2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"If you come across a fae in the wild, run and hope they do not follow you, for they will trick you into staying." – Lord Keegan, Fourth Lord of Sídhetír.

" Y ou disappeared last night," Nevan said as he sprawled with his twin brother, Neil, by his side. The two were perfect reflections with black hair, deep blue eyes, and long faces. They were closest to Oren in age, at twenty-six.

All of Oren's brothers and I were lounging on a balcony at the back of Byrne Manor. I never understood why, but Thomas had always included me in their schemes or when they all gathered like this, even as a young child. By the time he and his immediate younger brother, Whitaker or Whit, left, it was natural that I be included with them.

Sevrin grinned, lifting a wine bottle to his lips as he crossed his legs. "Does Aidan have a lover? Someone in the village perhaps."

I frowned, and Sevrin continued to grin, his brown eyes twinkling in mischief.

Whit draped a massive arm over my shoulders and shook me. "Little baby Aidan has a lover. Who would have thought?"

"Look, his face is as red as his hair," Thomas teased, and Whit poked my cheek.

I slapped him off, wishing his wife, Frances, would take him away, but she'd remained at home. So had Thomas's spouse, Georgie, which in this case was a good thing. Georgie would have teased me as much as the Byrne brothers did.

Oren laughed. "Who? Who is it? Are they pretty?"

I crossed my arms, refusing to talk. Iris, who was not my lover, didn't want people to know about her. She didn't even sell her goods directly to people; instead, she went through a vendor. I wouldn't betray her trust. I'd found her home not long after my mother had passed, and Iris had always allowed me to visit her whenever I wanted. Her home had become my sanctuary.

Phineas, the third eldest, spoke up, his voice even, "Leave Aidan be." He looked directly at me with those pale green eyes that matched his father's. "You don't have to tell us."

"Thanks."

He smiled. "Doesn't mean we won't tease you."

I frowned again, and all the brothers laughed.

Thankfully, the conversation veered away from my supposed lover to Oren and the fae nobles who were vying for his attention.

"The Day Court representative, Lady Blodwen, is gorgeous," Sevrin said, running a hand through his coal-black hair, his hard features appearing even more gaunt in dying light. "Much better than Lord Abnus, the Night Court representative."

I hadn't met either of them, so I didn't offer an opinion.

Oren drew his legs to his chest. "They keep attacking me."

"What?" I asked, sitting up straight.

In the distance, thunder rumbled as an autumn storm began to build. I turned toward the swelling clouds, then back to Oren. The Sídhetír Memoirs said that when the heir came of age, the land responded to his call. He was tethered to the land and it to him. Oren must be more upset than I thought.

"Not truly," Thomas said, placing a hand on my arm before he pulled Oren into a hug. "All day, they've popped out from behind corners, trying to talk to him."

Oren's worst nightmare. He didn't like new people and struggled with basic communication when it came to strangers.

"Why didn't you summon me?" I'd been around all day, but Oren had told me this morning he didn't need me. Normally, I spent the day with him. Talking to others. Taking notes. Answering questions.

He peeked at Thomas and Whit from behind the curtain of his hair. Thomas nudged Oren, who said, "Father told me I needed to do this on my own. Without you."

A sharp needle of pain punctured my heart. It was a steady reminder; while the Byrne brothers treated me like one of them, I wasn't. I belonged to no one. I had no place. I had no home.

"I see."

Whit snagged me around the waist, hauling me to his side, while Phineas shifted closer, his knee brushing mine. Sevrin took a drink of wine, then said, "He was wrong, Aidan. You and Oren are best friends. If he wants you around, then you should be. Father just wants to control everything while he still can."

"Too true," Nevan said, and Neil silently toasted their brother.

I didn't know if that was accurate or not. I didn't know Jonathan Byrne well.

Oren smiled at me, but it was tense. I could easily read his thoughts because we had been by each other's sides for as long as I could remember. Even before I became a ward, we'd played together almost daily, unable to stay away from each other.

He wanted to defy Lord Byrne, but he wouldn't. I gave him a returning smile to let him know it was fine.

The distance between me and the Byrnes would never lessen. I wanted it to. I wanted to be one of them, but it would never be.

Keeping his arm around my waist, Whit kissed the top of my head. "We'll protect you. Don't worry."

