He could not tell a lie, but neither would he allow himself to agree.
The Vaich, however, needed no confirmation. “What did he do to you?”
“That’s unimportant.”
“Answer me.”
Images of that dark tower flooded his mind. Seasalt was on his tongue, in his nose. He glanced away, eliciting the king’s furious snarl.
“I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The druid pulled free of his grip.
“Tell me what he did.”
“No.”
“Why do you defend him?”
“It has nothing to do with him,” the druid said flatly. “And nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me!” He reached for the druid’s cheek. “Did he do this, too?”
The druid flinched away. “I told you to let it be.”
“I won’t—”
“What good will knowing do? Shall you punish him and not yourself?”
The silence was sharp.
“I…” the Vaich began, but whatever words would follow were swallowed up. “Fine. I’ll leave you to rest.”
The druid made to rise, but was pinned down by the Vaich’s fearsome glare.
“Stay put. I will have your breakfast brought.”
“I am happy to return to my quarters—”
“It was a command, druid. You may have been gifted by the Moon, but I am Vaich and you are my consort. My word still holds law.”
“So, you command me to rest?” the druid asked.
“Yes,” he grumbled. “Rest. I will summon Lady Cearnathán—”
“My chambermaid,” corrected the druid. “Halla. Send for her.”
The Vaich looked annoyed, but relented. “Then you will remain here until it is determined you are well. I will have you examined by the Líaig.”
The druid’s face rumpled at the thought, but he did not refuse. The Vaich went to the door, his hand gripping the latch. “About the… about the wedding…”
“We needn’t speak of it.”
“Alright.” And with that, he was gone, leaving the druid alone.
His gaze trailed to the sliver of sun that tiptoed between the curtains, then to the mask of iron lain dormant beside a bowl of silver and blood.
It was not a victory. At least, not yet. But something… something had shifted.
