by Megan Chance
But walking away from Diarmid today had been the hardest thing that I had ever done.
My steps were heavy as I followed Patrick and Sarnat. Patrick hailed a carriage. As I started to climb in, Sarnat said, “This is where I leave you, milady.”
“Leave me?” She had been my only friend these last days, and I was nervous at the thought of being alone with Patrick. There was so much to say, so much that could not be said . . .
“You’ve no more use for me now. You’re safe with him.”
“I’ve so much to thank you for.”
“Aye, you do.” She smiled. “But we’ll meet again. Good-bye, milady.”
I watched her walk away until Patrick said, “We should go.”
I got into the carriage. Patrick sat across from me, drumming his fingers on his knee. He was nervous too—it made me feel better to see it.
The carriage started off, and I looked out the window, searching for something to say. So much had changed. I didn’t know where to begin or what to tell him. “The trees are losing their leaves early this year, aren’t they?”
“Early?”
“It’s only September, and that one’s nearly bare.”
“It’s not September, Grace. It’s October twenty-sixth.”
“But . . . it can’t be! I haven’t been gone that long.”
“Almost three months,” he said grimly.
I could only stare at him.
“Have you been with that thing all this time?”
“Iobhar,” I said distractedly. “And yes. But I would have said it was only . . . I don’t know . . . five weeks, perhaps?”
“The Otherworld,” Patrick said. When I looked at him in confusion, he went on, “That was what kept coming up in the divination about you. The Otherworld. Daire Donn said time was different with the sidhe. That’s what Iobhar was, wasn’t he?”
October 26. Five days until Samhain.
I’d thought I had weeks to figure out what to do about the split veleda. I had only days.
“There’s not enough time,” I whispered.
“I suppose it’s too much to hope . . . Iobhar called you the veleda. We weren’t wrong about that?”
“No,” I said.
“Did he know of another spell? Did he know how to save your life?” The hope in his voice hurt. I wanted to tell him everything. He was my protector, the veleda’s protector, which meant he was bound to protect my brother and my grandmother as well. He had a right to know the truth.
“In silence is your only safety. . . .”
I had been gone too long. I didn’t know what had changed or what anything meant, and now it wasn’t just my life at stake, but Aidan’s and Grandma’s as well. I had to take Iobhar’s advice, at least until I understood more.
“He said there was no other spell,” I told Patrick. “That the prophecy was in motion and there was no changing it. The veleda has to die.”
“And the geis? Is there any way—”
“No.”
“Will Diarmid do it? Or will he refuse?”
I stared out at the passing buildings, at people walking through their lives without a care. “He’s loyal to the Fianna.”
“And not to you?”
I forced myself to look at him. “Why would you ask that?”
Patrick took a deep breath. “You were with him for . . . for days. I know he used the ball seirce on you, Grace. Oscar told us. Aidan confirmed it.”
“Why was Aidan with you, when he’s joined the Fianna?”
“Aidan and I were working together to find you. He doesn’t trust the Fianna to have your best interests at heart. I don’t trust the Fomori when it comes to that either.”
That was new. “You don’t? Why not?”
Patrick hesitated. “It’s not really that I don’t trust them, it’s just . . . they’ve discovered something odd about your power, and I’m troubled by what it might mean.”
“What have they discovered?”
“They think you have the power of the triune. Goddess power. Like the Morrigan.”
“Goddess power?” How stupidly, tragically wrong.
“Have you some reason to think it isn’t true?”
I struggled again with the urge to tell him. “I wish it were true. But unless you know of another goddess who can’t do a simple summoning spell, I can promise you it’s not.”
Patrick looked puzzled. “I didn’t think so. But why do they keep seeing it? The three, over and over again. And the Fianna’s Seer reads the same thing.”
“I don’t know,” I lied.
He was silent. The carriage was no longer jolting over potholed streets. We were coming into a better part of town. Businessmen and women walking with their children. My old world. Walking with Rose and Lucy. The confectioner’s, and sugared violets melting over ice cream. It felt so long ago.
