Novels2Search
The Exile of Bridei mac Muirenn
chapter 10: aftermath

chapter 10: aftermath

Dragon knights are exhausting—and none more so than Senach—but they are the lightest sleepers I’ve ever met. I learned that the first night I tried to sneak from one’s bed. She’d rolled over and frowned at me, then waved me off and went back to sleep. Another had done the same, and as I’d left his bed, I’d sworn that I’d not wake another dragon knight. I put that oath to the test as I lift my head from where it lays on Senach’s chest. He sleeps on, his face turned towards me. I stare at his peaceful face as I slide away from him. His lashes flutter as my toes touch the rug under his bed. I go still, holding my breath until I’m sure he’s not waking.

I gather my clothes silently, taking slow steps around the room and to the door without looking away from him. The door is blessedly silent and gives me no trouble when I leave the room, and the hallway is as empty as before. I pull my shirt on quickly, carrying everything else into my room to dump on the floor. My bed is empty and waiting, as cold as it was when I left it, and the hearth empty. I stare into the darkness. I don’t want to be in here, alone and chilled.

Bottles of wine sit on a table along the wall and I open one with a sigh, drinking it as I pull the rest of my clothes back on. I fumble with my coat as I step into the hallway, then drink more wine as I stare at Senach’s door. I could go back and slide into his bed again. It would be so easy.

I walk down the hallway instead, and make my way onto the roof. Taran’s home is old enough to have turrets at each cardinal direction, and I stare up at the stars until I’m sure that I’ve found myself at the western one. I look into the distance, knowing Dál Macha lies out there somewhere. With a sigh I heave myself up, placing my feet carefully as I walk around the turret to jump down onto the roof. I take a long drink from the wine, then a deep breath as I sit down to keep staring at the stars. It’s cold so high up, colder than my room, and my coat is barely warm enough for the night, but the wine helps and I can’t bring myself to leave the roof. I could find Senach awake if I go back, and then have to explain why I left. But nothing comes to me when I try to explain to myself, and so how can I explain to him?

No, I can explain it well and simply—nothing more than me being a coward. I swallow that thought down with more wine. A coward who’s just ruined the best relationship in his life. I drink more wine, try to take a deep breath and instead let out a sob. No tears, though, and I rub at my eyes until I’m sure I won’t cry before drinking more. I need to focus on other things, such as Westhollow’s interest in me and Brighthollow’s death curse. There aren’t many Fair Folk tales on Dál Macha, and fewer still about their usage of death curses. They’re used for retribution when one knows they won’t survive.

But why did Brighthollow have one ready for me?

I groan, drink more wine, and don’t see Mór until she’s draping the blanket over my shoulders. I blink up at her owlishly, then hold the blanket open for her. She smiles as she sits next to me, but shakes her head when I offer the wine. “What brings you out here?” I ask, glancing at the blanket. It’s a large one, warm, and smells like Senach. I close my eyes, tucking the blanket a little closer. It’s soft against my cheek.

Mór lets my question hang in the air between us for a moment before she answers. “I saw you and thought you might want company. What brings you out here?”

Oh, nothing much, just running away from Senach. “I thought I’d watch the stars and drink under them. I supposedly have magic running through my veins now,” I say. “I need to figure out what I’m to do with it.”

“And you thought drinking on the roof would help you?”

“Do you have magic?” I ask, looking over at her. “I’ve seen Val walk on the air and Estrid’s way with water, but nothing from you or Constantín yet.”

“Constantín has no magic,” she says. “He just likes to experiment and make things explode.”

I grin. “In love with black powder, is he?”

She nods, amused and exhausted all at once. “It’s why we’re staying. Taran and Onóra are just as happy to experiment as he is. You haven’t heard the noise yet?”

I shake my head. “No.” I pause, then raise my eyebrows at her as I drink more wine.

“No magic,” she says with a small smile. “Not for me.”

“Too rare on Dál Macha,” I murmur, looking at the stars again.

“Even for those of us in the temples.”

“You grew up in a temple?”

“You’re full of questions tonight.”

I can hear her smile in her words, and it makes me smile. “Humor me?”

“Only if you do the same.” I nod and she sighs, stretching her legs and arms without leaving the shelter of the blanket. “Yes, I grew up in a temple. My uncle was the caretaker, and he took me in after my parents died.”

I adjust my half of the blanket as I stretch my body out, propping myself up on an elbow. “How did you come to Cernna?”

“Answer my question first,” she says. I smile and gesture for her to proceed. She taps her chin thoughtfully, looking me over slowly. “What are you thinking of doing if you do have magic now?”

“Maybe I could learn to fly so everyone would stop worrying about me falling off a roof,” I say dryly.