I didn't need their protection, but I would allow such thoughts if it pleased them.

After Oren's valet helped him dress for the day, I stood from the sofa and moved in front of him. His skin was pallid and dark circles ringed his eyes. Shoulders slumped, he stared at the lightening window.

"I can come with you and Sevrin," I said.

Today, Oren was to tour Sídhetír with his fae guests. Sevrin, the horseman of the family, was going with him. The Byrne brothers had made a pact to never leave Oren alone with the fae, which was wise.

The Night Court hadn't been chosen since Lord Jonathan's grandfather's time. They had to be desperate to increase their standing and power within the fae realm, so Lord Abnus needed to be watched. Fae couldn't lie, but they did bend and twist the truth until it was unrecognizable.

Though bound by their word not to hurt Oren physically, the Night and Day Court representatives could take advantage of him.

Oren shook his head, straightening, though his shoulders remained rounded. "Father specifically told me you couldn't come. He and Thomas fought, but Father wouldn't relent. He wants you to make yourself scarce."

Why was Lord Byrne banishing me? Sometimes I helped Oren speak to people or answered questions, but that was it. Lord Byrne had always kept me from the fae in the past, and I'd never thought much of it. I'd been his ward, a peasant one at that.

Forcing myself onto this expedition would accomplish only one thing—irritating Lord Byrne. He would unleash said irritation on Oren for not being strong enough to do this without me.

"I will visit my mother."

When I reached the door, Oren whispered, "I'm sorry for being weak."

I replied in a hard voice, "You are not weak. Do you hear me, Oren? You are not weak. Your strengths are different than Lord Byrne's, but that does not make you weak. You are perfect the way you are. I and your brothers would never trade you for another or wish you to be different."

He swallowed, eyes glassy. "Thank you."

"You can do this."

Oren didn't need me, even if he detested the situation. I squeezed his shoulder before slipping down the corridors and wound through the manor, nodding at the people I passed.

When I stepped outside, the late autumn air held the promise of the coming winter. Leaves rattled on the trees, and the crisp air raised pebbles of gooseflesh on my arms. Tucking my gloved hands into my pockets, I headed to the main gate of the estate.

The footmen at the gatehouse watched me leave, not acknowledging me with more than a nod, which I returned. The main road was well-kept, allowing the walk to the nearby village of Elmbury to be leisurely. Trees hovered in the background, the early morning shadows and fog clinging to their branches.

Elmbury was a gathering of a couple dozen buildings crowded between hills. The wood buildings were a mix of two and three-story homes with steep pitches and turrets. A stone well with a roof sat in the center, ringed by the buildings and vendor stalls. At the edge of the village was a short stone wall, broken and crumbling in places.

As today was market day, vendors hawked food, cloth, and goods of all kinds. I bypassed it, barely glancing at the sellers as I headed to my destination—a modest flower shop.

The wide front windows were framed by planters alive with blooming flowers, even this close to winter. The owners, Connor and Fergus Walsh, lived outside Elmbury with a sizable greenhouse behind their cottage.

I opened the glass door painted with the words Walsh Flowers , and a bell chimed. Connor stood behind the scarred wood counter spanning the back of the shop. He pushed his round spectacles up his long nose. Everything about Connor was thin and long, like he'd been stretched. His red hair was a shade or two lighter than mine and freckles decorated his skin, much like my own, though far more numerous.

"Greetings, Connor. How's your husband?"

"Same. Tending the flowers."

Fergus was Connor's almost exact opposite, blonde and broad. He preferred to tend the fields while Connor cared for the shop.

"Your usual arrangement?" Connor asked as he began to gather white roses.

"Yes. Ma's favorite." I only bought flowers when I visited her grave.

He nodded, not responding. Connor was a quiet one, while his husband was always good for a laugh, but Fergus didn't come to Elmbury often.

Once the bouquet was ready, I slapped a few coins on the counter.

When I reached the door, Connor said, "Be careful."

"What do you mean?"

Sídhetír was safe. The local magistrate kept highwaymen and any other human threats at bay. Since Lord Byrne was tied to the land, any fae in Sídhetír could be banished by his will if they caused trouble, which was why many fae stuck to the woods. He could not sense them there.

