1
The last timeI’d killed my brother, he’d reeked of burnt flesh for a week. But if Rían didn’t stop smirking at me, I was going to throw him into the fire and hold him there until the flames robbed him of his last breath.
I laid across the settee, bored out of my feckin’ mind, wishing there was something to do in this castle besides endure Rían’s presence and Ruairi’s relentless optimism.
I hated this room almost as much as I hated Rían. Thankfully, the darkness muted the lavish furnishings, gaudy floral curtains, rugs, and tapestries. It had been at least two hundred years since the parlor had been decorated. I couldn’t remember who had been responsible for the travesty. Certainly not me.If it were up to me, I’d torch this room and everything in it. Including Rían.
“What’s it going to be tonight, lads?” Ruairi asked from the drinks cart beneath the window. The bottles clinked together as he read the labels to find the ones he wanted. “Wine or puítin?”
I said “puítin” at the same time Rían said “wine.”
I hadn’t a head for either, so it didn’t really matter. But puítin would make me pass out faster, and then I’d be back to daylight and another day of slogging through problems. Executions in Airren occurred every day now. No matter how many times we had advised our people to return to Tearmann, they always refused. With my jurisdiction ending at the Black Forest, there was nothing I could do to save them.
Ruairi returned with a tray of six glasses, two for each of us, half filled with clear puítin and half filled with green faerie wine.
My stomach roiled. Tonight wasn’t going to end well, and tomorrow was Friday. The last thing I wanted was to sit and listen to my people squabble with a hangover.
He set the tray on the small table between my settee and their two chairs and took a seat. When I made no move to reach for either glass, Ruairi picked up the puítin and thrust it into my hand. “Stop moping about, Tadhg. Have a drink.”
“I haven’t had dinner yet.” Which meant I’d be on my ass after a few sips.
Ruairi raised a black eyebrow. “Your point?”
Rían sniggered, swirling his crystal glass in his hand. “I have a brilliant idea.”
“No.” When Rían had an idea, it usually landed one of us—or someone else—in the underworld.
Ruairi kicked the settee’s leg, spilling puítin down my shirt. “I want to hear what it is.”
“I said, no.” I didn’t have the energy to die tonight. Plus, Eava, our kitchen witch, had made blackberry pie for dessert. Before Ruairi had shown up unannounced, my plan had been to eat enough of my dinner to appease Eava, then stuff my face with pie.
Rían sipped his wine slowly, as if savoring it. What was there to savor? It tasted like licking the bottom of a bowl of rotten fruit.
I gulped my puítin, loving the way it scorched my throat. The fire was better than feeling nothing at all.
“Ah, go on, Tadhg. It’s a good one this time.” Rían took another sip. Firelight played on the red tones in his short mahogany hair. He looked so much like our father in this light.
Which made me despise him all the more.
“Go on, then.” It would take less time to hear him out than to argue.
From his waistcoat pocket, Rían withdrew three scraps of paper.
The Golden Falcon
The White Stag
The Green Serpent
“Each of us selects a pub and we see who lasts the longest inside. No glamours and no wards. Ruairi, you can stay shifted as a human to make it fair. Tadhg, you can shift into—oh, wait. Never mind.”
The crystal glass shook in my hand.Dammit,I wanted to kill him.
“Winner takes all,” Rían finished.
Rían’s gambling had gotten worse since I’d killed Aveen. Idle hands and all that nonsense. He needed to find an occupation beyond irritating me since bedding his way across the island was off the table.
I took another drink of puítin.