I raise my hands. Not surrender. Retreat.
There’s a difference. Even if it doesn’t look like one.
“The Cauldron is required.” She says it like she’s explaining something to a particularly slow child.
“How?” I wheeze.
“You hold the Spear. The clever one holds the Crown.” She lowers herself before me, those void-black eyes inches from mine. “But the Cauldron. We require it.”
“You could have asked!” Orion screams from somewhere behind her.
I shove the goddess aside, she lets me, which is somehow more insulting, and reach Orion just as Finnian does. The Morrigan releases him with a look that says she was merely humoring his struggle.
“By the gods.” I vault the bar, grabbing towels. Donn stands there holding the damned Cauldron in bloody hands. If it weren’t the Cauldron of Life, I’d think it a heart.
The bond at my wrist pulses. Not Orion, Ash. Faint. Distant. Like she’s dreaming of us while we fall apart without her.
I shove the thought down and press towels against Orion’s burning flesh, sending cold through the rags to slow the bleeding.Focus on what’s in front of you.
“What were you thinking?” Finnian’s voice cracks. His hands hover over Orion’s chest like he’s forgotten how to help.
Donn doesn’t react. Just stands there, bloody hands cradling that damned Cauldron like a newborn.
“Explain.” I don’t ask. I don’t need to. “Now.”
Orion’s eyes find mine, his lip curled in a snarl. “He took the Cauldron.” He finally sits back on the stool. He’s a beast of a man and the stool nearly topples beneath him, though he doesn’t lose his balance. Just stares blankly at Donn with murder in his eyes.
“Orion.” I press the rags harder, causing him to hiss. “Focus.”
“Dagda,” he breathes. Not in reverence. No, he’s furious. “Tadhg. The bartender is the fucking Dagda.”
“What are you trying to say?” Finnian grabs more rags, though his hands shake.
“Why would you pull the Treasure from him knowing he cannot heal the wound?” The temperature drops. Frost crackles across the bar top before I can stop it. At least it’s not slushy snow. “We cannot heal this wound. Only the Cauldron can, and you’ve just ripped it from the man who carried it.”
Donn finally blinks out of whatever trance held him. He sets the bloody Cauldron down and reaches for more rags, tossing them across the counter along with a vial. “This will help.”
“Someone explain what the fuck just happened.” Finnian is pulling at his hair. I don’t blame him.
“You aren’t Donn. Never were.” Orion continues his stare down, speaking only to the man behind the counter. “Tadhg.” He mocks the name. “A bartender.” His laugh holds no humor. “The god who forged the Cauldron of Life, pouring pints in a borderland tavern.”
“You’re angry,” Donn replies, his eyes casually flicking to me then Orion.
“Damn fucking straight I’m angry.” Flames leap from the tips of Orion’s hair to the bar top. Donn extinguishes them with a lazy wave. “How many of you chose not to forget, huh? How many of you sat around and watched what was happening to our people? To her?”
“Let us explain.” The Morrigan reaches for the Cauldron and lifts it, uncaring of the blood.
“Someone needs to.”
“Long ago, the Tuatha lived in this realm peacefully.” Morrigan’s fingers trace the Cauldron’s rim. “Until we didn’t.”
“The end,” Whispen supplies from somewhere behind me.
I’d forgotten he existed. Small mercies are rare; I’ll take them.
“No, my silly wisp.” Morrigan’s voice softens. “The gods didn’t just lose empathy. They lost the ability to feel.”
Snowflakes drift from my fingertips onto the bar. I watch them melt against the wood.
