Aodhan stared from Cuan to the growling dandelion-puff. An equine face was not made for conveying expression, but Aodhan managed to radiate disbelief anyway.
“Angus!” Tamsin caught up with them all, panting. She flung her arms around Angus and Cuan alike, hugging them both. “Oh Cuan, thank you, thank you! Is he okay? Are you okay?”
At that moment, Cuan would gladly have tackled a hundred miniature monsters for her, regardless of which parts of his anatomy he had to sacrifice in the process.
“He is unharmed, if displeased.” Cuan extricated his wrist from Angus’s jaws—not without difficulty—and handed him back to Tamsin. “I fear this has not done anything to increase his fondness for me, alas.”
“Bad dog!” Tamsin scolded her pet. She looked up at Aodhan. “I’m so sorry. He’s normally very well behaved around animals, but he’s, uh, not met many unicorns.”
Aodhan turned his outraged glare on Tamsin. “I beg your pardon?”
“Winged unicorns!” Tamsin yelped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be offensive. This is all new to me too.”
Aodhan sniffed, his bristling feathers settling a little. In a flash of light, he shifted into his man form, revealing a deeply disgruntled expression.
“Twice in two days,” he said, scowling down at his own hands. “Twice. If I’d wanted to prance about in the body I was born with, I wouldn’t have spent two decades learning how to shapeshift.”
“My deepest apologies.” Cuan gave Aodhan a respectful bow, despite the protests of his abused muscles. “I would not intrude on your privacy lightly.”
Aodhan folded his arms. “Good. Go away.”
“I would if I could, but we have great need of your wisdom.” Cuan caught Tamsin’s eye, arcing a brow. “At least, I assume that was your intent in demanding that we come here?”
She nodded, Angus clamped in her arms. “I need to talk to you and Aodhan, and I couldn’t risk this getting back to Maeve. She let something slip during the feast.” She beamed, excitement shining in her eyes. “There is a way to break the tithe-curse.”
Her words sliced through him like an axe-blade, cleaving his heart in two. He hadn’t realized, until that moment, just how much he’d been counting on there not being a way for her to leave the fae realm.
To leave him.
In the breath-stealing pain of that moment, he couldn’t conceal that shameful reaction. He knew that Tamsin had seen it, as clearly as if his dishonor had been branded on his forehead. All the eager joy fled her face.
“I thought you’d be happy for me,” she said in a small voice. “Aren’t you?”
He should be happy for her. He wanted to be happy for her.
But he was high sidhe. He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t even speak, pain like a fist around his throat.
“He can’t be,” Motley said, matter-of-fact. He’d reverted to man form, watching the scene with head cocked, as though it was all a play put on for his entertainment. “Not yet. But I am. This isn’t your place. You don’t fit here. You need to go home.”
“If this means you’ll all stop pestering me, then I’m also overjoyed,” Aodhan said dryly. “Please, enlighten me as to how I can speed your departure.”
Tamsin didn’t say anything. She was still watching Cuan, eying him as though he’d suddenly become a stranger.
He wanted to reassure her—to tell her that he would help her, no matter the personal cost—but all words had fled. His chest felt hollow, empty. It was as though she was already gone, taking his heart with her, back to her own world.
Tamsin bit her lip. Then she drew in her breath, setting her shoulders as though she’d come to a decision. “Maeve didn’t say much. But she implied that the curse could be broken by someone in the human realm. She made it sound like someone could rescue me, somehow. She taunted me about it, saying that I didn’t have anyone who would care enough about me to even try.”
Aodhan was still scowling, but a spark of scholarly interest brightened his blue eyes. “Now that I think of it, I have read a few tales about humans being rescued from our realm by loved ones. A devoted lover or faithful sister, generally. It’s all dressed up in ridiculous nonsense, of course—impossible challenges and ludicrously unrealistic shapeshifting and all that sort of poetic rot.”
“We humans have a story like that,” Tamsin said. “About a woman who has to hold fast to her lover while the Queen of the Faeries turns him into all kinds of horrible beasts.”
Aodhan snorted. “As though even the greatest mage could shapeshift an ordinary human that easily. The girl would most likely be left hugging a pile of inside-out organs by the third transformation, in my professional opinion.”
“But you have no lover.” His voice came out as harsh as a raven’s caw. Cuan cleared his throat, swallowing the razor-blades of anguish. “No human lover, that is. Even if there is a kernel of truth behind these tales, how does that help? Or do you have some secret beloved of whom the Lady Maeve is unaware?”
His chest contracted again, though this time with jealousy. He fought to keep the emotion from showing on his face, but he couldn’t help his fist clenching.
From the way Tamsin’s eyes flicked downward, she’d noticed. Her expression hardened further, her mouth setting in a flat, guarded line.