She pats my arm. “I think that worry is going to stay as long as you keep climbing up to roofs while drunk, and then continue drinking while on them. How high up are we?”

“High enough. Shorter falls could kill us, but this definitely would.” I shrug at her frown. “Things you learn amongst the dragon knights.”

“Of course,” she replies softly. “Your turn.”

“Same question. How did you come to Cernna?”

“That requires wine,” she says, taking the bottle from me to drink from it. “How much of this have you drunk tonight?”

“It was unopened before I came up,” I answer as I take it back, examining it. There’s less than half the bottle left now.

“How are you coherent? I heard you and Senach joined Westhollow’s party, and you were drinking there, too.”

I grin as I bring the bottle to my lips. “Dragon’s blood.”

She scoffs. “Do you actually believe that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. People have been using it to explain me since I was a child. Said I had more dragon’s blood than Talorc. You aren’t answering my question.”

“My uncle sold me,” she says bluntly. “Why isn’t Senach up here with you?”

I stare at the wine for a long time before answering. “He’s asleep. How did you meet the others?”

“On a job.”

I can’t help my grin. “Was it more successful than trying to capture a gryphon?”

That makes her laugh, and Mór is beautiful when she laughs. Her entire body relaxes with it, eyes closing with the following smile. She brushes her hair from her face as she shakes her head. “It was. Somehow. Constantín nearly blew us up and Estrid was ready to strangle Val, but we succeeded.”

“What did you have to do?”

“Oh, that was so long ago,” she says. I laugh. “We were rescuing some lord’s daughter. Just like Val, Constantín, and I will be doing again soon.”

“Oh? Another job? Can I come?”

“You have other things to be doing,” she says.

I sigh and drink more wine. Magic. Almost as funny as waking up in Tsernia. “Did you ever want to have magic?” I ask Mór quietly.

“Did you?” she asks in return.

“I wanted to bond with a dragon,” I whisper.

I drink the rest of the wine. Mór grimaces, then slowly urges me into leaving the roof. She holds onto the blanket as I stand, her blue eyes fixed on me worriedly. I grin and give her a bard’s bow. She inhales sharply, eyes closing momentarily before she grips my arm and starts pulling me towards the turret. I go ahead of her, placing my feet as carefully as I’d done to get onto the roof. At the window, I take the blanket from her, swing into the room, and sit on the floor to wait for her. She scoffs when she sees me wrapped in the blanket again, but offers me her hand when she’s in the room. I stare at her hand and consider pulling her down to the floor, then sigh and accept it. She hauls me to my feet, patting my arm as I groan and lean against her side.

She says not a word as we descend the stairs. I babble out inanities that she hums at, but we both know she’s not listening and I’m not saying anything important. I fall silent as we reach the hallway that leads to my room and stop at the entrance, ready to disentangle myself from her. Mór frowns up at me, then steps into the hallway and pulls me along with her. I stare at Senach’s door, unable to look away even as I’m led to my door. Is he awake again? Will he welcome me to his bed again if I return to his room? Is it too late to kiss him again?

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Mór clears her throat. I inhale deeply as I spin to look down at her. I don’t want to decipher the expression on her face, so I paw at my door and stumble my way into my room with a mumbled thanks instead. I don’t look at her as I shut the door, sighing as I lean against it. Cold seeps into my bones, making me shiver as I walk over to the empty hearth. I clutch the blanket tighter to me as I build up a fire, staring at the dancing flames and sitting on the floor.

The blanket still smells like Senach.

I didn’t see it in his room before—but then, I was distracted. The memory of his body against mine, of his mouth, of his intense gaze, of how he looked coming undone, of his reverence—all of it makes me shudder. I pull my legs up, dropping my head onto my knees. What a fool I’ve been, and all I want is to be a fool again. This is where I should run to Senach’s side, where I would were we still on Dál Macha. I did it so much there, when I’d flee someone else’s bed and attentions to plead for his. A good night or a rough one, both would have found me in his bed at the end, sharing stories and swiped food or drink. Tonight only finds me lurching to my feet to undress. I keep the blanket wrapped around me as I climb into my bed, falling asleep with its softness against my cheek.

Morning brings an aching head and furious knocking on my door. I lift my head as the door opens. Senach frowns at me as he walks into the room, shutting the door behind him. He came in with a purpose, but he stops now as we stare at each other. I breathe shallowly, almost too scared to make a sudden move, and he watches me as he watches prey on a hunt. It’s almost the look he’d give me when he’d be sent to wake me in the castle, but there’s a new uncertainty there. I let the blanket fall away from me as I sit up and stretch.

“Must you wake me so rudely?” I ask. “My head hurts.”

