“You say I do not love any of you, and that makes you afraid. You are right—I do not love you. But that should not make you afraid. Rather, it should be a comfort—loyalty is a blade lesssharp than love, and more easily hefted.” Irian ran a helpless hand through his black hair. The gesture swirled discomfort around Laoise’s spine—as if in asking for honesty, she had received vulnerability. “I am bound and defined by my oaths—the promises I have made more potent than any geasa. So long as you—and everyone else in this mountain—continue to align your goals with mine, you have nothing to fear from me. Love is far messier. Whether Fia lives or dies or exists somewhere in between, I must love her. Desperately. Indecently. Ingloriously. Whatever I would do for her now, I will do for her always. She would never wish anyone but our enemies to bear the brunt of my wrath. Even if I do sometimes long to punt Wayland off a cliff.”
It seemed like an attempt at a joke, so Laoise smiled. But Irian looked away, his profile stark.
“As for vengeance? The only person I blame for Fia’s fate is myself.”
It was not what Laoise expected him to say. “Why?”
“She has been my salvation; I have been her ruin,” Irian said without inflection. “Her love saved me; my love has destroyed her. Without her, I am nothing. Without me, she could have been far more.”
“If I understand the story correctly,” Laoise said, fighting to keep a note of condemnation from her voice, “you saved each other. She has gained far more than she ever lost.”
Irian’s expression spasmed, hope and bitterness and longing winnowing over his fine features before smoothing away. He turned on his heel and paced away from her.
“If you truly could go back to the start—back to the beginning of your story with Fia—would you truly undo it?” The question spilling unbidden from Laoise’s lips wore Idris’s face. From the moment she had decided to bring her new friends here, to her home, to her family, she had worried for her brother. She worried for her draiglings too, but they were, well,draigs. They might not be able to take care of themselves now, but give them a few yearsand they would be indomitable. Idris, on the other hand, had been but a child when she rescued him from the ruins of Findias. He had spent the bulk of his life closeted from the world, growing food and reading books and cuddling draiglings. He was soft, in a way that made Laoise hope he never discovered what it meant to be hard.
But she had seen the way he had changed these past weeks. How he had straightened into himself, thrown off the last tatters of his childhood. How he glanced at Wayland when he thought no one was looking, with wonder and hunger and something like hope. How he seemed poised on the precipice of a new story, barely begun—only Laoise did not yet know whether it would be a triumph. Or a tragedy.
She wanted Idris to have the chance to live. To love.
But she had already hurt him so much. And she did not wish him to experience any more pain. “All that love lost, in return for pain avoided?”
“For my sake? Never,” Irian said vehemently. “I would trade a thousand days of torment for a single day with her. To hear her laugh. To touch her skin. To taste her lips. But for her sake? If I knew my sacrifice would bring her peace?” Irian broke off, his eyes flying far away. “I think perhaps it is good it is not my choice to make.”
Laoise could have traversed the caverns blindfolded. Fortunately, she didn’t have to—her eyes adjusted as Dwyn came gamboling behind her, her scales gleaming copper. Laoise could hardly believe how large she’d become—another few years, and her eldest three draigs wouldn’t be able to fit inside the Cnoc anymore.
The thought sent a spark of agony to lick at Laoise’s heart. She doused it before it could devour her, and stepped into the library.
Idris and Wayland were bent over the same large tome, ostensibly doing research but clearly doing anything but. Idris had hiseyes locked on the page in front of him, but he had his lips pressed together like he was trying not to laugh. Wayland wasn’t looking at the book at all, but had his chin propped on one hand as he gazed at the other man. He was speaking in an undertone, and the blush rising steadily on Idris’s face made Laoise think he wasn’t discussing the properties of metallurgy.
She shut the door with a click. Both men startled. Idris had the grace to look faintly guilty; Wayland grinned as he sprawled back in his chair.
“How goes the research?” Laoise asked, a little tartly.
“Excellent,” Wayland said. “Assuming you’re looking for a method to imprison your enemies’ souls in crystal orbs, perfect for shattering when you grow tired of them staring at you from their glass prisons.”
Disgruntled curiosity made Laoise ask, “Who didthat?”
“Lady Saorla of the Sept of Scales had quite the penchant for inventive punishments,” Wayland said, his smile exposing too many teeth. “An ancestor of yours, perhaps?”
“Alas, my ancestors were far more efficient.” Laoise grinned back. “Why waste time with anything but the classics? Thumbscrews… hot coals… a good whipping.”
Wayland put a hand over his heart and sighed theatrically. “Don’t tempt me.”
“That’s enough, you two.” Idris slapped the book shut and glared at Wayland before his eyes landed on Laoise. “Anything amiss topside?”
“Mercifully, no.” She’d scouted as far as she could easily fly in a morning but seen little more interesting than tufts of grass and nerve-weed. “Eala remains in the human realms, but a moon has come and gone. Spring is upon us. We are running out of time.”
The smile fell from Wayland’s face. But as Laoise turned back to the door, she heard him whisper to Idris, “Better read faster, Red. Or it’s the thumbscrews for you.”
Laoise rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her.
The Farm was empty. Laoise followed the sound of loud crashing to one of the lesser-used passageways—a straight, flat hallway between the dining hall and the latrines. There she found Balor, his huge bulk obscuring the corridor. Laoise peered around his massive frame as he rolled enormous boulders to crash into stalagmites sticking up from the floor.
“Balor?” she called over the reverberating noise. “What in the gods’ names are you doing?”
“Boulder bowling, lady!” He cheerfully hurled another massive stone. “Would you like to try?”
Laoise looked askance at the massive pile of rocks. “No, thank you. Any idea where Sinéad and Fia are?”
