by Megan Chance
Just as in his vision. Patrick felt both nervous and giddy. “You’re certain you won’t come in?”
“Not if you want me to come out.” Aidan looked drawn and ill. “If you’re not back in an hour, I’ll find Derry. We won’t leave you there.”
Patrick nodded. The pawnshop door was like any other, and yet he had the sense that once he went through it, everything would be changed. He hesitated, but in the end, he knew what he had to do. He had always known.
Patrick opened the door.
The fifth week (sidhe time)
Grace
You belong to me.”
As much as I hated being caught in this glamour, under Iobhar’s spell, I knew that he was my only hope to learn more about my power. He’d told me that I could escape him when I was strong enough, and so I dedicated myself to being stronger. As long as I was here, I would learn everything he could teach me. I would learn until I could win.
“You are too attached to the world,” Iobhar told me. “Until you put your allegiances aside, you will always be hindered. Remember, veleda, break space and time. Be part of the world, but apart from it as well.”
Neither, nor. Both. Iobhar’s amber gaze followed me everywhere. His music never left my head. I knew he was waiting for me to fail, to surrender. I was only one-third of the veleda, only a third of what I should be. And what of Aidan and my grandmother? I struggled with my fear and my frustration, while Iobhar tempted me to forget it all.
But there was more at stake than just myself or my family, and I couldn’t turn my back on Diarmid—or Patrick.
“You are strong enough now,” Sarnat whispered to me as we sat waiting for Iobhar to appear. Roddy rearranged brooches and necklaces and rings the way he did every morning. Torcan rooted around in a corner, and Stag nibbled at a bucket full of hay. Cuan curled up near Sarnat—his favorite person, as far as I could tell. He seemed to like her even more than Iobhar. “I’ll help you. Together we can leave this place. He would say anything to keep you prisoner. We will go to my queen. She’ll protect you.”
I didn’t answer. We’d argued this already. Listlessly, I moved a piece on the fidchell board.
The front door opened. I paid it little attention; people came into the shop all the time, thieves and sailors trading with Iobhar or redeeming what they’d pawned. He could make himself seen whenever he wanted, but his glamour kept me invisible, and I’d stopped being curious.
“Grace?”
The voice was so familiar, it was a moment before I realized it wasn’t coming from my memory.
Patrick.
He stared right at me. Another of Iobhar’s tests meant to teach me to separate myself from those I loved. But he looked so real.
“Grace!” He raced toward me.
“Sever your allegiances,” Iobhar had said. I could not fail this lesson.
“You’re here.” Patrick stopped just before me. “Aidan and Diarmid said you weren’t, but I was so certain . . .”
I stared dumbly at him. He was as perfect as my memory: gray-green eyes, nearly blond hair, a mouth that looked always ready to smile. He reached out. Sarnat hurled herself between us, forcing him back. “Don’t touch her.”
“Grace, tell her who I am. Grace? What’s wrong? Tell this girl to stand down. I’ve come to take you home.”
He said just the right things. Everything I would have wanted him to say. Iobhar was so clever.
I forced myself to look back at the game board. “A veleda can have no allegiances.”
He tried to push past Sarnat, who shoved him. Patrick stumbled. Then he was holding a small pistol. He pointed it at Sarnat. “Get out of my way.”
The pistol startled me. It seemed out of place, too modern for a glamour. Cuan whined. Stag pawed the floor. Roddy rose from his stool in protest.
“Put down your weapon,” said Iobhar, appearing as stealthily and quickly as he always did. The raven capelet fluttered at his shoulders. His eyes blazed. I expected a snap of his fingers, and the vision would disappear. I did not expect him to address it.
Patrick tightened his lips and lifted the gun, more steady, more determined. “Not until you release her.”
This was no vision.
“Wait—Patrick . . . you can see me?”
He frowned, but he didn’t take his eyes from Iobhar. “Of course I can see you.”
“You’re not a glamour?”
“Hardly. Are you all right?”
“She is more than when you knew her,” said Iobhar quietly. His bells tinkled as he moved forward.
