“See…? Ah.” Sinéad had been distraught when she learned Eala’s new Treasure had somehow kept her alive. Laoise had assumed she was simply disheartened by her failure to destroy the wicked princess. But she was forever underestimating how deeply humans could grieve things beyond their meager control. “The Twilight Sisters have confirmed it. She lives.”
“But I killed her.”
“No,” Laoise said in confusion. “You did not.”
“I tried. I wanted to. When I plunged those daggers into her chest, I meant it. I wanted her dead more than anything I’ve wanted in my life.” Sinéad passed a bloody hand over her forehead. “Now when I sleep, all I see isher. Her blood, arcing over my hands. The surprise on her face, as if until the end she didn’t believe I had it in me. The life fading from her eyes.”
Laoise listened. She had killed before, and only one of those deaths was something she regretted. Death was a shadow that waited for everyone. No matter how far you ran or how brightlyyou burned, it came for everyone in time, slipping silently from the dark to claim what was owed. Sinéad’s had been a righteous kill; Eala’s death, deserved. In Laoise’s mind, the only shame was that it hadn’t stuck. She could not fathom Sinéad’s penitence.
“Don’t you see?” Sinéad continued. “In the end, I am no better than her. Than either of them. Eala, who ripped her maidens’ hearts out for power. And Chandi. Who—”
Sinéad’s voice broke off. And Laoise thought,There it is at last.
“Who betrayed you?”
“She betrayed herself. She betrayed her values for an easy solution. She betrayed the truth for a deception—she lost the difference between right and wrong. By killing Eala, I fear I am no better than either of them.” Sinéad’s fingers curled into tight little fists. “I need to see her. I need to seethem. I need to see that I am on the right side of this—that they are worse than me. Or rather, that I can be better thanthem.”
“Hush.” Laoise caught Sinéad’s hands, uncurling her fists. “You are nothing like either of them. You saw a chance to end something before it started—you trusted your instincts and fought like a warrior. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Except my own frail, human body,” Sinéad said with bitterness. “Otherwise you would let me join you.”
Laoise relented. Perhaps she was growing soft in her old age. Or perhaps she could not stomach that Sinéad felt so far removed from her own potential because of the way she was made. Iron could hit just as hard as steel; quartz could shine just as brightly as diamond. Strength was forged in the soul, not the body.
“By all accounts Eala’s army moves slowly and stops often,” Laoise allowed. “Perhaps there is no harm in waiting a week. Two atmost. You will eat regularly and sleep often. You will regain your strength. If you are fit enough by then, you may join me. But if you are not, you must promise to stay.”
“Thank you.” Sinéad flung herself at Laoise without warning, throttling her in an embrace. The cut on her wrist broke open,smearing warm blood on Laoise’s neck. She was too thin—her ribs pressed into Laoise’s torso. Faint human smells Laoise wasn’t sure she’d ever grow accustomed to wafted from her hair. “You won’t regret it.”
“Eat.” Laoise laughed a little as she returned the other woman’s embrace. “Sleep. And for gods’ sake, take a bath.”
Chapter Twelve
Wayland
Wayland, Idris, Irian, Balor, and the aughiskies all watched as Laoise strode off to coddle Sinéad, who appeared to be having a tantrum. Linn—who had been deceptively silent lately—sent a blistering vision of Laoise chopping the other girl into bloody pieces with her knives, then serving her up in a delicious-looking stew.
“Ugh!” Idris exclaimed in shock. Clearly he was not accustomed to aughisky humor. “Not in my house!”
“Well.” Wayland braced his forearms on the table. “I suppose that concludes our war council.”
“Not quite,” Irian growled. “There is a matter I would have discussed with Laoise here. But I suppose it mostly concerns you.”
“Indeed? I’m flattered.”
Irian didn’t take the bait. In his lap, Fia moaned, her chapped lips pulling into an O of distress. Feathers rippled suddenly from the crown of her head and ruffled around her throat. Irian’s hand curved protectively around her torso; Fia’s form responded unconsciously to the touch, her spine undulating as sharp black vanes burst from her skin.
Irian made a noise deep in his throat as his silvering gaze met Wayland’s, who had instinctively risen to help, disturbing a disgruntled Hog in the process. He scooped Fia into his arms and rose to his feet in one smooth, contained motion. Irian’s sinewed arms barely flexed as his wife began to transform into a black swan, her neck lengthening as dark feathers swept around her body. Wayland expected they would not likely see either him or Fia again until morning. Instead, Irian startled him by striding directly for Balor and stopping a pace in front of the giant. He lifted Fia in surprising supplication.
“Balor, my friend,” Irian said. “Would you mind?”
Astonishment mirroring Wayland’s own skated across Balor’s face. But the giant did not hesitate before his huge hands closed tenderly around the half swan, half woman. A soft smile puckered his broad, jocular face.
“Of course, lord!” Gods alive, but he hadso manyteeth. “I love birds!”
Irian’s hands clenched at his sides until Fia was safely nestled against the Fomorian’s bulk. He returned to the table, though he did not deign to sit. He loomed in apparent hesitation.
“Speak it, Brother,” Wayland urged, abandoning his teasing. “There are no wrong ideas.”
“I do not hesitate because I think the idea is wrong. I hesitate because I do not wish you—any of you—to have to do what needs to be done.” Irian exhaled and passed a hand over his eyes, roughly brushing away black hair that needed cutting. When he spoke, the words seemed to scald him. “To defeat Eala and restore balance to Tír na nÓg, we will need to reforge the lost Treasures of the Septs.” His eyes landed on Wayland, his expression taut with hope, but also immeasurable regret. “Youare going to have to reforge the Treasures. And become an heir.”
