“If anyone made me into a weapon,” I said slowly, “it was Cathair. And he only did it because he had to. To keep me safe from the Folk. To keepFódlasafe from the Folk.”
“Cathair? Mother’s fawning, ingratiating druid?” Eala laughed, high and bright. “Then she was cleverer with you than she was with me. She thought of a way to pass along the blame for her exploitation. I always knew exactly who to hate.”
Another hot flush sent forest shadows pulsing through my veins. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, allowing the pain to ground me.
“If I am a weapon,” I said tightly, “then I am both sword and swordsman. I’ve been taught to trust my instincts and react as new facts present themselves. No one makes my decisions but me.”
“Is that your way of apologizing for returning the Treasure to our dark-hearted captor?”
“I had every intention of giving you the Sky-Sword that night. Until I found out Irian’s death bought yours as well.”
“So he says.”
“Until I know it to be a lie, I will operate as if it were truth. The stakes are too high to do otherwise.”
“Very well, Sister.” She paused. Her smile turned coy. “Tell me, though—how long have you and Rogan been in love with each other?”
Surprise and guilt numbed my limbs. “What?”
“So youarein love.” Her smile broadened. “I saw the way you looked at him on the Nameless Day. And he has a thoughtless habit of talking about you—thinkingabout you—whenever we’re together. You are exceptionally pretty, so I understand why Rogan finds you difficult to resist. I confess, however, that it’s beginning to annoy me.”
“Eala, forgive me.” I barely heard the compliment—if it even was a compliment. “He and I have been friends since childhood, but I never—”
“Oh, Sister! For this, I don’t want your apologies.” She let out a glittering laugh. “I want you to sleep with him.”
The numbness climbed my neck. A cascade of fresh and frantic memories clawed at my mind. Rogan and I, sprawled in the grass, stretched out on his bed, splayed on the table. “You wantwhat?”
“Let me rephrase.” Her icy eyes grew thoughtful. “I realize that in this little love triangle, I am the interloper. Prior to a few months ago, I had only ever met Rogan once. I was four. He was a towheaded little bully who took my favorite doll and tore her head off. I have barely thought of him since.” Her casual recounting of the anecdote that tormented Rogan shocked me. “But you—you know him intimately. You have shared his trust and his love and—I daresay—his bed. I am envious of that closeness. He may be my betrothed. But he still belongs to you.”
My throat was tight. My skin, tighter. I suddenly wanted to be anywhere else.
“If you want him,” she continued, “you should have him. Allow your shared attraction to progress. Let the infatuation run its course.”
Infatuation?“I would hardly call twelve years of camaraderie and intimacy aninfatuation,” I snapped.
“Again, I misspeak. Too many years living among the Folk, I fear.” She ducked her head, chastened. “I simply mean our fates are already sealed. I was always going to wed Rogan. He was always going to wed me. But we have not yet broken my geas—I am not yet free. And I would not—could not—begrudge him a few months with you. If that was what you both chose.”
Confessions and self-recriminations tangled against my lips. I ought to tell her what had happened, how we had already given in to our shared lust. It was the right thing to do—I owed my sister that honesty, at least. But instead of any of that, I heard myself ask, “How can you be sure he won’t fall more in love with me?”
“Perhaps he will.” She gave me an assessing look, making me suddenly aware of my worn armor, garden-dirt fingernails, andmessy braids. “But people desire most what they think they cannot have. Forbid a child from playing with a toy, and they will want to play with nothing else. Give it to them, and they will soon tire of it and move on to other pursuits.”
I wasn’t sure what offended me more—Eala likening me to a toy Rogan would soon grow tired of playing with… or the creeping apprehension that her assessment was correct.
“Rogan isn’t a child. He’s a grown man. A prince. And—as you pointed out—your future husband.”
“Princes are good for many things. Fidelity is not one of them.” Eala’s smile was indefatigable. “As his wife, I will require Rogan’s love, fealty, and protection. But I don’t need his fidelity.”
There was a callousness to her words that reminded me, suddenly and blindingly, of Mother. “An interesting perspective, if one my own self-worth won’t allow me to share.”
Eala’s smile finally faded, and I hid a burst of cold satisfaction. But she wasn’t finished. “One last thing.”
“What?”
“I know Irian can be charming when he wishes to be. But I have known him for twelve years. You must trust me when I say he is violent, arrogant, and selfish. He has no thought but for his own objectives. He is not to be trusted.”
Her words were eerily close to what Chandi had told me at the Feis of the Nameless Day. Eala’s comments about Rogan had strung sharp lines of tension along my bones, but I forced myself to release them now. She might be my sister,bound in love, but we were still practically strangers. We had not had time to learn the other’s experiences and perspectives, quirks and triggers. It was natural that we would find ways to offend each other, simply by speaking our minds. Our relationship was a work in progress. But we still had the same goals—we still wanted the same outcomes in all this. I unclenched my fists and raised my hands, a gesture of supplication.
“Then it is good I do not trust him,” I assured her. “But heknows things—about Tír na nÓg, about magic, about your geas. I understand why you hate him. But he wrought your geas—I fear we will need him to undo it.”