Patrick leveled the gun. “Not another step.”
“And what will you do?” Iobhar mocked. “Shoot me? Do you truly think it can stop me?”
Patrick looked momentarily confused. Then he gestured to Sarnat. “Then her.”
Iobhar pointed.
I shouted, “No!” just as the bolt of red lightning whipped through the air. It caught the gun; Patrick jerked back, dropping it, crying out in pain. The pistol, melted into a misshapen lump, thudded to the floor.
Patrick stared at Iobhar. “You’re the one.”
I said, “He’s the archdruid, Patrick. And one of the sidhe as well. He’s very dangerous.”
Iobhar said silkily, “Aye, very dangerous.”
“I’ve an entire troop of soldiers just outside. Let her go, or I’ll call them.”
Iobhar laughed. “I could fry a troop of soldiers to a crisp before you said a word. But you’ve no soldiers. Only yourself and a Druid youngling who knows better than to come inside. Perhaps your rescue will not be a rescue at all.” Iobhar laughed again. “Even if you could save her, what would you gain? Her allegiance? Are you so certain of your powers of persuasion? Who will she choose in the end, do you think? You? Or the warrior she loves?”
My face went hot. “Iobhar, no—”
“Or perhaps ’tis not so simple. The warrior could not see through the glamour as you do. Why is that, I wonder?”
“I don’t know. But I’m tired of games.” Patrick reached out his hand to me. “Will you come with me, Grace?”
“I won’t be able to get out the door. I’m not strong enough to leave.”
“Release her.” Patrick’s voice was hard and cold.
“Patrick Devlin,” Iobhar taunted. “Would-be savior of the Irish, burner of tenements, servant to the Fomori. Your very existence is a paradox. You brought the prophecy to life by calling the Fianna, and made the fight what it is now against the Fomori. Thus you’ve endangered the veleda whom you are sworn, through blood and time, to protect.” Iobhar’s grin was contemptuous. “Behold your illustrious protector, veleda. There has always been one, and there will always be.”
I remembered Diarmid’s story of my ancestor Neasa’s protector, Glasny. He’d told me every veleda had one. “Patrick?”
“Listen,” Iobhar ordered.
I heard Iobhar’s bells and the Druid’s music, the faint, eerie hum of the glamour. But there was a new song, and though I had not heard it before, it reverberated deep within me, familiar and beloved. Sweet and comforting, like hot chocolate beside a fire on a cold winter’s day. Safe, and I realized why I had always trusted Patrick, why I loved him.
Because I was meant to.
He was my protector. It was why he could see me even through the illusion of the glamour—
An illusion. Something that both existed and didn’t. Iobhar had given me the clue, and I had not been clever enough to see. The glamour was a lie, and I was the brithem, trained to see it. Neither, nor.
Suddenly, the world was a giant puzzle whose pieces came together as they never had before. I listened to the hum of the glamour, to the weft and weave of it, the way each note fit with the others, and this time I heard the discord. The shop was just a pawnshop, overfull and dusty, smelling of mildew and old leather. There were no hallways leading off to stairs or floors that didn’t exist. No tangle of oak branches above, no knots of mistletoe. The lie melted away before my eyes.
&
nbsp; Iobhar’s gaze sharpened, a wry smile curved his lips. “Very good, veleda.”
Patrick said, “What bargain will you make so I can take her out of here?”
“There won’t need to be a bargain,” I told him.
“I can no longer hold her,” Iobhar acknowledged. His gaze held mine. “Remember this, veleda: in silence is your only safety. You remain in grave danger. I cannot protect you. Nor, I think, can he, though he will try.”
I understood. I must keep secret what we’d learned about the splitting of the veleda. “But what about my—”
Iobhar stopped me with a shake of his head. “The path is uncertain. I cannot see it. Do not trust anyone. You are weak yet, and your training is incomplete. If you choose to leave now, I can do nothing to help you.”
Patrick gestured roughly. “Come on, Grace, let’s get out of here before he changes his mind.”
