“But I’m not.” Wayland’s voice rasped raw. “I never was. I never will be. Do you know why?”
Still, Irian could not speak. Could not move. Could barely think.
“Because she choseyou, Ree. Even with the magic of Tír na nÓg twining us together—the magic of a kiss owed—she chose you. With a thousand flirtations falling from my tongue, she chose you. With my hands on her waist and my lips on hers—” Irian flinched. Wayland laughed, but the sound was hoarse, hollow. “Yes, even then—she choseyou. There may be patterns—destinies—etched between the stars, Brother. But our choices are more powerful than any fate. When it comes to Fia… Irian, you know I never stood a chance. You don’t have to trust me. But you can trust in that.”
“You thinkthatis why I am angry?” Irian demanded, terse. “I know Fia chose me. She has never betrayed me. She made mistakes—near fatal errors—because she did not know the customs of our people. But she never betrayed me.You, however.” He inhaled, as though a full breath might make the words easier to speak. “When Gavida forced me from Emain Ablach, I thought I would never see you again. I mourned you and foolishly believed you mourned me too. For a long time I did not know who I was without you. But when I returned to the Silver Isle, it was like I meant nothing to you. Like you had cast me off to the fates thirteen years ago and never spared me a second thought. And when you began pursuingher…” Irian spat the words between his teeth. “You keep calling meBrother. But you have acted like anything but family.”
Wayland’s eyes lightened, from fathomless blue to indigo shallows.
“You believedyouwere the castoff?” His nostrils flared, all that challenging humor leaking from his expression. “You abandonedme. You left Emain Ablach flush with mythic power while I stayed behind, alone. With a collar around my neck. I heard the tales of your empire of desolation, your fortress of vengeance. All that magic and you could not find a way to send word? To visitme?” Wayland’s throat bobbed beneath the scrape of Irian’s sword. “When I saw her, I knew. Whatever space I’d once occupied in your heart had been filled. And you had no need for me anymore.Brother.”
Irian forced in a slow, controlled breath. His hand suddenly went limp, and the Sky-Sword dropped from Wayland’s throat to clatter on the stone floor.
“For many years, you were the only person who bothered to love me,” Irian said, simply. “A brother cannot be replaced. Do not forget that again.”
He turned away from Wayland. Then pivoted back on his heel and slammed his closed fist into Wayland’s face. Cartilage crunched beneath his knuckles as Wayland’s head snapped back against the wall; blinding pain shot up Irian’s wrist to his shoulder. Hot dark liquid burst from Wayland’s nose, spattering Irian’s skin.
“Fuck me!” Wayland cursed, clutching at his newly rearranged face with both hands. Skeins of blue-black blood dripped over his mouth and stained both his palms. “What wasthatfor?”
“For kissing my wife,” Irian growled, forcefully. “And for baiting me. I could have killed you.”
Wayland choked out a laugh. “I suppose a broken nose is my consolation prize?”
“Maybe next time you will think twice before provoking the Sky-Sword with nothing more than a practice blade.” Irian turned away, leaving Wayland breathless, battered, but inexplicably grinning. “Idiot.”
“You needed a scapegoat,” Wayland called after his retreating back. “And I’ve never been one to refuse a good consensual whipping!”
Irian glanced back, incredulous.
Wayland smiled wider, his gleaming teeth rendered gruesome by the deep blue blood oozing steadily from his bruised nose. “Although next time, I’ll thank you to buy me dinner first.”
Chapter Seventeen
Wayland
Wayland meandered toward the library, cursing as he tried to stanch the blood oozing plentifully from his damaged nose. His first thought upon Irian’s fist colliding with his skull had honestly beenOh no, not my pretty face. But since approximately one split second after that, all he’d thought about was how much his pretty face fuckinghurt.
Despite all his bravado in the aftermath of their tussle, Wayland felt strange. As the adrenaline leaked from his veins, rendering his limbs weak and his heart hollow, he couldn’t help replaying some of the horrendous words he’d thrown at Irian and the dreadful wrath that had come crashing back on him.
He’d thought a physical battle might scour a slate so grimed with years of grief and guilt that neither man knew how to wipe it clean. The clash had certainly brought animosities to the surface. But had it resolved them?
A brother cannot be replaced. Do not forget that again.
He supposed only time would tell.
Wayland wasn’t sure why his footsteps were carrying him to thelibrary, of all places. Gods only knew he’d spent enough time on those uncomfortable draig-stone chairs with his nose crammed in a book. But although he had his own chambers in the Cnoc—complete with piping-hot water, mountains of pillows, and precious little else—they felt far less like home than this library now did. Maybe it was the honeyed glow of a hundred beeswax candles reminding him of his bedroom in Aduantas, sunken now to the bottom of the sea. Maybe it was the way Hog liked to drape herself along the mantel above the hearth, belly up, wheezing little puffs of smoke from her nostrils. Or maybe it was—
The door to the library shoved outward with the force of Idris’s shoulder. Between the hair falling over his face and two leather-bound tomes clutched in his arms, the younger man’s vision was obscured, and he didn’t see Wayland until he was nearly on top of him. He jerked in surprise, then gasped when he took in the sight of him, sweat-stained and bloodied. Idris’s face blanched white. He dropped the oversized volumes dangerously close to Wayland’s toes, even as he reached out gingerly for his face.
“Gods alive, Wayland,” he breathed. “Your nose, it’s—”
“Destroyed?” Wayland’s voice came out thick. “Mangled? Mutilated?”
“Broken.” Idris’s cool fingertips were faintly scented with dust and ink as he very gently prodded the screaming contours of Wayland’s nose. Wayland fought the urge to push him away—for what might be the first time in his adult life, he had no desire to be touched. “Not badly. Laoise’s had worse—those Twilight Sisters at Dún Scaith arenotoriouslyvicious. Come on—let’s get you cleaned up.”
Wayland prepared to march into the library, but Idris planted his feet and gripped Wayland around both biceps.
“Oh, no.” He pushed Wayland bodily down the hallway in the opposite direction. “I’m not going to explain to Laoise how someone got blue blood all over her priceless scrolls. And you don’t want to either. Or did you not hear what I said about the Twilight Sisters?”
