might be able to make sense of. “You … you’re not insinuating that I’d hurt the boy? I’d never hurt Creideamh’s child.”
Ciarán shook his head. “No. I was afraid you’d take him from me.”
“The leader of the dark court, raising babies and becoming attached to them?” Kevighn had no idea what to make of all this.
Ciarán took a pull directly from the bottle. For a moment hurt filled his face, a look out of place on a man so dangerous. “Aodhan knows I’m not his father, but he calls me such.”
“Oh.” Kevighn regretted his words. “ Aodhan. Who named him?” He took another drink, this time noticing it was the honey wine Ciarán made himself.
“Quinn didn’t say. Wasn’t that your father’s name?” Those unnerving eyes met his.
Slowly, Kevighn nodded. “It was. It’s a good fire court name.”
“Don’t be angry with me. Please?” Ciarán took another drink from the bottle. “I’ve done my best to raise him the way you’d like. Every night I tell him stories about you.”
Kevighn nearly dropped his mug in horror. “Please tell me they’re stories appropriate for children.”
Most of his adventures weren’t.
A laugh escaped Ciarán’s lips, lighting up his scarred face under the hood. “We did have some good times that didn’t involving drinking, stealing, killing, and whoring.”
“We did?” Kevighn’s face contorted as he attempted to recall such times. “I can’t be angry with you … if anything, you should be angry with me. You’re the king, and I’m just your humble servant. All these years, you’ve raised my nephew … is there anything you can’t do, old friend?”
In some ways, Kevighn felt guilty, but in other ways, grateful. His past had been filled with dark times, and he hadn’t been fit to care for himself, let alone a child. Part of him liked to think that raising Aodhan might have made him a better man, but deep down he knew it would just have ruined the boy.
He sighed, his head still spinning from this strange development. His sister’s child had lived .
“But why? Why did Quinn do it?” he asked. Creideamh had been killed because of her abilities; it was common in such cases for children to face the same fate. Yet somehow Quinn had gotten the child spared, or hid him, and then smuggled him to the dark court. All very dangerous things, considering it broke the queen’s law.
Despite this development, Kevighn still didn’t feel remorse for killing Quinn. The man had been nearly dead anyway.
Ciarán shrugged. “Perhaps it was out of guilt.”
“True. Though it doesn’t make things better.” Kevighn drained the glass and refilled it himself.
“Your nephew is a clever boy,” Ciarán told him. “He’s so much like you it makes my heart hurt. I know it doesn’t bring Creideamh back. Nothing will bring her back. But Aodhan’s alive, and he’s a big boy now. He’s been waiting for you to teach him, love him, be his uncle. As much as I need you and your many talents, especially with everything brewing, he needs you too. That’s why I’m so glad you’ve decided to stop moping and come home.”
Kevighn’s heart broke a little, thinking of everything he’d missed because he was too angry to hear his friend tell him that there was some good left in the world.
“You have no patience for the small ones,” Ciarán laughed, as if reading his thoughts. “He’s at the perfect age for hunting, fishing, and all those things we loved.”
Kevighn nodded; he was at a good age for a great deal of things. “I think I still have my bow from when I was a boy. If not, I’ll make him one. But where will I keep him? I could take him back to the cabin, but I presume you still will have things for me to do … ”
“Have you heard nothing I’ve said?” Ciarán made a noise of annoyance. “This is his home. We want this to be your home, too, like it was.”
While he’d never abandon his cabin, there was a time when the tavern had very
Ciarán shook his head. “No. I was afraid you’d take him from me.”
“The leader of the dark court, raising babies and becoming attached to them?” Kevighn had no idea what to make of all this.
Ciarán took a pull directly from the bottle. For a moment hurt filled his face, a look out of place on a man so dangerous. “Aodhan knows I’m not his father, but he calls me such.”
“Oh.” Kevighn regretted his words. “ Aodhan. Who named him?” He took another drink, this time noticing it was the honey wine Ciarán made himself.
“Quinn didn’t say. Wasn’t that your father’s name?” Those unnerving eyes met his.
Slowly, Kevighn nodded. “It was. It’s a good fire court name.”
“Don’t be angry with me. Please?” Ciarán took another drink from the bottle. “I’ve done my best to raise him the way you’d like. Every night I tell him stories about you.”
Kevighn nearly dropped his mug in horror. “Please tell me they’re stories appropriate for children.”
Most of his adventures weren’t.
A laugh escaped Ciarán’s lips, lighting up his scarred face under the hood. “We did have some good times that didn’t involving drinking, stealing, killing, and whoring.”
“We did?” Kevighn’s face contorted as he attempted to recall such times. “I can’t be angry with you … if anything, you should be angry with me. You’re the king, and I’m just your humble servant. All these years, you’ve raised my nephew … is there anything you can’t do, old friend?”
In some ways, Kevighn felt guilty, but in other ways, grateful. His past had been filled with dark times, and he hadn’t been fit to care for himself, let alone a child. Part of him liked to think that raising Aodhan might have made him a better man, but deep down he knew it would just have ruined the boy.
He sighed, his head still spinning from this strange development. His sister’s child had lived .
“But why? Why did Quinn do it?” he asked. Creideamh had been killed because of her abilities; it was common in such cases for children to face the same fate. Yet somehow Quinn had gotten the child spared, or hid him, and then smuggled him to the dark court. All very dangerous things, considering it broke the queen’s law.
Despite this development, Kevighn still didn’t feel remorse for killing Quinn. The man had been nearly dead anyway.
Ciarán shrugged. “Perhaps it was out of guilt.”
“True. Though it doesn’t make things better.” Kevighn drained the glass and refilled it himself.
“Your nephew is a clever boy,” Ciarán told him. “He’s so much like you it makes my heart hurt. I know it doesn’t bring Creideamh back. Nothing will bring her back. But Aodhan’s alive, and he’s a big boy now. He’s been waiting for you to teach him, love him, be his uncle. As much as I need you and your many talents, especially with everything brewing, he needs you too. That’s why I’m so glad you’ve decided to stop moping and come home.”
Kevighn’s heart broke a little, thinking of everything he’d missed because he was too angry to hear his friend tell him that there was some good left in the world.
“You have no patience for the small ones,” Ciarán laughed, as if reading his thoughts. “He’s at the perfect age for hunting, fishing, and all those things we loved.”
Kevighn nodded; he was at a good age for a great deal of things. “I think I still have my bow from when I was a boy. If not, I’ll make him one. But where will I keep him? I could take him back to the cabin, but I presume you still will have things for me to do … ”
“Have you heard nothing I’ve said?” Ciarán made a noise of annoyance. “This is his home. We want this to be your home, too, like it was.”
While he’d never abandon his cabin, there was a time when the tavern had very
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