"More fae have come through the gate because we're in the transition, and you'll be walking near the woods. Watch yourself," he responded.

He was right. I'd quite forgotten. During the transition of power, Lord Byrne couldn't sense the fae nor cast them out. "Thank you."

My feet moved along the track, leaving Elmbury for the church outside the village. As it wasn't Sunday, there would be few parishioners, only people visiting the dead.

On the side of the dirt road, with nothing nearby, stood a building with a tall bell tower at the front. Its arched door was closed and the windows dark. The church backed up to the woods and graves dotted the surrounding area, all framed by a low stone wall. I spotted a few others paying their respects, but I paid them no mind, and they gave me the same courtesy.

A man peeled off the wall of the church like a shadow, and I stifled a groan. Eilis Duffy, the caretaker for the church grounds. He was convinced that every time I came to the graveyard, I was here to cause trouble. His suspicion stemmed from an incident about six years ago when Neven, Neil, Oren, and I had broken into the church to drink the sacramental wine. We'd gotten drunk and passed out in the sanctuary, where Mr. Duffy had found us.

"Mr. Ryan," he said in a grim voice. The man resembled a skeleton, with shockingly white skin, deep-set eyes, and black hair; he was thin as a rail with no meat clinging to his body. He pounded the base of his walking stick into the ground. "Come to disrespect the dead."

"No, Mr. Duffy. I came to see my ma."

He grunted, bony hands clutching the gnarled wood of his walking stick tighter. Mr. Duffy stared at me for several long breaths before he slunk away, leaving me alone.

Leaves from the large elm tree crunched under my feet as I wound between the graves. Crouching, I cleaned the leaves and moss from the gravestone. I laid the flowers down and traced the name, Vis Ryan , with my fingertip.

"Hey, Ma. Sorry, it's been a while. I've been busy with Oren. He's about to become Lord of Sídhetír. Can you believe it?"

I almost pictured her smiling face. Her red hair the same shade as mine. Her soft blue eyes, to my light green ones, crinkling with her mirth. Her booming laugh. God, I missed her. It had been thirteen years, but I missed her every day.

Words caught in my throat. I wanted answers she wouldn't give, even if she had been here. Ma had never talked about her family. Ever. I never knew them, or where she was from. Ma had never told me who my father was, only that he was as good as dead to me.

I rested my hand on the grave. "I wish you'd told me. I see Oren and his brothers, and I want that."

My only response was the wind.

The dead had no answers, and it was foolish to want them.

I left the grave and my frustration behind. My life wasn't bad. When I was orphaned, Lord Byrne could've abandoned me, but he'd kept me in the manor, away from the worst of the world. I had a job as Oren's aide. Money. Food. A place to live. Friends. There was nothing more I could ask for.

My boots crunched on the rocks in the dirt road as I paced along the woods. The wind whistled through the leaves, setting off a cacophony of whispers, and brought the damp smell of earth. The hour was early, and Oren would be with his guests. With no need to return, I strode in the general direction of Iris's cottage, staying on the road.

Something always drew me to the trees. A need to be under them, to touch them, and to bask in their presence. I gave into the longing and strolled into the forest.

Twigs snapped under my boots as leaves squished. The fragrance of wet, molding leaves mixed with that of moss and plant life. I took a deep inhale, allowing the air to expand my lungs to their fullest.

No lights glimmered from wisps, but I kept my eyes peeled for fae. Usually, one or two smaller ones were out and about. Most often pixies. They would play tricks, bite me with their needle teeth, or tug my hair. But all in all, they were harmless, unless I approached their nests.

Screeching and flapping tore through the silence as a flock of birds rushed over me. I jerked up, looking around the dimly lit forest. Something had startled them, and I didn't want to meet whatever it was. Picking up my pace, I strode toward Iris's cottage in a more direct route.

From one second to the next, I was walking, then crumpled on the ground. I swore, palms stinging through my gloves and back protesting. My legs were tangled on something solid. Something that had tripped me. I scrambled off, kicking whatever it was, and turned around.

The very blood in my veins froze as my breath turned harsh.

A man was sprawled on the forest floor, blood leaking from his stomach. His tapered ears poked through his white hair. His gray skin was frightfully pale. His sharp features slack.

A dark fae. An injured dark fae.