“Gavin, I wanted to talk to you about something—if you’re willing to hear it,” Mrs. MacSweeney said.

His jaw tightened in response to the widow’s request.

“It’s not what you think,” she said. “Well, not exactly what you think.”

It was two days before ate a hunk of bread that Siobhan brought to him, another day passed before Gavin came downstairs to join the family for a proper meal.

“You are welcome to stay here as long as you need,” she said. “But I’d ask you to do a bit of work with the boys and Siobhan.”

“Of course,” Gavin said. “You all have been more than generous. Only right that I earn my keep.”

“It’s not that at all,” Mrs. MacSweeney said.

She pushed away her plate and cup.

“It will be good for you. Get out, do tasks that aren’t related to this business between the Tuatha Dé and Fomori. Jobs that have nothing to do with a forge.”

Gavin eyed the matriarch and each of her children at the table. He clasped his hands together and looked down at his plate.

“Respectfully, Mrs. MacSweeney, is this supposed to take my mind off of what happened? Weeding fields and milking cows will make it all better?”

“Of course not,” she said. “But we have to start somewhere. It will do you no good to lie up there day after day.”

“Maybe I should go back to Dunfanaghy,” he said. “Flattening metal with a hammer might do me some good.”

“Perhaps. I’ve got no claim to force you to do—or not do—anything. But I would insist, as firmly as I can, that you take one of the children with you.”

“I don’t have space for more than myself,” he said.

“It hasn’t been four full days,” the widow said. “Going back there on your own right now isn’t a good idea. There haven’t been many dealings between you and I before now, but if you asked Niall he’d tell you the same. If you’re that serious about swinging a hammer, you’ll find plenty of opportunities to do that here. Darragh now has family and land of his own to tend to. We leaned on him quite a bit after their father’s passing.”

Siobhan swallowed hard and set her eyes on the far wall. She recalled the first few months after her father died. Darragh, her oldest brother, buried himself in work around the farm, compelled to finish every last carpentry or masonry task out of fear he’d disappoint the memory of his father.

Treasach the younger gladly assumed the rent collection and any other errand that kept him out of the house and the lingering reminders within it of the vacuum created by his father—and namesake’s—death.

Never one to shy away from a conversation, Cathal developed a maniacal need to speak. Whether it was sharing every unfiltered thought that sprang from his mind, asking his family’s opinion on everything, or even goading his brothers into a fight, he seemed almost afraid of allowing even the briefest moments of silence.

It drove his younger brother, Ciarán, mad. During these times Ciarán often expressed his grief by beating on Cathal to buy the family even a moment’s peace.

Siobhan and her mother had their own means of compartmentalizing their sorrow. According to her mother, Siobhan’s skill with both druidic and sílrad magic was years ahead of her brothers before Mr. MacSweeney’s death. Over the past two years, she spent six days a week practicing magic, learning how to treat ailments and wounds, getting mentored with leadership skills—even the occasional business lesson.

Siobhan suspected the loss of her father triggered an urgency in Mrs. MacSweeney to prepare her youngest child for the wider world and all its challenges, both natural and supernatural. With news that the MacLaughlin boys were suddenly orphaned, late in their childhoods as it may be, Siobhan wondered if she would lose that last free day each week.

Gavin nodded his head several times, as if he was answering questions only he could hear.

“Of course, Mrs. MacSweeney,” he said. “Whatever you need. I might need another day or two.”

“Call me ‘Dáirine,’ dear,” Siobhan’s mother said. “You’re no boy. And I’d like you to start tomorrow.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“If that’s how it must be,” he said. “Thank you, Mrs. MacSweeney. I better rest up. Busy day tomorrow.”

She pointed to a door across the room.

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“You can use Darragh’s old bed in the other house. You can cut across through the storage room over there.”

With a nod Gavin disappeared through the storage room door.

“You don’t think you’re pushing him too hard, Mam?” Siobhan asked.

“Maybe,” her mother said. “But he’s still new to the area, and now he’s all but alone. We send him back to Dunfanaghy and who knows what will happen. He’ll be ready to move forward long before he considers himself ready to move forward.”

“You’re that sure?” Cathal asked.

“It’s more of a hunch,” she said. “But my hunches normally turn out—and if we see it is too much and he’s cracking, we can ease off. His progress won’t be at a consistent and steady pace. It’ll happen in fits and starts.”

Her children nodded.

“Ciarán, start him off slow and have him work with you the next few days.”

“Yes, Mam.”

“Why not me?” Cathal asked.

“Son, I love ya, but he’s in no state to have you in his ear all day. Now, can you boys go and prepare the wagon for me? I’m off to Dunfanaghy again in the morning.”

“Did you not just return from there yesterday?” Cathal asked.

“I wanted to tidy up Murrough’s house and get it ready for those MacLaughlin lads. Lord knows his cottage’s usual state isn’t suitable for them at a time like this. I came back here to check on you boys and Gavin. But now I must talk with Murrough and those lads about what happens next.”