His lashes flutter as he steps farther into the room. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

I can only stare at him, sleep-addled mind struggling with his words. He freezes, and I realize what the uncertainty is—he’s looking at me like he isn’t sure what to do with me now. I grimace as I climb off my bed, refusing to look at him. I don’t know what to do with me, so looking at me for guidance won’t work. But he doesn’t move as I go about getting dressed. I sneak glances at him, words on the tip of my tongue but no voice coming. He ends up sitting on the edge of my bed, expression turning guarded as he watches me. I think I prefer the days we’d fight and he’d glare at me from across a room if he wasn’t outright avoiding me.

We stare at each other in silence again once I’m dressed. He wears a blue tunic with the emblem of the dragon knights embroidered over his heart—a silver dragon twisting around itself in flight—and scale patterns sewn into the long sleeves. His leggings are simple brown ones, tucked into old boots. No armor at all, not even a dagger at his waist. I look him over twice before I meet his gaze again, looking into those summer sky eyes. He offers me a small smile.

I take a deep breath before grabbing my coat and smiling brightly. “Well, shall we see what Onóra and Taran have prepared for me?”

“Magic,” he says, voice full of mocking wonder as he stands. I snort as I lift my hair free of my coat. Senach comes to my side, pushing on my back gently. “And food, before you complain about that.”

“I wouldn’t have complained,” I mutter as I’m ushered into the hallway.

He gives me a knowing look. I smile again as I gesture for him to lead the way.

And I immediately regret it, staring at his back as we walk downstairs and through the manor. Silence fills the space between us. I don’t know what to say to dispel it this time, but he offers no words of his own. Only a glance every so often, brow furrowed with that worried look he gets. It spurs me forward before we enter the garden. Senach freezes, eyes widening slightly as I step close to him and press my thumb to his brow to ease out the frown. It’s a familiar gesture, but the night between us is enough to set us both off balance as we stare at each other again. I look at his lips—his mouth was on mine, was on my body. His pupils are wide when I lift my gaze again.

I spin around and march out into the garden. It’s too late to kiss him again. Onóra, Taran, and Estrid all sit at a large table, two empty chairs waiting for me and Senach. Food is spread over the table, fruits and meats with cakes and eggs. I spread a soft cheese across a piece of toasted bread, topping it with fruit preserves as I look at what Onóra has spread out in front of her: a bowl of water with a stone in it, a pan flute, a packet of matches, and a pile of seeds. Senach and I glance at each other as we sit, but Onóra continues her quiet conversation with Taran as she pours tea for us. Estrid folds the corner of a page down before closing the book she reads.

“What is this?” I ask.

“These will help us understand how Brighthollow’s magic will manifest,” Onóra says. “They’re exercises that help us find where to start teaching children when their magic comes, since most magic comes with an element at first.”

“What’s he supposed to do with them?” Estrid asks, poking the water in the bowl.

Onóra points at each as she speaks. “Remove the rock without spilling a drop of water or getting your hand wet. Play the flute without putting your mouth to it. Light a match without striking them. Make the seeds sprout.” She pulls the bowl to her and runs her finger around the rim of it, staring into the water. The water ripples, a small whirlpool forming above the stone. It widens, a gap that grows until she can reach into it and pluck the stone from the bowl. Once she has it, the water calms again. “Try,” she says, replacing the stone and pushing the bowl towards me.

I shake my head. “Onóra, I can’t do that. I can’t do any of that.”

“You haven’t even tried,” she replies. “Come, look at the water. How can you remove the stone?”

I run my finger along the rim as she had, but sense nothing. And nothing no matter how I touch the bowl, how I wave my hands in the air above the water. “Nothing,” I say. She scowls at me. I shrug and wish my tea was wine as I drink it.

Estrid pulls the bowl to her, running her fingers along the rim as Onóra had. Again, the water ripples. No whirlpool forms this time, but the water continues to ripple as the stone rises to the surface. It breaches the surface, balancing on the bubbling water before Estrid plucks it away. Onóra nods, pushing the pipe towards me. I stare at it, though again I don’t know what I’m meant to do with it. Play it without putting my mouth to it—something with the air, then. Commanding the wind to play a melody. But there is no sound to be heard and I meet Onóra’s frustrated gaze as I sip my tea again. The last of the apricot brandy in my room would taste good in this blend, and I wish for it fervently, as if Brighthollow’s magic might manifest that way.

Onóra still has me try to light the matches and make the seeds sprout. I still fail at them. Senach and Estrid eat quietly, watching us. Taran plucks at a lute idly as he eats, staring at the flowers and muttering to himself. Onóra stands, glaring down at the table. I eat an egg as she starts to pace, and I’m completely forgotten as she begins to volley ideas at Taran. He tunes a string as he replies, a center of calm in her storm. Estrid returns to her book.

