Spark of Chaos (Spark of Chaos #1)

Chapter 8

"He has a lot on his mind."

"Like you?" she asked.

"Aye."

"The sick girl... is she going to be all right?"

Three glowing Wisps appeared, fluttering through the dense fog, dancing lightly over the pond. Thanks to Isiilde, the tiny winged faerie were all over the Isle.

"I think she will be... with time." He took a long drag from his pipe before letting a line of smoke drift from his lips.

A Wisp darted over to Isiilde, hovering in front of her face. The tiny woman leaned forward, kissing her on the tip of her freckled nose. The whispering touch tingled her toes. The Wisp zipped to the side, landing on Oenghus' shoulder to flutter happily in his ear.

Isiilde sat up to study the tiny woman. "I think she likes you—they all do," she noted as the other two zipped over to play in his hair.

"It's 'cause I'm warm." One wisp sprinkled glittering dust over the bowl of his pipe. The embers died, leaving him grumbling.

"Did you have a good day with Brinehilde and Galvier?"

"Aye."

"I like her, Oen. You should ask her to take an Oath with you."

"I'd never ask her to leave here, because she wouldn't. And I'm too stubborn to stay in one spot," he admitted. "But it's nice to have a kinswoman around to polish off a jug."

He'd polished off plenty of jugs with Morigan. But then they'd taken Oaths together. An Oath tied a couple together for an agreed amount of time. Twenty years was common, while binding each other for life was rare.

But from what Isiilde had gathered, Nuthaanians were odd—the women took multiple Oathbounds at the same time. Often swapping their men for a night, or inviting others to join.

Kamberians thought they were heathens. Isiilde did not know what to think.

"Do you miss your home in Nuthaan?" she asked. As long as Oenghus remained her guardian, he was as trapped on the Isle as she.

"I'll get back there, eventually."

A wisp disappeared down his shirt front, and he squirmed, chuckling despite himself. With more care than most would credit a berserker, he loosened his laces and gently plucked the scowling Wisp out before letting her go.

"I wouldn't mind seeing my brood, though. You haven't seen a clan gathering 'til you've seen the Saevaldrs together."

"I'd love to meet them all," she said with feeling. But her excitement died when she realized it was never going to happen. Nymphs weren't allowed to travel where they pleased. She'd barely gotten into the festival.

Oenghus sniffed and hugged her closer.

"Tell me about my mother," she whispered against his chest.

"You look just like her, Sprite. Her eyes were like emeralds and her hair was brilliant as fire." Isiilde had heard these words a hundred times, and she could hear them a hundred more. "I've never seen anyone more beautiful. Your mother could make a man weep just by looking at her. Although she was a bit taller than you, and she wasn't near as mischievous—not a whipcord lookin' for trouble like you." He smiled, ruffling her hair.

"Did she look more like Zianna?"

"That ungainly thing has nothing on your mother. Everything about her was perfect. She was gentle and kind, and spent most of her time in the gardens."

"The one I burned down," she said in dismay.

"Things grow back. She would've understood."

A sudden thought occurred to Isiilde. The nymphs she'd read about were all forced to bond with the men who took them, but the bards sang of the emperor's love for her mother, and hers for him.

"Was my mother happy with the emperor—my father? Did she love him?" Isiilde had never asked this question before, and the brooding silence that answered twisted her insides.

"I must know the truth, Oen. Please."

"No," he said, harshly. "Your mother wasn't happy with him—not at all. She didn't love him, nor did he love her. He took her because of his own selfish desire."

Isiilde scrubbed tears from her cheeks. It had been a dim hope—a naïve dream—amidst the cruelty against her kind. The thought that one nymph had found love meant that perhaps, one day, she would too.

"Did you love her?" she asked, searching his face.

His sapphire eyes glistened with unshed tears in the dark. "With all my heart. I still do—I always will."

"Then she was happy because you were her friend," Isiilde said, laying her head back on his chest.

Oenghus said nothing more; he did not trust himself to speak.

"I wish you were my father," she whispered.

The silence deepened, the great heart beating beneath her ear quickened, and a shudder swept through his body. When he bent to kiss her forehead, cold tears dripped onto her skin.