Patrick said finally, “You didn’t answer my question about the ball seirce.”
I wasn’t certain what to say, so I settled for the truth. “It was an accident. He didn’t mean for me to see it.”
“But you did see it. Yet you just told him to leave you alone.”
“There’s still the geis. I don’t trust him.”
“Do you love him?” I heard the fear in Patrick’s voice, as if he had to ask but didn’t really want to know, and I ached for him. He had been a friend to me. He had saved me. He was my protector. I had loved him; I loved him still.
I didn’t know what the future held. But why hurt Patrick needlessly? None of this might matter in the end.
“The spell’s worn off.”
I thought he would be relieved, but he only looked away. Then he said, “We’re home.”
I glanced out the window. Patrick’s house. Mama. As if he sensed my nervousness, Patrick reached for my hand. “I know your mother is anxious to see you. Are you ready?”
I nodded. My rescue had been so fast that I hadn’t had time to think of what I would tell people, the questions I would have to answer. I had once been so worried about what everyone would think about my disappearance. Diarmid. My destroyed reputation. It seemed so unimportant now, but I knew Mama would not think so.
Patrick helped me from the carriage. When we were inside, he said, “I’ll find your mother. Wait for me in the parlor?” I nodded, and he stepped away.
The sliding doors of the parlor were wide open; sunshine from the French doors slanted low and golden into the hall. I stopped short when I realized someone was already there, staring into the garden in a way so familiar that time slipped. As if only yesterday I’d seen her standing there just this way.
“Lucy,” I said.
She whirled around. “You! What are you doing here? How dare you come back here! How dare you!”
Her fury startled me. “I’m sorry,” I managed. “I didn’t—”
“I suppose you thought you could just walk in and everything would be like it used to be. Well, it isn’t! Did you even think of me once? Did you never wonder how I might feel? And Patrick . . . did you think of Patrick at all?”
“Patrick? Yes, of course I did. I—”
“Don’t play your little innocent game with me. I’m not my brother. I’m not going to forgive you. We all know what you did. The whole world knows it!” Lucy glared at me, two points of pink on her cheeks. “I didn’t think you’d have the nerve to come back here. I thought we’d find you . . . expecting . . . in some tenement somewhere—”
It was exactly what I’d feared people would say. I just hadn’t expected it to feel so personal. Or so embarrassing.
“You knew I loved him, and you ran off with him anyway. I can’t even look at you!” Lucy spun away so quickly, the ruffles on her gown fluttered.
“What’s all this fuss—Oh!”
Mrs. Devlin came through the parlor doors. Her eyes went wide.
“Grace! Oh! Oh, my dear!” She rushed to me, enveloping me in her rose-scented arms, nearly suffocating me in the lace of her bodice. “Oh, my dear.”
>
“How can you welcome her like that, knowing what she did to me?” Lucy cried.
Mrs. Devlin held me out at arm’s length, sweeping me with her gaze. “You look well, oh thank heaven for that! None of us were certain. No one knew. But—”
“Is he here?” Lucy asked. “Is he waiting for you? You know there are guards everywhere. He’ll go to jail this time, I promise you.”
“Lucy, please,” Mrs. Devlin said.
“It’s not what you think,” I said.
“Of course not.” Mrs. Devlin clucked and soothed. “We’d despaired of ever seeing you again! To think of everything you must have gone through—”
Lucy snorted.
“The police will have to be notified. I’ll send someone for them immediately. They’ve been so good, searching for you. It will be such a relief to them as well.”
I had not thought of the police. I had no idea what I would say to them—or anyone. This suddenly felt so overwhelming. I sagged onto the settee, and Mrs. Devlin sat beside me in an explosion of lace and silk and scent. “It’s only that we are so very glad to see you returned, and looking so . . . so well. You are well, my dear?”
A not-so-subtle way of asking whether I’d been abused by Diarmid. Raped or . . . or was it as Lucy had said, had I run off in some romantic elopement? Was I ruined? Was I with child?
