Seven Brothers Blessed [ Lore of Penrua: Book IV ]

[ 35 ]

Uachi knocked on Diarmán's bedroom door.

Hard.

He had hoped that where demands and sharp words had failed, sweetness would prevail. He had reasoned with Diarmán; he'd called more than once upon his good sense; he had smiled and spared a laugh or two, eager for normalcy between them and wagering that it might make Diarmán listen to him.

Yet he had been unable to bear the sight of him after what had happened in the aviary. Aerte had escorted Lady Naefe down the stairs, trailed by Han Taín. Diarmán and Uachi had stood there, hand in hand, for a minute—and then Uachi had jerked his hand away and had left without a word, ignoring Diarmán's call for him to stop.

Now, the door opened to reveal Diarmán's anxious face. "Uachi. Thank the gods."

"I need to speak with you," said Uachi. He shifted a bag he carried slung over his shoulder.

"Of course. What is it, my own?" Diarmán shifted back, allowing him space to enter the room. A disarming smile weakly tugged at the corner of his mouth, but when Uachi did not return it, the smile flickered. There it was: proof of what Uachi still dared to hope. Whatever Diarmán was doing, whatever he was saying, he didn't believe this was right—and he knew that Uachi knew it.

"What is it?" Diarmán repeated as Uachi stepped into his bedchamber. He closed the door behind them and spoke with forced cheerfulness. "Honestly, Uachi, we have a lot of work to do to prepare for this wedding; we'll have to be quick if we're here for a midday tumble."

Uachi could have shaken him.

Setting aside the ill timing of the joke, on the eve of an unlucky girl's condemnation, it was so oblivious a suggestion that it stung to hear it from Diarmán's lips. Since Han Taín arrived, Diarmán and Uachi had not shared a bed. A few kisses, hands in hands, an embrace: those had been natural enough, but something had broken between them.

Perhaps Uachi, who had so little experience in matters of the heart, had simply not recognized the rift for what it was.

Diarmán waited, raising his eyebrows. He made another attempt at a smile, but it did not reach his eyes, and it made him look eerie, like something from a story or an old woman's girlhood doll.

Uachi looked into his lover's face, into his eyes, into that stretched, false smile. Who was this man? What had become of him?

He wished with the very last of the power in him that this could be different. He wished he could salvage this love and save this family, too.

But Uachi had fought his terrible battles, more than one of them. He had earned his scars. He had seen the sad ends of too many people he loved, and he couldn't do it all over again.

This had been meant to be his future. Loving Diarmán should have been easier than letting himself fall in love with him.

As the silence wore on, Diarmán's smile slipped again. "You're scaring me," he murmured, reaching for Uachi's hand. Their fingers caught and held, and Uachi stepped toward him, releasing a sigh.

"If I didn't love you, this would all be different," he said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded dull, flat. "I would not balk at betraying you or hurting you to turn these things around. I would hatch some scheme with your brothers and put an end to your conniving father and all that he has in store."

What little color there was in Diarmán's cheeks drained away. "We've talked about this," he said. "It's too dangerous. You must be calm. Bide and wait."

"I can't. I cannot do it any longer."

"What are you saying?"

"There is nothing in me I cherish more highly than my honor. I can see in you that you don't want this to happen. You do not want that creature—"

"My father? That creature, my father?"

"—to wed a helpless girl. You can see that she will suffer the same fate as your mother, only she won't have the sweet oblivion of that faerie tea you give her. Instead it will be wine or mead or ale, and if she doesn't kill herself with drink, she'll do it with sorrow, and if she cannot bear to wait so long, she'll hasten her end with a knife."

"Gods below, Uachi! A man cannot always do what he believes—"

"Do not speak to me," Uachi cried, unable to rein in his anger, "of what men can do and what men believe! Do not speak to me of hard decisions between what is right and what is easy! When a man errs, he must own up to it and to the consequences. When his horse breaks its leg, he must slit its throat and walk on with blood soaking his clothes. And when the person he loves does something unforgivable, he must love them no longer."

Diarmán was speechless, his eyes wide. His hand slipped free of Uachi's.

"I'm leaving. I must. I'm still the man I was when I came here—and I'll be the same man when I leave. I cannot say the same about you."

"Uachi." Hurt and confusion shadowed Diarmán's face, and his attention flicked to the strap over Uachi's shoulder. He reached out, but Uachi stepped back, evading his grasp. "Uachi, we must talk—"

"We have. Many times. I've told you how I feel about what is happening here. I've told you what we must try to do. I've told you, even, that I cannot stand against your father on my own. Gods below, Diarmán, even when Ealin took Uarria I didn't feel so helpless! At least then, I could go after her. It was a battle I could fight with the skills I possess. Here, I can do nothing but wait on you to make your choice, and I cannot—I will not wait longer."

"We'll talk and we'll make a plan. Let's call Aerte and we can decide—"

"You've told me for days to wait and be patient. You've worn that promise thin. I don't believe you now. I shouldn't have believed you in the first place. You told me that to hurt me was your very last desire, and I've watched every confidence I had in you crumble before my foolish eyes."

"Uachi—"

"Don't. I'm going, and nothing now can change my mind. Know that I wish the best for you and all of your brothers, and your lady mother, too. Safety, and peace, and happiness. You do deserve it."

"I can't have happiness without you."

"Yes, you can." Uachi opened his mouth to say the rest. You have your father. A small, secret mercy hushed him, and he turned away.

"Uachi! What do you have in that bag?"

He couldn't stand to hear his name on Diarmán's lips. He opened the door and stepped into the hall, ignoring the brush of his lover's fingers against his sleeve.

"Uachi, please! Please!"

He lowered his head and moved on, steeling his will against the sound of Diarmán's heartbreak and against the pain of his own.