Wicked is the Curse.

40 | Silver

Chapter 40 | Silver

And wait she did.

All night.

 During breakfast, where she could barely stomach her food. Blackberries that Aire had grown during her practices lined their porridge. Their juice was tart and bright and more than one person came by her table to thank her for the gift.

Sloane stared at her as always, but Aire couldn't muster the strength to snap back at her. Ferdia was called away that afternoon as he had already volunteered to help dye the wool with the roots of the blackberries harvested. She trained with the Aether, glad of the chance to funnel her mind. Laochra had sparred with her and even though he had beaten her, he made sure to remind her that he was proud.

"You had lined your bones with muscle and fat." He said to her,  helping her rise from the ground. "You are as sturdy as an oak."

She was glowing from the compliment. He had beaten her by a thimble and she had been ever conscious of making a mistake and breaking something she couldn't.  Wynn had grinned at her as she took a gulp of snow-melt water and she smiled back easily; before his smile reminded her too much of Aevran and she had to turn away.

She spent the rest of the afternoon with the other Wielders, teaching the boys to patch their clothing. Siseal lay against Aire's side, watching Brice lazily. Aire absently began braiding his hair into a common Cearnain braid as the men wore it. She wondered if it helped the boys to remember Cearna, or to feel closer to their homeland when their memories of Cearna were so faded by time.

Ferdia was available to her that evening. "I need to speak of my past. A memory. Several, where I think the Bloodbound's true identity lies."

The word Bloodbound seemed sour on her tongue.

As if for the first time, she had to reckon with the person he would have been before. Ferdia listened as she spoke. Her memory of the fall of Cearna was hazy and she couldn't bear to think of it. So instead, she gave him another memory.

Of the sun setting low over the horizon. Distantly, Sirens sang a low melody. For young Aire or the boy, she didn't know.

"Please," Young Aire cast a desperate look to her sister beside her. "Please, sister."

Perhaps her father had thought having the ceremony by the sea would be of some comfort to her, but she could not think. Could not breathe. It was only a reminder of what this ceremony would one day entail. A life beyond Cearna. A life away from Álmhath. The High King of Cearna stood amongst the wild grass, dressed in a simple yellow dyed tunic. The sea wind ruffled his hair.

"I am sorry, dear one." Ríona clenched Aire's hand tight. "I have fought this for you everyday since the last full moon. Father has decided. As has mother."

Young Aire's stomach had sank further. If mother had made up her mind, then it was truly over.

A Druid stood beside her father; with ink marked into the thick trunk of his neck. Thick dark lines cut into a spiral sat along the sun-speckled dome of his head.  A stranger.  Perhaps because she had tried to blackmail the last one into refusing to oversee the ceremony. And before them...turning to face her with the wind ruffling his hair, was...

"Is that...the Bloodbound?" Ferdia breathed, staring wide-eyed at the memory. 

It was and wasn't.

A boy of fourteen harsh winters, long and gangly in limbs he hadn't quite filled out yet, stood with the sea at his back.  A diadem had been set atop his wild, dark hair. One of moonflowers and gleaming silver pearls. The same rested atop her head, as light as a bird.