I looked at Iobhar, struck by how much I didn’t know. How much he could still teach me. I was tempted to stay. To learn. To drink up all his knowledge—
“Aidan is outside,” Patrick said.
My family. The split veleda. The Fianna and the Fomori and everything that depended on my choice.
I took Patrick’s hand. He was as warm and reassuring as he’d always been.
Iobhar said, “We will see each other again, veleda. You will need my help.”
“If I do, it will be on my own terms,” I told him.
“It has always been on your terms, and if you were stronger, you would know it. Now, go. And take your wretched sidhe slave with you before I turn her into a cat.”
None of us had to be told twice. I followed Patrick to the door, Sarnat hurrying behind. But just before I stepped out, Iobhar said, “The danger you walk into is greater than the one you leave.”
I stumbled. Sarnat whispered, “No stopping, milady.” Patrick pulled me over the threshold into a sharp, bright day.
I was back in the world again.
Earlier that day
Diarmid
Diarmid kept returning to the pawnshop, despite the fact that Grace wasn’t there. He’d spent days circling it, thinking about it, sometimes without realizing he was doing so. Today was just the same. It was as if he woke from a trance and found himself again on Cherry Street. He didn’t know why, or what he meant to do. He was irritated with himself and turning to go, when he saw Aidan.
Grace’s brother stared into the pawnshop window. Every alarm in Diarmid’s head went off. He should have known Aidan would come back here. He was a Druid, after all. When Aidan started toward the building, Diarmid ran at him full speed.
“By the gods, Aidan, no!” He grabbed Aidan’s arm, jerking him back into a pyramid of barrels. When Diarmid pulled Aidan upright again, Grace’s brother zapped him with a small lightning strike.
Diarmid yelped in pain. “What did you do that for?”
“Why the hell are you here?”
“’Tis a good thing I am. I just saved you, if you’ll notice—”
“I don’t need your help. Just go, will you?”
“Not without you. Finn won’t take kindly to a drained stormcaster. Not that I care, but he’ll blame me, and I’ve suffered enough for you and your family.”
“I’m not going to be drained.” Aidan glanced nervously at the building. “I’m not going inside, I promise you. Now get out of here before you ruin everything.”
“Ruin everything? What are you talking about?”
Aidan’s glance leaped back to the building. The pawnshop door opened. Diarmid saw Patrick Devlin come out—by the gods, Aidan’s betrayed us—and then—
Grace.
Found. Alive. His heart stuttered with relief and joy. Grace. He took a step toward her.
Aidan grabbed his arm. “Wait, you fool.”
Grace looked up, catching sight of him. Then, she deliberately looked at her brother as if Diarmid were a stranger, as if he meant nothing to her.
“Aidan!” She rushed across the street, her blue silk gown flashing rainbows in the sun, her dark hair flying out behind her as she hurled herself into her brother’s arms. The shock of it paralyzed Diarmid. He stood watching, numb and sick and invisible. It should be his arms she was running into. Why wasn’t it so? Why wouldn’t she look at him? It made no sense. He waited in growing fear and misery.
“What are you doing here?” Patrick demanded.
Diarmid tore his gaze from Grace and Aidan. Patrick glared at him. Behind Patrick stood a pale, blond girl with fathomless sidhe eyes.
“I was in the neighborhood,” Diarmid said tightly.
“You’re one of the Fianna.” The girl’s tone was accusatory; he would have bristled if he hadn’t been so aware of Grace in her brother’s arms. Ignoring him.
“You let a fairy near her?” he asked Patrick.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Patrick snapped. “Grace has been here all this time. Held prisoner by some sidhe archdruid.”
The girl said, “Battle Annie sent me to protect her, which I have done, while you were far away, Ua Duibhne.”
“Battle Annie?” The cursed fairy queen. Diarmid had known she’d had something to do with Grace’s disappearance.
Then Grace pulled away from Aidan and said, “I didn’t expect to see you here, Diarmid.”
