On the wall, the otter froze. The tiny manikin shivered to life, scattering bits of straw and thread over my lap. Corra gave their uneven limbs an experimental shake, then turned gleaming eyes to mine.
“Wicked mistress,” giggled Corra, their red-berry mouth twisting with mirth. “We’ve not had a body in a very long time. Ask your question, and we promise to answer truthfully.”
I knew the ways of the Folk—a truthful answer did not necessitate a complete one. Corra would find a way to evade any question as direct asWhat are you?orWho wrote the journals left here?I rolled phrases over my tongue, searching for the right one.
“When we came here, you asked us to rebuild the greenhouse, renew the gardens, celebrate the high holy days. Why?”
“The cycle of life, the ebb and the flow.” The little manikin clicked their knobby knees and peered up at me. “The magic of nature—you reap what you sow. You give; we take: a seed to plant, a pie to bake.”
“So my work in the garden regenerates your magic.” Corra’s answer confirmed my suspicions—even here, the principle of balance was at play. But it also sparked a thousand other questions. “But what is that magic?Whyare you here?”
“One question, chiardhubh!” The little manikin pranced off, gleeful.
I cursed. That manikin had taken me weeks. I should have bargained for more questions.
I saw Rogan from time to time. We still lived together, after all. Whenever our paths crossed, he was extremely polite, exceedingly helpful, and extraordinarily detached.
If I missed him, I refused to admit it to anyone. Least of all myself.
He is a thorn beneath your skin. Cut him out of your heart. Then cauterize the wound.
Chapter Thirty
The moment I crossed into Tír na nÓg, apprehension and desire and a traitorous shiver of shyness raced through me. I sucked in a deep breath of balmy night air, waiting for Rogan to wend through the trees after Eala before I willed my rooted feet to move.
My struggle didn’t last long. Irian appeared, wraithlike, between the trees, his tall, shadowy figure blocking the path a pace in front of me. I jerked back a step, fighting to calm my suddenly pounding heart.
“You startled me,” I gasped.
“I know.” Moonlight struck his eyes, transforming them into chips of opal. “After the events of last month, I thought you might try to avoid me.”
I lifted my chin. “Do you think me so easily frightened?”
“I hoped you would not be.” The expectant slant of his smile unsteadied me. He held out a hand. “Join me.”
My pulse sped. “We’re not crashing another wedding, are we?”
“That does seem unwise.” His smile widened. “I have no nefarious designs, colleen. I promise you that.”
I believed him. I grasped his large, hot palm and let him lead me into the wood.
Irian didn’t speak as we threaded through the trees. I kept my eyes on the supple movement of his back and tried not to notice how the fabric of his dark mantle stretched tight over the broad lines of his shoulders. Or how he slid glances at me, as though I was something precious he was afraid to lose. Emotions raced through me, as fleeting and insubstantial as the flimsy clouds veiling the moon.
Curiosity. Hazy confusions of alarm and appeal. Furtive tendrils of desire. And the creeping knowledge that the reasons I’d been sent to Tír na nÓg were beginning to fade behind the veil of my own selfish wants.
Abruptly, Irian halted and put a finger to his lips. His eyes were intent across a clearing in the wood. He slid into a crouch beside a leafing ash and beckoned me close. I sidled up to the trunk. His palm wrapped around my forearm, tugging me down beside him in the brush—close enough that our thighs pressed up against each other. I tensed and dared a sidelong glance at him. But he wasn’t looking at me—his gaze was trained across the narrow glade.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“There.” He pointed between shifting patterns of moonlight.
“I don’t see anything.”
Carefully, Irian moved behind me, lowering his head next to mine and wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I tried to breathe normally as the solid muscles of his chest pressed against my back, seeping heat through our clothing. His sharp scent—like ice-chased water and cold steel—washed over me. I tried to focus—focus on anything but the rough brush of his jaw against mine, the tickle of his short hair against my cheek, the thunder of his heartbeat between my shoulder blades.
He pointed once more. “Do you see them now?”
I gazed across the glade, letting the calmness of the nocturnal forest wash over me. My breathing ebbed in time to the flow of nature, slowing my leaping pulse and cooling my skin.
