Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (23 page)

"Only because you're still living in the past!" I huffed. "For shit sake! Two thousand years of self-loathing isn't long enough? You want to wallow there so badly that you'd repeat your past mistakes in this … twisted
need
of yours to save me from Nuala's fate?" I frowned, searching his face. "You know that won't bring you peace, right? Deceiving and manipulating me to serve those ends? It won't bring her back. It won't change the past. All you're doing is setting yourself up to live another two thousand years in a state no better than the last."

I bent my head to catch his elusive gaze. "I'm not your ticket to redemption. Do you hear? I'm. Not.
Her
. Until you can honestly look at me without seeing her … until you can live in the
now
and look ahead instead of behind …" I stepped closer to peer at him, as though my pleading look might make him understand. "You'll always have my hope, Kieran. But I can't— " I shook my head and sighed.

He nodded in bleak understanding, and I watched as he rebuilt his cool façade, leaving only resignation in his eyes. "Tíereachán … he always was honorable."

"Oh, for the love of— " I clenched my teeth together and grunted. "Yes. I know. Most of my friends
are
. Of which you are one, by the way. But I suspect you're too busy reveling in a new round of self-hatred to see that." I sighed. "Just … do me a favor, will you? Don't go and do something stupid, like bond with this woman Jess, out of some sick desire for punishment. She doesn't deserve that. Neither do you, for that matter. But I don't expect you'll listen to me about that either, will you?"

He gave me an indulgent smile. "Little more than a single phase and you know me so well, do you?"

It was a gentle, half-hearted tease, I knew, but it pissed me off anyway. "A month is plenty of time, especially when actions speak louder than words," I snapped. After a meaningful glare, I blew out my renewed anger and then searched his face. "I want so much for you to be happy. Can you not see that much, at least?"

"I do, and more's the pity."

I opened my mouth to call him on that, to figure out what he meant, but my response was cut off by a loud knock followed by sounds of my front door opening and Kim's demand, "Kieran! You here?"

"In the kitchen with Lire," he called back.

"Kier, I'm here for you," I blurted. "You know that. Give me the word and I'll take you away. We'll figure something out. You don't have to— "

Kim strode into the kitchen, blue eyes flashing as she scanned him up and down. "Good. Brassal has some things to discuss. No more excuses."

Kieran's soft touch at my elbow drew my gaze to his face. His brown eyes were somber as they peered into mine. "I want the same for you, Lire. Truly. You made the right choice. He'll not let you down." He walked away, leaving me alone in my kitchen with a puddle of cold coffee at my feet.

I don't know how long I stood there, but after a time, Tíereachán appeared at my side, accompanied by the scent of citrus. He nudged me toward my family room. "I'll get this. Come. Sit down."

Numbly, I did what he asked, which is how I found myself on my couch a few minutes later, hot cup of coffee in my hand, Red perched in his usual spot on the back cushion, and Tíereachán watching me from the adjacent leather club chair. His blond hair, still damp from the shower and temporarily the color of wet sand, hung in perfectly combed furrows to brush the tops of his shoulders.

"What does … myon— " Frowning, I bit my lip. "You know, whatever Wade said that upset Kieran. What does it mean?"

"
Mionngáel
?"

"Yeah, that."

He tipped his head to the side in thought. "There's no concise word for it in your language. Blood-mate, I suppose. Oath-bound or oath-kin would be other possible translations."

I nodded at my coffee, but with the way my stomach felt, I couldn't bring myself to drink any.

"You know what he's doing, now, don't you? He's off playing martyr," I scoffed, resigning my cup to the nearest coaster. "The idiot is determined to be miserable. He thinks that's all he deserves. Makes no difference what I say."

"This doesn't surprise me," Tíereachán replied. "Kieran always was stubborn to a fault."

I slumped into the plush cushion at my back. "I want him to be happy, to feel good about himself."

If he had, we might've stood some chance together
.

"You can't do that for him, Lire. He has to find these things for himself."

"I know. Don't you think I know that? It just— " I closed my eyes and pressed a hand to the center of my chest. "He didn't even try. Do you know how that feels?"

Tíereachán sighed. "I do have
some
idea."

Red's paw brushed my cheek and I turned to give him a wistful smile before returning my gaze to Tíereachán.