I look to Senach, no longer wanting to be forgotten. He continues eating, lashes lowered as he refuses to look at me. I lean closer, tugging on his sleeve impatiently and stealing food from his plate. He swats at my hand as he drinks his tea. I try talking to him about inane things—the weather, his tunic, my hair, Estrid’s book, the job we’re all missing out on—but all he does is grunt. He also changes the way he sits, so he leans against an armrest towards me and he can wrap my hair around his fingers to play with it. Eventually, he looks at me. He barely says anything, little grunts and encouraging hums with soft smiles, but he looks at me. He tries to eat a piece of bacon once, but I direct his hand to my mouth instead and laugh when Estrid loudly excuses herself and leaves us.

Onóra continues pacing. She has me try everything again. I don’t even bother looking at them this time, and try to bait Senach into a laugh and convince him to join me in wandering the city. He rests his jaw against his hand, staring at me with the barest hint of amusement in his eyes. Onóra calls me a peacock as she leaves the garden. My laugh dies in my throat as I look at Senach and remember a man with peacock earrings. He wears scales today, but he looks at me the same and I almost kiss him again.

I clear my throat and stand instead. “Will you come out with me?”

“How much trouble are you going to seek?” he asks, but he stands with me.

“I won’t seek out trouble,” I say as he follows me inside. A parlor door stands open and I peek in, grinning when I see the table along the wall holding bottles of brandy. I pour some into a glass and turn around, looking Senach over slowly as I drink it. “Why do you always think I’m always looking for trouble?”

He leans against the doorframe. “Because you have a tendency to find it.”

I smile as I turn away, drinking more of the brandy. “That doesn’t mean I’m looking for it.”

The parlor is arranged to have a large landscape painting on display, the soft pinks, blues, greens, and yellows of a spring morning showing a meadow along a coast. It covers nearly the entire wall and I tilt my head to the side as I admire it, and though I can say with certainty that it’s not Dál Macha, I have no idea if it’s Tsernia or some other land. It could even be the realm of the Fair Folk, something long lost to them. Wherever it is, the painting makes me long for something. I see no people in it, no storm on the horizon, but there’s a melancholy air to it and a piece of me aches so much I turn away and finish the brandy in my glass. My thoughts bounce wildly as I pour more brandy.

Is it for Dál Macha that I ache, feeling the pains of knowing I can never go home as Ímar once had? We had mornings that looked like that painting, summer ones where Senach and I would leave the castle before dawn on Aedín’s back to find a place to watch the sun rise. Is it for Agathe and what could have been? She would often find Senach and I on a roof together, though she’d never climb out and join us. Maybe it’s for Senach himself, and what could be if I can loosen my tongue enough to stop being a fool and a coward. I tap my finger against my glass, then look to Senach slowly.

A man stands next to him, arrogantly smirking as he leans against the wall next to the open door. He rubs his jaw, considering both me and Senach. Dark hair, dark eyes, fair skin. Familiar in a strange way.

I throw the glass before I know what I’m doing. It sails through the air, through the man harmlessly, and shatters against the wall next to Senach. Senach flinches from it, bewildered as he looks between the glass and me. I stare back at him, mouth hanging open. How do I explain that?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I—” I glance at the spirit—a spirit, it’s a spirit smirking at me. “I thought I saw something.”

Senach stares at me. “So you threw your brandy at it?”

“It was in my hand already.”

“What is wrong with you?” he demands.

I don’t think I’ve ever struggled so much for an excuse. “I—I—I’m tired.” I glance at the brandy stain on the wall. “Seems I didn’t sleep well last night,” I say, before I flinch. I don’t look at Senach as I leave the parlor. “I think I’ll stay in today. Maybe I should return to bed.”

“Bridei,” he sighs out.

“The healers at home always wanted me to lay in bed for most of the day after drinking. They’ll be so happy to learn I’m finally doing exactly what they wanted. I’ll see you later, Senach,” I say as I hurry up the stairs. “Explore the city for me. Maybe you’ll see Felicity and Aurora.”

“Bridei.”

I don’t turn around. “Tell me all about the city this evening at dinner.”

“Bridei.”

I shake my head and don’t quite run to my room. He calls my name again when he reaches the top of the stairs, but I see a glimpse of the spirit. The way it lunges for me as if it holds a sword makes me jump back—and then I curse under my breath at the spirit as I throw myself at my door. It opens easily and I slam it shut, falling against it inside and sliding to the floor as I take a harsh breath in. Brandy, I need more brandy. I crawl to the table and grab a bottle of it, then collapse against the side of my bed as I drink.

I shouldn’t see a spirit outside the two nights a year when the borders between realms thin. They cannot cross other nights, only send messages. And I was supposed to be free of spirits in exile.

Instead I seem to be seeing Brighthollow’s spirit, sitting on the floor in front of me.