Gerard took a hesitant step forward, eyes locked on the warrior woman of old. He shook his head before striding through the snow to where Scáthach stood. She leaned her spear against the wall of the cabin, stepping off the porch to meet him halfway.
They hugged in the light of the bonfire and floating witchlights overhead, old friends reunited. Patrick glanced at Órlaith, seeing a soft smile gracing the Summer Lady’s lips as she watched them.
Scáthach put Gerard at arm’s length, giving him a long, assessing look before finally nodding. “You look well.”
Gerard let out a shaky laugh. “I’ve been better.”
“You are still alive and remembered. That is enough, these days.”
Gwyn ap Nudd pushed past Patrick, his footsteps not making a sound in the snow. Scáthach watched him come with an unblinking gaze, unconcerned about the Welsh god’s presence in her domain.
“Scáthach,” Gwyn ap Nudd said. “I understand you have something of mine.”
“If you mean your daughter, then yes. I have kept her safe since the moment she was given to me,” Scáthach replied.
Behind her, someone else walked out of the cabin, holding a child in his arms. It took a moment for Patrick to make out his face, backlit as the god was, but when he did, he wanted to strangle someone—preferably the trickster.
“Hello, Pattycakes,” Hermes said with a smirk.
“What the fu—” Patrick began. Jono’s hand covered his mouth before Patrick could get the rest of the word out.
“There are children about. Watch your language,” Jono told him mildly.
Hermes cooed at the dark-eyed changeling Patrick had last seen when he’d handed her off to another SOA agent for safekeeping. Cadwyn patted Hermes on the face with one tiny hand stuffed into a mitten before waving her other hand at Gwyn ap Nudd and letting out an excited squeal that made Hermes wince.
“That is not what I call safe, Scáthach,” Gwyn ap Nudd said tightly, glaring at Hermes.
“Relax. I’m not going to take your kid,” Hermes replied.
“She is in your arms.”
“And Patrick is free of Medb’s strings. If he wasn’t, you’d be dealing with Persephone, not me.” Hermes made a kissy face at Cadwyn. “I’m just a messenger.”
The reminder of who owned his soul debt made Patrick wince. Wondering what would have happened to Cadwyn if he hadn’t gotten free of Medb’s bargain wasn’t worth thinking about.
Patrick pulled Jono’s hand away from his mouth. “Give Gwyn ap Nudd his daughter.”
Hermes saluted lazily with the hand not holding the changeling. “Whatever you say, Pattycakes.”
Hermes walked over to Gwyn ap Nudd and handed over Cadwyn, the tiny fae child clinging to her father like a limpet once she was in his arms. The god held her close, his mouth pressed to the hood of her mini-parka, lips moving around silent words.
After a moment, Gwyn ap Nudd raised his head and looked at Patrick. “You kept your promise.”
“I don’t use kids as bargaining chips. She’s all yours,” Patrick said.
Gwyn ap Nudd cupped his daughter’s head with one hand, eyes like molten fire in his face. “When you call for war, I will fight.”
If the Welsh god thought he owed a debt, Patrick wasn’t going to argue. He’d take all the promised help he could for future fights in this war. “Sure.”
“Now I see why you let Sage do all the talking. You could’ve gotten anything out of him and he’d have paid it,” Gerard mused.
“Shut up.”
Patrick tucked his chin beneath his scarf as a cold wind blew up, carrying with it a mist that wrapped around Gwyn ap Nudd and his daughter like a shroud. They disappeared through the veil, free to be together again after who knew how many months apart.
A piece of wood in the fire cracked and popped from the heat, sending sparks into the air. A child giggled, most of them having returned to the bonfire to continue making s’mores. Their quiet voices drifted on the air in a few different languages.
“We hunted earlier. I have a venison and potato stew cooking on the stove.” Scáthach eyed Gerard and Órlaith before nodding at the closest cabin. “You should stay and tell me the story of your life since last I saw you.”