The absurdity of it all hit me. If only it were that simple. “I’m quite all right.” Unless you counted being one-third of a broken veleda who had to die in five days.
Mrs. Devlin sighed. “Well, good. Very good indeed.”
We all turned at the sound of rapid footsteps from the hall. I rose just as my mother burst into the parlor. She rushed to me, grabbing me so hard we both stumbled. Mama. I knew these arms. I knew her scent. I had missed her so much.
I hugged her back and realized I was crying. She murmured, “It’s all right, my darling. Everything’s fine at last. You’re home now. You’re safe. Oh my darling, darling girl.” Finally, she drew away, smoothing my hair, which had caught on the wet streaks of my tears.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I said. “I’ve worried about you and Grandma—”
“Patrick! Grace has returned!” Mrs. Devlin said as Patrick came into the room.
“I know already, Mama. I brought her here directly from the police station.” Had I not known he was lying, I never would have suspected it.
His mother looked relieved. “The police know? There’s no need to send for them?”
“None at all. Grace has been answering questions for them all morning. In fact, I’m certain she’s quite exhausted. We must let her rest.”
Mama held out her hand. “Come with me, darling. I’ll put everything to rights.”
So calm, so self-possessed. Not at all like the mother I’d left. Something had changed. What was it?
I followed her out of the parlor and away from Lucy’s baleful gaze—and a world that felt as if it no longer belonged to me.
The next moment
Grace
I’d like to see Grandma first,” I told my mother at the top of the stairs.
“She’s just as she was,” Mama said, but she took me to my grandmother’s room and told the nurse to leave us.
The changes in Grandma, more than anything else, told me I had indeed been gone a long time. She was sunken, her lips drawn back, skin barely covering her bones. Her hair had gone completely gray. Her breathing was so slight, her chest hardly moved.
I laid my hand over hers where they rested on the bedcovers. “Grandma,” I whispered. “Grandma, I’m back. I didn’t mean to be gone so long. Time passes differently with the sidhe—you told me that in a story once. I’d forgotten.”
I wanted to believe that she’d been waiting for me. That at the sound of my voice, she would wake. I wanted to think that the veleda connection between us, or even just my presence, would be enough to break the coma. But she slept on. I affected nothing.
Mama placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do, I’m afraid. Nothing any of us can do.”
It can’t be this way. It can’t end like this. But it could. It had. I could not bear the injustice of it.
My mother sat on the edge of the bed, pained with worry. “What happened to you, Grace? Where have you been?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“You’ve been gone three months. You return wearing a strange dress and you’re . . . different. Should I call a doctor or . . . perhaps an alienist?”
“You think I’m insane?”
“No. But it would not be unusual for a young girl who’s experienced . . . terrible things . . . to need a rest.”
“Everything’s changed, Mama. Everything. But I’m not mad. I’m more myself than I’ve ever been. I want to tell you what happened, but—”
“I know you’ve been with Diarmid,” she said. “No doubt you believe you’re in love with him. He did show you the love-spot, didn’t he? He would have been a fool not to, and while the Fianna are many things, they are not fools.”
I was dumbfounded.
She took my hands, which were suddenly numb, in hers. “The Fianna will do anything to win you. They are ruthless. That boy is ruthless. They don’t want to save you, but the Fomori do. There’s no reason for you to die, not for the Fianna or the Irish or anyone else. The Fomori want to help you, Grace.”
I pulled away. “You told me you didn’t believe any of this. That none of it was true. You said it was only a story.”
“I didn’t want to believe it. I suppose I thought that if I denied the legends long enough, they would never come true. I never wanted them to come true. Before your father died, his greatest wish was that you and your brother be Americans. He wanted you to have a better life than the one he’d left behind in Ireland. Those immigrants the Fianna care so much for—they’re not where your future lies, darling. You’re meant to marry Patrick, to have children, to be happy. You can still have that, Grace. If you choose the Fomori, they will do everything in their power to give those things to you.” She grabbed my hands again, gripping them. “They have a plan, and I believe it will work. Whatever you think you feel for Diarmid is only a spell. He’s used you. He wants you to choose the Fianna, but it won’t be the right choice, darling. It won’t save you.”
