Irian gave his head a sharp cut of affirmation. “And why I am… bound in shadow.”
“And why you can’t undo it.”
“I have tried. But the wild magic is dangerously unpredictable. I fear I would only make things worse.” He glanced at me, and a ferocious hope crossed his face—same as that night on the beach, when I’d saved Chandi. Like he wanted something he shouldn’t want or wished for something that could never come true. “I truly believed I was protecting them. Protecting the barrier between our worlds. Protectingmyself. But all I did was curse twelve maidens as swans and curse myself to live alone. Until I inevitably have to die.”
“Until youinevitably have to die?” I jerked back, my boots sliding on loose shale.
Irian caught me before I fell, his hand like a firebrand on my forearm. He pulled me flush against him and stared down into my eyes.
“Every twelve years, beneath the Ember Moon, the Septs’ heirs apparent tithed their Treasures to new tánaistí. The lineages were vast; the potential heirs, manifold. From the many that showed promise, the magic chose its one vessel. In this way, the magic was renewed, and the Treasures returned to their full strength.” He inhaled. “When I created the Thirteenth Gate, I bought myself a thirteenth year. But it has been over twelve years since the last tithing. The Sky-Sword is dying—the weakest it has ever been. If it is not tithed to a new heir this coming Samhain, all wild magic will go free. The Gates will fall to the bardaí, who will glut themselves on power. Both human and Folk realms will burn.”
Tithe. He kept saying that word—tithe. “What is the tithe?”
“It is as it has always been—the life of the heir.” Irian’s eyes were metal. “My life.”
For a moment, the only sounds were the sighing of the wind over the moors and the distant thrum of a city held captive by corrupt magic.
Thoughts and emotions blew through me like dried leaves in a gale. Irian’s eyes were locked on my face.
“So you must die to renew the Treasure. And if you die, Eala and the other girls die too.”
He nodded.
“There must be another way. To separate them from you. Or… or to separate you from the Sky-Sword.”
“The only way to separate me from the Sky-Sword is death.” His smile was grim. “And the outcome is the same. If I die before I tithe the Sky-Sword to a new tánaiste, the last of the wild magic goes free. And the Gates will fall to the bardaí, who will unleash wicked magic upon the human realms.”
What had Irian said to me the night he’d brought me to his fortress?Strangers only ever enter my realm for one of two reasons. The first is to try and kill me. The second is to try and take the sword.
The murúcha in the lough, who had tried to kidnap a swan maiden under a tánaiste’s protection. That vengeful ollphéist stinking of rot and vengeance, unleashed upon a warrior a fraction of its size.
“They’re still coming after you.”
“The bardaí are determined to finish what they started.” His jaw was set. “There was a time when the Treasures were sacrosanct. The heirs, holy. No one would have dared raise so much as a finger against me. But that time is past. Many Folk wish to see the human realms under the dominion of Tír na nÓg—to rekindle a war that has gone cold.”
“And me?” The rising wind stole the words from my lips. It all came back to this—the way he’d looked at me that night on the beach.It’s you.“How do I fit into this?”
Irian’s plush mouth softened. He lifted one large hand to cup mycheek. Like a flower turning toward the sun, I found myself growing accustomed to his searing touch.
“The first time I saw your face, I thought you were a hallucination conjured up by the magic I have misused. A creature born of balance, sent to destroy me at last. A punishment for my arrogance. My selfishness. The violence I have caused. And for a moment, I thought—” He paused. His thumb skated along my jawline, and the look in his eyes verged on wonder. “I thought I might not mind oblivion, if you were the one to deliver it.”
Heat rushed to my face. I jerked back, and his hand fell away. Echoes of his burning touch mingled with the blood staining my cheeks.
“I asked you a question. One you did not answer.” My tongue felt like glue in my mouth, but I was unwilling to let him distract me. “Who am I, in all this?”
“I will tell you,friend.” He tilted his head. “In return for the story you still owe me.”
For a moment, I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then I remembered—last month, after I’d patched his wound, he’d asked about my Greenmark. About my so-calledgift.
“I owe you nothing.” I crossed my arms and glanced at the horizon, which was lightening toward gray. “I told you—your story last month bought your life.”
“A boon I have now repaid with the promise of more stories.” His smile was coiled, lazy. “Is our new friendship no more than a ruse for you to get your way, at the expense of my own desires?”
My hands dropped instinctively to my belt, but of course my knives were lost. I’d asked Corra for new ones, but they’d been wobbly and unbalanced. I supposed formless sprites had limits to their capabilities.
Besides, what was I planning to do?StabIrian for asking me personal questions?
I took a deep breath.