"Speaking from experience?" I asked. "Or have I not been vigilant with my shield now that I'm home?"

"Both." The right corner of his mouth twitched upward, displaying the barest hint of amusement.

He looked comfortable sitting there, his leg cocked, right ankle resting on his left knee, in his distressed jeans, black t-shirt, and bare feet. Absently, I realized he must have snagged a change of clothes from his temporary digs at Invisius HQ. Apparently, he'd 'forgotten' to bring some pajamas when he'd packed.

Now it was my turn to sigh. "Go ahead. Say it: 'I told you so.'"

His crooked smile flattened and he narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you think? That I relish my cousin's continued downfall so much that I'd enjoy gloating at your expense? That I couldn't possibly feel a fraction of your anguish?"

Taking in his affronted expression, the pain in his voice, and what little I felt through our shielded connection, I blinked at the sudden clarity. "You care for him," I said, my eyes wide. "You love him."

"Of course I do. Growing up, he was the closest thing I had to a brother."

God
, I was such a bitch. Even without Kieran's compulsion, I still persisted in selling Tíereachán short.

"Stop thinking such things. You're nothing of the sort," he admonished, which told me that my shield wasn't blocking my stronger thoughts, at least when we were in such proximity.

"You're understandably distraught," he added. "And, to your ears, I haven't been easy on my cousin."

That was true, and it made me feel a little better hearing it. I considered him. "I assumed you were older—Maeve's generation. I didn't realize you and Kieran had grown up together."

"My mother is younger than her brother by several centuries. Kieran and I are removed by one generation, but we were born a mere two seasons apart."

"And the hostage thing isn't what I thought," I observed. "You were part of the family."

His eyebrows shot up. "That would be an embellishment. I was tolerated. I was educated and trained in battle as befitted a prince. It is how things are done."

"Oh." I eyed him curiously. "And Kieran spent a lot of time with you at … I don't even know where … King Faonaín's castle?"

He snorted. "Putting stock in human fairytales, now?" He shook his head. "The king's royal residence is more than an insignificant castle. It's a palatial fortress. It is the seat of power in his realm, both literally and figuratively."

"And underground, like most everything else."

"Yes." He canted his head as he examined me. "Kieran told you about it?"

"No." I drew in a quick breath and clicked my tongue as I reconsidered. "Some. Not about the king's palace. He told me a little about your planet when I pestered him about it." I shrugged. "Kieran's never been one for volunteering information."

"He never was."

"Never? Not even when he was a child?"

Tíereachán paused, looking thoughtful. "Kieran was always introspective, but I suppose the tendency grew more pronounced after his disgrace."

"Why didn't he follow you to your mother's territory when you escaped? Or later? He seems so unhappy. And the things Maeve goaded him into doing …" I frowned. "She broke him, and the king did nothing to help. And yet, Kieran stayed. Why?"

"It was expected. Until Kieran's fall into disrepute, his father was the realm's prime ætheling and King Faonaín's tánaiste, his second-in-command. When the truth about Nuala came out, his father abdicated his position in exchange for Kieran's pardon."

"What's an … ætheling?"

"Heir apparent."

"Heir? But I thought the sidhe council, or whatever it's called, voted on the next ruler."

"The Tribunal. Yes, but the ætheling is heavily favored unless a number of the lesser houses band together to support another worthy candidate."

"So, when Kieran was disgraced, Maeve succeeded in killing two birds with one stone—both Kieran and his father out of favor in one fell swoop," I said, scowling. "And because she never gave Kieran an official order to seduce Nuala, she got away with it. What a manipulative,
effing— "
I stopped short, issuing a frustrated grunt instead of saying what I was thinking.

Tíereachán smirked.

"And then, with Kieran out of the way, she turned her attentions to you," I said.

He shrugged as if it were inconsequential. "Not immediately. But, yes."

"I don't want to break her out of jail, Tíer. I want her to suffer there for a long time, but I can't stand by and let my friends die." I gave him a pleading look. "What am I going to do?"

"Whatever you have to."

No hesitation. No admonishment to avoid foolhardy decisions. No demand that I consider my welfare to the detriment of everything and anyone else. That steadfast, four-word reply told me so many things, not the least of which was that he'd support me in anything I wanted to do, any decision I made. And not just support it—he'd back me up, put his body on the line, without question.

The realization both reassured and terrified me.

