Tanc stared at his mate in mounting dismay as tears welled in Eallair’s beautiful eyes; eyes that looked the same as they always had but which had apparently gone dark. Almost dark. Yet that wasn’t his immediate concern. First, he needed to make sure his mate lived through the night. The wounds left by the Taghadairean wouldn’t heal on their own.
Turning to where the captains waited (for the first time including Deòthas), he noted that Aodh already held the ceremonial silver goblet. Tanc nodded his head, a silent order for the captains to open their veins and fill the chalice used to create new ghaisgich. No matter what Eallair had sacrificed, the Taghadairean had let him live, returned him to the Proving Grounds, and that meant he’d passed the trials. Blind or not, he was one of them now. The gods had decided as much. They must have a plan. He needed to put his faith in that. What choice did he have?
“Why sacrifice?” he blurted unintentionally. “Why that rather than combat? Almost everyone chooses combat.”
“I couldn’t see,” his mate whispered, struggling to form each slurred word. Eallair’s voice sounded weak, his head lolling. He’d lost too much blood. “Their auras – the Taghadairean – they were too bright and I couldn’t see for the glare. I didn’t think I’d be able to fight them.”
“Did you really only make the decision then, when you realised you couldn’t see?”
It didn’t matter but he suspected it wasn’t the case. He felt no surprise when Eallair frowned and slowly shook his head.
“No... and yes. I thought there was a possibility beforehand but then I realised I had no other option. If my curse could leave me too blind to fight, what use could I be? I just wanted the pain in my head to stop. But the lights are still there and I’ve lost the rest of the world. I’m so sorry. I’ve failed you. I’m useless now,” Eallair croaked as tears rolled over his bloodstained cheeks.
Tanc shook his head at that, insistent. “No, ghaisgeach. The gods don’t give us new warriors without purpose. You passed the trials. You cannot be useless Eallair. Unconventional, maybe, but not useless. Understand? Tenebris told me you needed to make a sacrifice. I thought she meant the sacrifice that we all make when we bleed but maybe she meant this instead. Either way, she said you need to be here. Didn’t she tell you not to delay your transition? You’re supposed to be one of us.”
Cupping his mate’s tear and bloodstained cheeks, he prayed Eallair could trust him.
“You planned to throw yourself into Tallamarbh when you thought no one would know, taking a bigger risk than anyone since Deòthas because you knew you needed to do so. You completed each trial. You are a ghaisgeach, Eallair.”
When Aodh brought the chalice over, Tanc took it by the stem, placing it on the ground. He took a silver-bladed knife as well, drawing it across his palm and squeezing his own blood to the mix already filling the goblet. Yet when he picked the cup up again and held the rim to Eallair’s lips, his mate pulled away, his reluctance disheartening.
“You need to drink. You won’t heal if you don’t drink,” Tanc encouraged, hoping he’d listen.
“Maybe I don’t want to heal,” Eallair retorted, making his heart lurch. “I’m not able to fight now. Not like this. I won’t be relegated to sitting in the castle, to hiding away, unable to do anything. Just let me go.”
Tanc opened his mouth to speak, to refuse, but then another warrior stomped forward; the only one who might manage to reach Eallair. As much as he wished he, himself could persuade his mate to live, they weren’t there yet, but his brother might be.
Please, let Tor get through to him.
Tor wasn’t a captain but he deserved his reputation as one of the most intimidating forces of nature in the Comhairle's arsenal. Defiance rolled off him in waves, so much so that he seemed every bit as intense as his thunder god namesake must surely be. In fact, Tor looked uncharacteristically furious; fear finally giving way to anger. When he knelt beside Eallair, he poked his brother in the chest, jabbing him with each hissed word of accusation and not caring that he already had more injuries than Tancred wanted to acknowledge.
BẠN ĐANG ĐỌC
Warrior, Renewed: Book Two of the Comhairle Chronicles
Ma cà rồngEallair had bumped through life, following Tor's lead, but with the date for his own visit to the proving grounds looming, he needs to be sure of his own heart. Unfortunately, with his gift playing havoc with his eyesight, and the glare of others au...