The veleda’s split, I wanted to say. Can they help with that? What do you know of a curse upon our family? I looked down at our hands, twined together. “Are you so certain of that, Mama?”
“I know what he must have told you, but he lied. Your heart knows this. You must be true to yourself. Grandma would tell you the same. Once, she made a choice she knew was wrong, and she has always regretted it.”
“A wrong choice? What choice?”
Mama glanced at Grandma. “Mother would not mind my telling it, I think. It’s your history too. Your Irish ancestors were very well thought of. There was even a time when they were revered.”
Neasa.
“Mother’s side of the family has always had a reputation for—well, I suppose you would call it the gift of sight. It was the veleda power, of course, passed down through the generations. In ancient times, that gift brought wealth and prestige, but then people stopped believing in the old ways. When the British took control of Ireland, our people were reduced to farming. Mother was raised in wretched poverty.
“And then she fell in love. He was a handsome boy. Dark hair and eyes blue as the sky. He swept her off her feet, promising her everything. She fell for those pretty words and that pretty boy.”
A little too familiar.
“There was a neighboring farm, a family that had lived beside hers for generations. Patrick’s family. The Devlins. Mother had been promised to the eldest son since birth. Devlin boys had often married the girls in our family.”
I knew why, of course. The veleda protector, passed down through blood. But she said nothing of that, and so neither did I.
“Everyone hoped that the t
wo farms together might survive where one could not. Both families depended on the marriage. Mother loved the Devlin boy. She had dreamed of marrying him. But when this pretty boy asked her to go with him to America, she ignored her duty and followed him.”
“And that was Grandpa,” I said.
Mama shook her head. “No. Mother discovered she was with child on the journey over. When they landed, this boy deserted her. For days, she searched for him. Weeks. She slept in the street and begged. One day, she was beaten and left for dead. She lost the child. She had no money to return to Ireland, and nothing to return to. Her family had been evicted. Her beloved mother and father died in a workhouse. The Devlins lost everything as well.”
I was shocked. “I never knew.”
“It’s not a story Mother is proud of,” Mama said. “I don’t think she’s ever forgiven herself. That boy was a distraction, a temptation, and she knew that. She was beguiled, but it wasn’t love. It wasn’t what she’d felt for the Devlin boy. But it was too late. All she could do was go forward.” She sighed and looked at Grandma with sadness. “Living with what she did has been a terrible burden. I believe it’s guilt that caused her madness.”
I stared at my grandmother. It was strange to think she had a history beyond what I knew. Stranger still to think her past had held this.
“Don’t make the mistake she did, Grace,” Mama urged. “Don’t believe Diarmid. Don’t allow yourself to be . . . carried away by a pretty smile. Not when there are others who love you truly.”
My mother’s eyes were so blue in the dim light of the sickroom that they looked unreal. So much had changed, so much to take in . . .
“I won’t, Mama. I promise.”
She squeezed my hands. “That’s all I ask. I know you’ll do what’s right. You always have.”
She rose from Grandma’s bed and left me, and I stayed, thinking about the things she’d said. Patrick’s family and mine connected by time and blood. My mother’s hope when she’d spoken of the Fomori.
Five days until Samhain.
“You’ll do what’s right.” I only wished I knew what that was.
That night
Grace
I stayed in my room the rest of the day. Mama told me the Fomori had paid a call, but I said I was too tired. I wanted time to myself, time to think. Thinking, unfortunately, didn’t help, and I was only more confused when I called the maid to help me ready for bed. But her company felt intrusive, and it had been so long since I’d needed a maid that I sent her away and combed out my own hair, watching my silhouette flicker against the lamplit walls as night came and my room took on deeper shadows. “The danger you walk into is greater than the one you leave.” What kind of a brithem was I, that I could not find answers in anything?