One of us will need to teleport to South America before too much longer.”
“Are the humans doing all right?” she asked.
Bran nodded. “Most of them are resting. We built pyres for their dead and saw everyone had food in their bellies.” A sheepish look danced across his face. “’Tis the least we can do for our new allies.”
“They’re excellent fighters,” Arawn said. “We will make certain to mention that at the next Celtic council gathering.”
“I don’t suppose an apology is in the cards?” Aislinn stared at the god of the dead.
“Probably not. We can be a stiff-necked bunch, and prejudice is a dicey thing, lass. No one has any control over their past actions.” He winked. “Mayhap ’twould be better for all of us to look forward. We willna run out of foes anytime soon.”
She recognized wisdom in his words and focused on her breakfast, eating mindlessly. Her spoon hit the bottom of the bowl, and she got up to get a second helping. “Have any of you heard from Fionn?” She kept her words casual, but hope flared hot within her—and died at the expressions on their faces.
“Nay,” Gwydion said. “If we’d had word, we wouldna still be here.”
It took a moment to sink in, but the meaning behind his words was clear enough. “You’d have left without me?” She slapped her bowl back on the table, surprised it didn’t shatter.
“Mayhap.” Bran spoke carefully. “Depends on where Fionn was and how hard it would be to extract him.”
“So if it was very hard, you’d have left me here?” Aislinn persisted. She wasn’t hungry anymore; the oatmeal tasted like glue, but she needed fuel, so she forced more of it down.
“That shouldna surprise you,” Arawn said. “Fionn would skin us alive if we took you into danger, and ye dinna make it out alive.”
She slugged back half her coffee, blew out a weary breath, and rested her chin on an upraised hand. It didn’t make sense to dig deeper. She was weaker than them, but their penchant to treat her like a hothouse flower rankled.
“Do you have a plan?” she asked, switching tactics.
“The logical place to start would be the Strophades Islands in the Aegean,” Gwydion replied.
“Aye, but it canna be that easy,” Bran protested.
“True. Mayhap the dark gods are planning on us staging a rescue and have something unpleasant in store for us once we arrive.” Arawn knit his dark brows together.
“Even if they do, that’s not a reason not to go,” Aislinn said.
“Relax, lass.” Bran held out a hand, palm toward her. “No one is suggesting we leave Fionn to find his own way back, although he is more than capable of doing so.”
Aislinn stifled a gasp, and a lead weight settled in her heart. “So you’re saying if he wanted to return, he’d already be back?” Visions of him doing unspeakably twisted sexual things with the bird-woman pummeled her.
“Nay, I dinna say that at all,” Bran shot a discerning glance her way. “Ye doona trust him.”
“I do.” Her voice wavered, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I do, but he has…history with that thing.”
“’Twas a time when Fionn had history with half the lassies in the Old Country.” Gwydion arrowed a meaningful glance her way. “If ye canna get past it, mayhap ye’d be better served to pick one of us.” A lascivious grin split his face, and his blue eyes glittered mischievously.
Aislinn drained her coffee. “Thanks, but you’re still in love with my mother.”
“I’m not.” Bran leaped to his feet and bowed. “Neither is Arawn.”
Rune scuttled out of the corner where he’d settled and pounced on something. A cacophony of squeaks later, he padded to Aislinn’s side with a dead mouse in his teeth.
“Nice work,” she said and stroked his rough outer coat. “Anytime you want to hire out as the castle cat, just holler.”
“Not funny.” Because his mouth was busy crunching through rodent bones, he switched to mind speech.
“When
“Are the humans doing all right?” she asked.
Bran nodded. “Most of them are resting. We built pyres for their dead and saw everyone had food in their bellies.” A sheepish look danced across his face. “’Tis the least we can do for our new allies.”
“They’re excellent fighters,” Arawn said. “We will make certain to mention that at the next Celtic council gathering.”
“I don’t suppose an apology is in the cards?” Aislinn stared at the god of the dead.
“Probably not. We can be a stiff-necked bunch, and prejudice is a dicey thing, lass. No one has any control over their past actions.” He winked. “Mayhap ’twould be better for all of us to look forward. We willna run out of foes anytime soon.”
She recognized wisdom in his words and focused on her breakfast, eating mindlessly. Her spoon hit the bottom of the bowl, and she got up to get a second helping. “Have any of you heard from Fionn?” She kept her words casual, but hope flared hot within her—and died at the expressions on their faces.
“Nay,” Gwydion said. “If we’d had word, we wouldna still be here.”
It took a moment to sink in, but the meaning behind his words was clear enough. “You’d have left without me?” She slapped her bowl back on the table, surprised it didn’t shatter.
“Mayhap.” Bran spoke carefully. “Depends on where Fionn was and how hard it would be to extract him.”
“So if it was very hard, you’d have left me here?” Aislinn persisted. She wasn’t hungry anymore; the oatmeal tasted like glue, but she needed fuel, so she forced more of it down.
“That shouldna surprise you,” Arawn said. “Fionn would skin us alive if we took you into danger, and ye dinna make it out alive.”
She slugged back half her coffee, blew out a weary breath, and rested her chin on an upraised hand. It didn’t make sense to dig deeper. She was weaker than them, but their penchant to treat her like a hothouse flower rankled.
“Do you have a plan?” she asked, switching tactics.
“The logical place to start would be the Strophades Islands in the Aegean,” Gwydion replied.
“Aye, but it canna be that easy,” Bran protested.
“True. Mayhap the dark gods are planning on us staging a rescue and have something unpleasant in store for us once we arrive.” Arawn knit his dark brows together.
“Even if they do, that’s not a reason not to go,” Aislinn said.
“Relax, lass.” Bran held out a hand, palm toward her. “No one is suggesting we leave Fionn to find his own way back, although he is more than capable of doing so.”
Aislinn stifled a gasp, and a lead weight settled in her heart. “So you’re saying if he wanted to return, he’d already be back?” Visions of him doing unspeakably twisted sexual things with the bird-woman pummeled her.
“Nay, I dinna say that at all,” Bran shot a discerning glance her way. “Ye doona trust him.”
“I do.” Her voice wavered, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I do, but he has…history with that thing.”
“’Twas a time when Fionn had history with half the lassies in the Old Country.” Gwydion arrowed a meaningful glance her way. “If ye canna get past it, mayhap ye’d be better served to pick one of us.” A lascivious grin split his face, and his blue eyes glittered mischievously.
Aislinn drained her coffee. “Thanks, but you’re still in love with my mother.”
“I’m not.” Bran leaped to his feet and bowed. “Neither is Arawn.”
Rune scuttled out of the corner where he’d settled and pounced on something. A cacophony of squeaks later, he padded to Aislinn’s side with a dead mouse in his teeth.
“Nice work,” she said and stroked his rough outer coat. “Anytime you want to hire out as the castle cat, just holler.”
“Not funny.” Because his mouth was busy crunching through rodent bones, he switched to mind speech.
“When
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