very much like your help.” He noticed my eyes widen in surprise—his mouth curled in satisfaction. “What do you know of the bardaí?”
“The bardaí?” The word meant something likeguardiansorwardensin the ancient tongue. I thought immediately of the Gentry guard I’d faced twice in Tír na nÓg. And his words to me, spilling unbidden from his sensuous mouth.It’s you.“Why do you ask?”
“I spoke to Eala last month.”
The announcement shouldn’t have fazed me—eventually, Rogan was going to interact with his future bride. Still, the words struck me like a punch to the chest, and I fought the urge to stagger back a step. Tendrils of longing crept over me, followed by a lash of envy, followed by… unbridled curiosity. Questions tangled over one another. Questions likeIs she as enchanting as she seems?andWhat is it like to love her?But instead, I forced out a brusque “And?”
“And she had much to tell me. About Tír na nÓg and the people who rule there. About why she was stolen from the human realms. And how she may be rescued.” His eyes flicked between mine, searching. “But there is much I don’t understand. Cathair schooled you in the ways of the Folk, did he not?”
“Some.” My hand tightened on the banister. “Tell me.”
“Cathair told us the magic governing the Gates was weak.” Rogan sat heavily on the top stair, planting his forearms on his knees. “Eala confirmed it. She said that a number of Folk objects had been destroyed in an uprising some years ago. Treasures, she called them.”
Treasures.My pulse quickened, sending leaves of green and black to beat against the backs of my eyelids. “Destroyed? Why?”
“To set the magic free, I gather—so it could be used by all.” He looked up at me, rubbed a hand against the nape of his neck. “But I thought all Folk were magical?”
“They are,” I confirmed. “But theirs are small, innate magics. A leipreachán may craft an illusion of golden riches to tempt a greedy man. A darrig may glimpse a few days into the future. An aughisky takes the shape of a beautiful horse to drown its prey. The Treasures are capable of much larger magics.” And if they’d been destroyed, then I’d been sent to steal something that no longer existed. “Who destroyed them? These bardaí you mentioned?”
Rogan nodded, looking supremely out of his element. “In the wake of the uprising, the dissident Gentry split Tír na nÓg into smaller territories—a domain for each Gate. They elected wardens—bardaí—to defend the Gates with the magic set free from the Treasures, and rule now as equals.”
I digested this new information, so different from what Cathair had told me. If Eala spoke true, then the four noble Septs had been overthrown, their power ended. “Wereallthe Treasures destroyed?” If so, then my mission in Tír na nÓg was for naught.
“All but one. ‘The sword is the key,’ she said.”
Again, my pulse jumped. Eala must mean the Sky-Sword—the very Treasure I’d been sent to retrieve. “The key towhat?”
“Eala believes another war is brewing.” Rogan stared at his clenched hands. “Although the bardaí hold the Gates for now, that will all change by Samhain next. The Gates will fall, and magic and mayhem will be unleashed on Fódla. Unless she can take control of this sword and free herself from her geas. Only then can the war be won and her captor defeated.”
Cathair had said her captor was tánaiste of one of the Septs—but the Septs had allegedly been destroyed. “Who is her captor? One of these bardaí? And what does the sword have to do with breaking her geas?”
Rogan made a broad, bemused gesture. “I don’t understand how it all fits together.”
“Neither do I,” I said honestly. But this new information had already taken root in my cramped mind, fighting for attention like hothouse flowers fighting for sunlight. I longed to solve this new puzzle, but as I churned it over, my fever-racked body protested. Standing up for an hour had taken its toll on my weakened muscles. I needed nourishment and rest before trying to solve any problems—mine or others’. I sighed. “I don’t suppose you brought back any food from that famous inn of yours?”
“And ale too.” The prospect of food and drink chased away Rogan’s bewildered expression. “Do you want some?”
