Crown of Iron

Chapter Four

"Last time Tiarnán promised they wouldn't get into trouble," Anya starts as she fills Elias' glass with ale, fighting back laughter, "Eámann came back covered in honey and swollen with bee stings. Apparently, Tiarnán had asked for his help harvesting some wild honey and neither of them had thought to bring anything but their bare hands to do it with."

"Stop laughing!" Brigid says, lightly smacking her shoulder with the handle of her spoon. "Eámann was sore for days!"

"Like he isn't sore after you two—"

"Anya!" she exclaims, turning a bright shade of red. "We have guests!"

"Don't stop on my account," Elias chuckles. "Your family is a lot more interesting than my own. I'm quite entertained by it all, I assure you. Did you all grow up together?"

"Very few people here have ever left Mórsail," Brigid says rather solemnly though she still sneaks Anya a disapproving glare. "Beyond the merchants who pass through, you're the first new face any of us have seen in a while. Lord Rian likes to tout his importance, but there isn't a reason for most people to come round here unless they want to tour endless fields and forests."

Elias lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "Mórsail is quite lovely, though I daresay its beauty is outshined by the beauty of its people." At that, he shoots a wink at Anya. "Would you disagree?"

She doesn't acknowledge his flirtations. After the way he'd commanded the entire Hall earlier, she has a sneaking suspicion that Elias is aware of his own charms and isn't ashamed about them in the slightest. "I wouldn't know," she says coolly. "I don't have an awful lot to compare it to. You are the one that is a stranger here."

"Where are you from, Elias?" Brigid asks, propping her spoon on the edge of the pot so she can take a seat. Her red hair seems aglow in the flickering light from the candles set up around their meagre dining room.

"Dúcathair," he answers after a moment's pause, as if hesitating to answer.

Anya is almost taken aback from the answer. She doesn't think she's ever met anyone from Dúcathair, though she'd heard many stories of the Aldynian capital from the travelling merchants. She can't begin to imagine why someone from the heart of the Aldynian kingdom would consider setting even a foot inside Mórsail's borders.

"You must have had a long journey," Brigid says, not half as suspicious of Elias as Anya is. "We do not have much, but we will share what we can."

"That is very kind of you," he says, and Anya is certain if Brigid hadn't been hopelessly in love with Eámann, the redhead would be fawning all over Elias by now. His politeness and his charm are things not commonly found in the men of Mórsail.

A part of her flares with jealousy at the thought of Elias having his pick of Mórsail's women. She hardly knows him at all, but there is that peculiar bond between them that aches every time she thinks of him.

Before she can ask him whether or not he feels it too, the door to her house swings open. Eámann and Tiarnán enter, brining in with them half a field's worth of mud and muck. Their boots practically squelch against the wooden floors.

Anya shrieks with surprise as Tiarnán suddenly places his ice-cold hands on the back of her neck. He only laughs, delighted, even as she whacks his arm. Tiarnán has a knack for causing trouble, revelling in causing mischief for his two older siblings. She'd always felt rather protective of him despite it.

Tiarnán takes after their mother even more than she does, though she doubts he even remembers what Gráinne had looked like. Her own memories of their mother are fuzzy, and she wonders how long it'll be until she can't remember her at all. She remembers her smile, or... the feeling of it anyway. She remembers warmth, and hands softly brushing through her hair. She remembers hushed promises, the words long since forgotten.