Perhaps it was merely the challenge of an opponent more dangerous and deceitful than any I had faced before. Or perhaps it was more than that.
Here—in Tír na nÓg, in Irian’s presence—I could be more myself than I ever could in Fódla. My conniving nature inspired respect instead of contempt; my magic inspired admiration instead of disquiet. And perhaps I was deceiving myself, but I suspected he secretly enjoyed our encounters as much as I did.
My mission hadn’t changed—nor had my enemy. I had every intention of setting Eala free and returning home with a Treasure. But was it possible to achieve more by truly gaining Irian’s trust than by attempting to seduce or outwit him?
“You won’t kill me.”
His smile was feral, his lips curling up from his glittering teeth. “Whyever not?”
“Because the thrill is in the joy of the hunt, not the promise of a kill.” I lifted my chin to hide my dread. “And I think you have been alone too long to let me go so quickly. Not when things are just getting interesting.”
“You are bold, colleen.” He tilted his head, a hawk with prey in sight. The danger in his voice was limned with delight. “By that logic, the moment you bore me, I am free to slit your throat.”
“Then I shall endeavor never to bore you.” I plunged forward before I changed my mind. “For saving your life, this is the boon I would ask you: that you and I become friends.”
“Friends.” He mouthed the word as if it was foreign to him. “I am not sure that is possible.”
I kept my tone light. “Are we forever doomed to be enemies?”
“Those are not the only two options.” His eyes darkened toiron. His smile was a knife. “I warned you, colleen—if I decide I want you, I will go to extraordinary lengths to keep you.”
I flushed hot. His words burned intrusive thoughts behind my eyes: how his scorching palms might feel on my naked skin, how his marble torso might feel pressed above me. I shivered, but it wasn’t from cold.
“And I warned you, tánaiste—I don’t scare easily.” I leveled him with a stare. “It’s one of the things that makes me so diverting.”
“Then friends we shall strive to be,” he drawled. “But friendship cannot be one-sided.”
“Then let our old bargain stand. And I will go first.” I inhaled, making a show of dropping all pretense. I had a few secrets I intended to keep, but he didn’t need to know that. “Once—in a time of lingering hostilities and stolen children—a changeling was left in the care of the high queen of Fódla, who raised the girl as her daughter in place of the princess that had been stolen. When a forgotten Gate to Tír na nÓg was discovered, she sent the changeling to rescue her sister from her geas. The changeling thought stealing your Treasure would achieve that goal. But your revelations last month precluded that option. And now the changeling needs to understand the swan maidens’ curse. She needs to understand why your death buys theirs.”
If he was surprised by my candor, he didn’t show it. “I should be furious that you wish to free my wards.”
“But you aren’t.” I eyed the inky sword belted at his waist. “Last month you said you yourself have tried to break the geas. Surely you wouldn’t mind if I did it for you?”
My words blunted his edge. His expression lost its brooding distance, its cruel flirtatious smile. He hesitated, then stepped to the edge of the forest and looked out into the night. “Walk with me.”
I frowned. “Where?”
He pointed into the distance. Behind the fort, barren moorlands sloped up toward hills bathed in shifting pennants of moonlight and shadow. “This story requires I show you something.Friend.”
I followed him along the edge of the lough toward the fort, where the land veered sharply upward through patches of thorny gorse. Sheets of black stone sliced up through the green sod. Hummocks of purple foliage tangled around my boots. Irian set a quick pace, his steps solid and sure on the twisting, uneven ground. I matched it as best I could, stealing glances at his powerful stride, the easy swing of his broad shoulders. My gaze dropped to the black sword belted at his waist.
If the Sky-Sword could heal lethal wounds in a month, imagine what it could do for the starving. For the ill. For the victims of raids and wars. Only, Irian had said it was not made to be wielded by human hands.
But I was not fully human. Imagine me—the little changeling witch—ending up as Fódla’s salvation.
Exertion soon stole my grim fantasies away as I turned my focus toward not twisting an ankle on the rough terrain.
Irian finally stopped, bracing one leg on a stony outcropping as wind ruffled his short dark hair and sent his shadows swirling. We’d climbed high. Below us, the vale spread out, a tapestry in black and silver.
“Colleen.” The sound of my unwanted nickname on his lips warmed the pit of my stomach. I found I didn’t hate it as much as I once had. I told myself that was why, when he held out his hand, I gripped it without hesitation. He pulled me to the top of the ridge beside him. The palm he placed on my shoulder burned through my clothing. “Do you see it?”
He pointed beyond the line of stony hills. A ribbon of silver water unspooled toward an expanse of sea, edged in great cliffs. And perched above that sea was… acity? It was hard to see in the shifting moonlight, but I glimpsed a curtain wall, white stone sparkling with crenellations of gold. Towering parapets rose sharply upward, pinnacles glinting above winding streets and coiling roofs. But windows gaped. The gates were open. In the harbor, skeletons of ships canted broken masts toward dark water.
Even from here, I could tell the city was empty.
Then I saw why. Behind the city, what I’d thought was a looming black mountain was a…wrongness. Skeins of shadow and movement tore at the edges of things, warping and twisting them. Veins of darkness scattered light like black prisms. Despair clung everywhere like a dead hand. I inhaled sharply, and a gust of wind brought the distant scents of rot and death to my nostrils.
They were the same smells that had clung to the fox-faced barda who’d assaulted me. And the noxious, overgrown ollphéist that had attacked Irian.
