“He brought her in?”
“So she said, and it was a pride that rang true. He lured her to him with promises of riches and more, with a lover. The dark faerie who tried to take you the day Marg brought you to your father’s grave.”
“That—” She shivered as she remembered being dragged into the air, the shock compounded when Keegan flew, sword singing, on his dragon. The fall to the ground, then the severed head thudding and rolling.
“It was months ago,” she murmured.
“She’s been with them longer, for certain. He saw you, left her to come for you.”
“You killed him. My fault, your fault,” she concluded. “That’s been brewing in her, too. And she’d have gotten word to Odran. So he knew I was here, and sent Yseult. But—”
She stopped, turned to him. “There have to be more, more like her, and the one on Samhain, more like Toric and the Pious who were with him.”
“You’ve the right of that, too. So it all took longer. Now we hunt them and we dig out those who’d betray their tribes, their families. And digging them out, use them or banish them as seems best.”
“Use them. Like counterintelligence, I think. Feeding them false information or information you want passed on.”
“Aye.” Still walking, he gave her a considering look. “That’s quick of you, and saves the explaining.”
“Doesn’t make it suck less,” she muttered. “Knowing there are people you’ve sworn to protect, you’ve fought for, my father and yours died for, who’d betray everything for an asshole god who would slit them open in sacrifice without a second thought. And why?”
As temper snapped in her, she threw a hand in the air. Tiny sparks sizzled.
“Because they want more power when they’ve been given so much already? More riches when they live in something as close to freaking paradise as it gets? Or because they get sucked into worshipping the cruelty Odran represents?”
“You’re right raging over it,” Keegan said after a moment.
“Damn right I am. The Fey are peaceful, generous, joyful. I know that because I feel it in me. I’m part of it. We’re brave and loyal. Flawed, sure, like anything alive, but to choose that over this?”
She took a breath.
“Some learn and remember,” she said, thinking of Minga’s words. “Others never do.”
“There you have it in a…” He lifted a hand, wiggled his fingers. And somehow she understood, and understanding, calmed again.
“Nutshell.”
“That, aye. Even gods make mistakes, and he made one with Cait. He picked one too angry to be smart. We’ll find others.” He gave her a long look. “It’s odd for me, I find, to have walked and talked and not be annoyed with the talking. You’re a sensible sort most of the time, Breen Siobhan.”
“Most of the time?”
“Most,” he repeated. “It warmed me to see all of you in the fire. You the most for all that. I couldn’t hear the song you sang, but I felt the pleasure of it. Did you see me before that?”
“On New Year’s Eve?”
“After the Judgment, after I sent the girl through and sealed her in the Dark World. I flew above the clouds on Cróga. Did you see me, speak to me?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I heard you. You spoke to me, as you did in the lake all those years ago. I heard you but didn’t see you.”
“I didn’t… What did I say?”
“You said—” Now he hesitated, and hedged more than a little. “You said for such as us, choice was often duty. You said words I needed to hear at that time, in that place. Or I imagined you did.”
“You’ll always choose duty. It’s who you are.”
“And you?”