The mood in the room sank. The brothers exchanged uncomfortable glances before walking out the front door with a nod to the ladies that remained at the table. They were so quick to avoid any direct talk about the MacLaughlins that they left without clearing their spots.

“You know, you’re really great with Gavin,” Mrs. MacSweeney said. “I know it isn’t easy, but I’d like you to keep on it while I’m gone.”

“How long will you be gone?” Siobhan asked.

“Three days, most likely. Four at the most.”

“Have you made up your mind about their farm?”

Mrs. MacSweeney leaned back in her seat and sighed as she examined the dinner table’s surface.

“You’re not going to give them a chance?” Siobhan asked.

“I am,” her mother said. “But I don’t see them succeeding with it over the long term. Before he left, Murrough made me promise to hear the boys out before I made the final decision.”

“Why?”

“He seems to think it’s the safest option for the boys. Whatever attacked our people over in Magheroarty showed no interest in the MacLaughlin home even though it was only a few miles to the east. Murrough says that if they knew who the MacLaughlins were, specifically, they would have gone straightaway to Ards Beg for the boys.”

Siobhan shuddered at the thought of Finn and Donal suffering in the manner that Ciarán described the other day. She shook her head to slough the thought out of her mind.

“But those two aren’t actual sílrad,” she said. “Are they?”

“We don’t know,” her mother said. “Fintan and Aoife never pursued the matter.”

“You’re codding me. You had me doing magic when I was knee-high to Da.”

“The MacLaughlins were certain that the Fomori weren’t strong enough to pose a true threat, and if they did the modern society’s norms were strong enough to hamstring their efforts.”

“They never struck me as being that thick.”

Mrs. MacSweeney fired her right index finger forward.

“Siobhan Almaith MacSweeney! Show some respect for the dead.”

“Sorry, Mam.”

Siobhan’s mother regained control of her volume and tone and leaned forward once more.

“You’re right, though. Ages 17 and 14 are well past the ideal time to test and train new sílrad. The parents never said as such, but I suspect they simply didn’t want this life for their sons.”

“Grand, so they just hide in Ards Beg?”

“Murrough thinks they should get a fair lash at keeping the farm going.”

“Not the worst idea I’ve heard,” Siobhan said. “Than Finn always seemed a smart, sound one.”

“He is, but that’s not where his heart lies. He wants to become a monk.”

“A monk? Why?”

“You’d have to ask him that.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Dya’mean by that?” her mother asked.

“Let me take their rent,” Siobhan said. “I’ll go there each month and also help them out with planning and advice, right? I’ll try to bring them through this like I am with Gavin. Plus, it would be nice to see Donal more. I haven’t seen much of the brothers lately.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Mrs. MacSweeney said. “Donal caught an odd type of illness several years ago. The longer his illness progressed, the less that anyone—save for Murrough—saw them.”

Siobhan pieced it together with the aid of hindsight. In the brief times she’d seen Donal, he had grown out of sorts over the past few years. When his family did attend gatherings and festivals, all of them were more tense, more guarded. The parents’ attention to their youngest child bordered on vigilant.

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t do it?” Siobhan asked.

“No, but you should know this before you commit to what you’re proposing,” her mother said. “Murrough says it’s only getting worse for the boy. He rarely has a night’s peace.”

“Well, doesn’t matter what I propose if you decide to take control of the farm,” Siobhan said. “Have you considered the possibility that whatever attacked their parents might still have plans to go after the lads?”

Her mother let out a single chuckle and pointed to Siobhan’s seat with her chin.

“It must be the chair,” she said. “Niall was in your very seat when he asked that very question before he left.”

Siobhan straightened her spine and felt the spirit swell in her chest.

“No matter what we think, we owe it to Aoife and Fintan to respect their wishes as best we can,” her mother said.

“Answer me this: what happens if they discover that they’re sílrad? Shouldn’t we have someone checking in regularly?”

“If that’s the case, daughter, why don’t they just move in with Murrough? Niall’s nearby. They can finish raising the boys and be there should anything happen.”

“That’s not what I…”

Siobhan covered her eyes with her palms and ran her hands over the top and behind her red curls.

“What are you saying?” her mother asked.

“I know what I say doesn’t carry the same weight as Niall and Murrough,” Siobhan said. “Just know that if you give those boys an honest chance I’m willing to help them. And if the day comes that we test them and they are true sílrad, well, I’ll willing to help with that, too.”

Mrs. MacSweeney eyed her daughter through narrowed lids.

“You carry more weight with me than you realize, Shiv,” she said.

Siobhan smiled and felt her cheeks warm.

“I have not made a final decision on the MacLaughlin farm. But know this: if I do go the way that you and Murrough wish, I’ll be holding you to your offer. The boys will need you to make this work. Are you certain about this?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks, Mam.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Siobhan nodded.

“Now walk me through exactly what you had in mind for the MacLaughlins before we go to bed.”