"Easy to say, but I'm pretty short on options," I groused. "Either I embark on a reckless jailbreak attempt, or I go all
Kill Bill
and try to take out Lorcán and his contingent of über-vamps at their stronghold, wherever that is. Since my magic is less than useless on anyone with a shroud and I'm not a bad-ass super ninja, I honestly don't see either scenario going well." I pressed my back into the cushion and folded my arms. "For all of my supposed power, I'm remarkably useless."

He fixed me with an unwavering stare. "Yet there is something you can do that no one—no sidhe, no human, no demon—can do. Even my mother cannot walk unhindered between worlds, Lire."

I barked out a laugh. "Neither can I!"

"Maybe not yet, but you soon will. Sidestepping to the higher dimension is merely the beginning."

"World walker," I scoffed.

So pretentious. It was right up there with being called 'the one.'

I glowered at him. "I don't understand how you can put any faith at all in Azazel's prediction."

"Because Azazel wasn't the only one to make it."

"God," I groaned, rubbing my face with both hands. "Not the oracle again."

"Even demons know to listen when she speaks."

"If she's so darn great, why didn't she warn everyone about Azazel and Maeve?"

"Who said she didn't?"

I narrowed my eyes, skewering him with a dubious look. "She warned people? She said, 'Hey everyone! Maeve's in league with an archdemon,' and no one did a thing about it?"

"I didn't say that."

"Exactly," I said, thrusting my open hand at him as though giving him an offering. "That, right there, is why prophecies are dangerous. They're so vague all they do is get people all spun up and freaked out about anything that remotely fits the prediction. Most of the time they're wrong, but, meanwhile, some poor sap has his life ruined because of it."

"The oracle has never been wrong, not once in over five thousand years."

"I didn't mean the prophecy," I exclaimed. "I meant the people thinking they know what the darn thing means!"

I.e. You! And seemingly every other sidhe I'd encountered.

He stared at me like I was an unruly teen.

I sighed. When it came down to it, at twenty-seven-hundred years old, I supposed Tíereachán was more qualified than anyone on the planet to know what he was talking about. But I sure as hell wasn't going to admit it aloud.

"Do you know her exact words?" I asked. "How long ago did she issue this divination anyway?"

"After the Battle of
Athainne
about fifteen hundred Earth years ago. And, yes, I know the prediction. Most sidhe do, especially the ones who were alive at the time."

"All right, then, let's hear it." I curled my fingers back and forth at him.
Sock it to me.

He shot me an impatient look. "Call me a pessimist, but I don't believe you'll be impressed."

"Probably not. But tell me anyway."

He sighed. "Very well. Enter my mind. Translating will just provide another reason for you to discount it."

I rolled my eyes, but then bit my lip and admitted, "I'm not sure I know how."

Dubiousness intensified his gaze. "You don't recall the events of last night?"

"You mean after the vamps and Lorcán took off?" I frowned as I scooted backward to tuck my legs underneath me. "Not really. Snippets, maybe. I remember Kim kicking one of the frozen vamps and making some crack about having to use a chainsaw to remove their heads. And then her comment about Michael—about his fingers." I shivered. "And pain. So much pain that I thought I'd lose my mind. I couldn't think past wanting to escape from it, so anything after that …"

I searched my memory and then caught a glimpse … no, not a glimpse, precisely. It was more of a feeling … the feeling of being surrounded by Tíereachán's resonance. "Wait. You helped me. You …" I blinked and looked around the room, as though searching the carpet, coffee table, and walls might help me conjure the elusive memory. "You took me away from the pain."

As I lowered my psychic shield, opening to him, I recalled how he'd entered my mind and then lured me into
his.
He'd enticed me into his dream of a warm beach, palm trees, and an oversized hammock that we ended up sharing. Serenely swinging for hours beneath his dream-conjured trees, we'd talked about inconsequential things, personal things, like what he thought of Seattle, what my job entailed on most days, our favorite foods, whether he liked to cook, how much I missed my dad, the places we each wanted to visit someday, both of us avoiding any mention of demons, the king, Kieran's betrayal, or Tíereachán's own compromised status. It had been relaxing and peaceful, and thinking back on it made the whole thing seem almost surreal. If his own memories weren't currently mirroring my own, I might have been tempted to think it
had
just been a dream.