The sound of his name coming from her lips sank through him—his weakness, and worse now because of her distance. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“As you can see, we’ve found her, which none of the Fianna could do,” Patrick said to him. “Alive and unharmed. Why don’t you run back to Finn and tell him the news?”
Diarmid didn’t look away from Grace as he said, “There’s no chance I’ll let you take her back to the Fomori.”
“It’s where she wants to be,” Patrick said. “With me.”
“Perhaps you should ask her,” Diarmid said steadily. “Because it looks to me like she’s attached to her brother. Who’s with us. Or was, at any rate.”
“I still am.” Aidan’s arm tightened around Grace’s waist.
“Then why is Patrick here?” Diarmid asked. “Why did you try to get me to leave?”
“Patrick’s the one who figured out where she was,” Aidan said.
“He’s my protector. My Glasny.” Grace smiled at Patrick, and his answering smile made Diarmid want to stab something.
But the smile left Patrick’s face when he said to Diarmid, “Yes, I’m her protector. But you knew that already, didn’t you? The veleda protector, bound through time. We belong together. I’ll keep her safe. You sent her into danger. Why should she go with you?”
“I’d hear it from her,” Diarmid said, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “Grace, please . . . come with me and Aidan. We can protect you. You know we can. You know I can. I have.”
She still avoided his gaze, saying to Aidan, “I need to see to Mama. And Grandma. You understand, don’t you? I have to.”
Aidan looked troubled.
“No,” Diarmid said.
“She’s made her choice,” Patrick told him. “How many times must she say it?”
“Grace, look at me,” Diarmid said anxiously. “Aidan, you can’t let her do this. Tell her. Tell her what will happen if she chooses the Fomori. Grace, by the gods, will you just look at me—”
“I’m not choosing anyone yet.” This time she did look at him, a brief flicker of a glance that staggered him. “Until I do, I want you to leave me alone, Derry. Please. If you care for me at all, you’ll do so.”
The words were like stones, and everything in her tone told him she meant them. But that glimpse of her eyes had been enough for him to see the lovespell, though she tried to hide it. He knew she was lying.
What he didn’t know was why.
“Aidan, stop her,” he said.
“It’s not his choice either.” Patrick held out his hand; Grace took it. “Now I’ll thank you to do as she asks. In fact, I’ll do what I can to make certain of it.”
Diarmid was rock
ed by a storm of jealousy and rage and confusion. “I won’t let her just walk into danger.”
“I’m her protector. Do you really think I’ll let any harm come to her?”
“Deliberately? No. But your foolishness may.”
Aidan put his hand on Diarmid’s shoulder. “She wants to go with him, Derry. Let her go. It’s best for now.”
“Thank you, Aidan,” Patrick said with a smug smile. He walked away, pulling Grace with him. She went without a backward glance, and Diarmid’s heart went with her. She belonged with him, with the Fianna, with—
Finn.
“It’s best this way for now,” Aidan said again. He looked gray and sickly, not at all like a man who’d just been reunited with his long-lost sister.
“Are you all right?” Diarmid asked.
Aidan blinked as if calling himself back from a daydream. “There’s something wrong.”
“There’s something wrong, and you let her go with him?”
“It’s nothing to do with that. It’s . . .” Aidan shook his head. “Never mind.”
Diarmid stared after Grace, the sway of her skirts, the rainbows chasing themselves over the washed silk, the bounce of her curling hair against her back. He willed her to turn around. Look at me. Smile at me.
She and Patrick and that sidhe girl turned the corner and disappeared.
Even so, one small hope burned. The love that had flickered in her eyes before she forced it away. She loved him still, and she was hiding it. Hiding something.
And he would not rest until he found out why.
That same day
Grace
I had nearly run to Diarmid before I remembered why I’d left him. I loved him and I could not love him. There was more reason to stay away from him than ever. Everything was so uncertain. It might be that Diarmid held the destruction of my entire family in his hands.
His loyalty belonged to the Fianna, not to me. It wasn’t Diarmid who had seen through Iobhar’s glamour, but Patrick. Patrick was my protector. My heart had known it from the beginning.