11 - Into Natír

9 3 0
                                    

Morrigan's cottage was not equipped for company: she offered me the only bed, which I refused—it was hers, after all. Ronan politely took the floor, where I joined him, and the woman piled enough blankets upon us both that we might as well have been sleeping atop a mattress. Aeden disappeared outside; considering Morrigan's lack of concern and my own exhaustion, I didn't bother asking further. I was surprised to find myself comfortable and somewhat grateful. Despite the lingering unease of being in another's home, I slept late into the next day.

Daylight streamed through the now-open windows, outside which I could see the canopy rustling with the wind. The sky was grey, but we were spared from rain for now. I curled near the fire amidst a veritable nest of blankets, keeping an eye on the flames as Morrigan warmed more stew. It was mostly for Ronan, but she'd remained adamant that the rest of us should eat as well.

"Where is Aeden?" Ronan eventually asked from his place at the table. He'd decided to restock what he could for the four of us before we left; the contents of his pack were strewn haphazardly across the surface. "He'll want food too, no?"

"Probably climbing on the roof like a squirrel." I paused. "Or as a squirrel."

"He tends to wander as he pleases," Morrigan answered somewhat more nicely. "The house's confines bother him, as does remaining in one place for too long. He's still close enough for me to sense his presence, though. As long as he remains within my territory, he'll be safe."

Safe. I frowned. "This Shayne—is he really so dangerous? For someone Aeden badly wants to avoid, I've yet to even see him."

"He... is not one to interfere directly unless necessary." Morrigan sat down, her skirts pooling around her thin frame. She crossed her legs as if posing for an invisible portrait, and I began to rethink my gratitude. "He's old, strong, and persistent. Very set in his desire for structure. After the Ándúr Nimh set into his mind, he has little reserve for boundaries. So aye, he is dangerous. But not always very clever. He's easy enough to predict."

Despite the calculations in her words, her voice remained warm, tinged with sadness. I watched her carefully but saw no sign of deception—it was as if she didn't realise the cunning in her speculation. Perhaps she was sharper than her flowery demeanour indicated.

"You speak as if you know him," Ronan probed gently.

"I have for decades." She laced her fingers, turning a ring with her thumb. "He was an acquaintance of mine, as were Aeden's parents. I never thought..." Her voice cracked, and her eyes abruptly began to swim with tears. "Did Aeden tell you my role in this?"

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden display of emotion. It was uncomfortable and mixed oddly with the suspicion her words brought. "No. He only said he knew you."

She nodded, closing her eyes. Her lips wobbled; gentleman that he was, Ronan appeared at her side. He reached out tentatively, thought better of it, and kneeled beside her. There was concern in his eyes, but also a certain wariness. That was good. He bore that look when dealing with any sídhe, myself included: it was a hard-earned caution. I'd burned him when we were children—ever since I'd been more than cautious with him and Conor. Forgiveness had been granted, but neither of us could forget. I pursed my lips, ignoring the old guilt that came with the memory.

"There's no need to tell us," Ronan was saying. "Your past is not our concern."

"I'm concerned," I muttered. I'd had my fill of secrets; Aeden hadn't said anything, and where had that gotten us?

"It is something you should know." Morrigan stilled, her crimson eyes focused upon her hands. "I foresee death—that is my power. The death of Aeden's family... I saw it, but Shayne's attack was too sudden. I wasn't able to... I protected Aeden as best I could, but our relationship has been strained ever since." Tears gleamed in her eyes. "When he left, I thought he would never return. That anger he carries; it can leave him so vulnerable in ways he doesn't understand."

The Sun SídheWhere stories live. Discover now