“A bottle of Macallan would make me feel better so I could drown myself in it.”
“Patrick,” Jono said quietly.
Patrick ignored him, still glaring at Gerard. “Did you know? About me, specifically? All this time I thought you were my friend while being my captain, but you’re just another fucking god whousedme—”
“I never bled for your dagger,” Gerard cut in, jaw tight as he stared at Patrick without blinking. “It was forged without me because I didn’tknow. If Brigid called me to the Seelie Court to bleed for the gods of heaven, I never heard her summons.”
“You heard her when she called about Órlaith.”
“Because Órlaith is my fiancée.”
Patrick’s lip curled, biting around the shape of words he knew would hurt. “Not your first.”
Gerard didn’t move, didn’t speak, not for a long few minutes. Patrick stood in front of his old captain and refused to move, because he’d done all the running he could when he was younger, and he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere.
It never did.
“Aífe and I…we lost too much when we walked this earth as we once were,” Gerard said slowly, the words heavy and tired-sounding. “I killed my son, and a marriage can’t outlast that. Ireland was never home after I buried Connla, so I left it for Tír na nÓg when the Otherworld would have me while I grieved. But grief can’t sustain a man or a god, Patrick. Not forever. When I returned to the mortal plane, the Great Famine had taken root, and nothing I did could save the few who prayed to me still. So, I left. I boarded a ship and came here, to America, where NINA signs dictated my prospects until the Civil War arrived.”
Gerard lapsed into silence, his gaze distant, as if he were looking at something else that wasn’t New York now, but New York then. Patrick waited Gerard out, chewing on his bottom lip, because he wanted answers and he wasn’t hearing any yet.
“I was made for war. I was trained for it, and I lived it for the Union during that time on a battlefield full of iron. But there was so much death during those years that even a god could tire of it. When the Civil War ended, I fled west, then north, and lost myself until Scáthach found me again.”
“I know your story. I know what was written about you,” Patrick said.
Gerard blinked, coming back to himself. “You don’t know the truth that’s sustained me. That was never written for the masses. My old teacher had Órlaith with her when they found me in Montana decades after the Civil War. The first time I laid eyes on Órlaith, I knew she could be my home the way Ireland used to be.”
“You bargained her away for the Morrígan’s staff. You bargained my life as well.”
“I said I wouldbringÓrlaith to Medb. I never said I would hand her over.”
Jono snorted from behind Patrick. “That’s some shaky word game you’re playing, mate.”
“I have never considered this a game.” Gerard’s gaze moved from Jono back to Patrick. “Your life was never a game to me, Patrick.”
Patrick’s fingers twitched, and he wished Keith were there so he could steal a cigarette. “Sure seems like it from where I stand.”
“I would sooner give up my godhead than see harm come to Órlaith. She taught me that life was worth living when I didn’t care about anything except the drink in my hand. I love her the way I should have loved Aífe, and I learned that on my own. There are no stories about us, because we never gathered worshippers to pray for us. We never needed that when we had each other.”
“You love her. That’s fucking great. What about me? When I was assigned to the Hellraisers, did you know about me? About my soul debt?” Patrick forced out between clenched teeth, the words like knives in his throat.
Gerard shook his head, never looking away. “No. I haven’t lived in the Seelie Court for centuries. I knew nothing about what Persephone had done to you. I wasn’t looking out for you because of the gods, but because you were assigned to my team, and General Reed asked me to. I think maybe he knew, but I would’ve watched your six regardless because you were under my command. You were my responsibility. For what it’s worth, you were my family.”
“You fucked up,” Patrick said, choking on a laugh that tasted like bile in the back of his throat.
“I know, and I amsorry.”
Patrick looked away, the ache in Gerard’s voice something he didn’t want to acknowledge. Jono touched his hip, fingers squeezing gently, and Patrick glanced over his shoulder.
“He’s telling the truth,” Jono said.
“Doesn’t make his lies any better.”
“I thought the fae couldn’t lie?”
“I have never lied to you, Patrick.” Gerard held up his hand in a pleading manner when Patrick opened his mouth. “We fae deal in half-truths and twist words all the time. That’s how we have always existed, but we can’t outright lie.”
“You told me your name was Gerard when it isn’t,” Patrick shot back.
