The night grows suddenly brighter and Garvey snaps upright at the sound of the kitchen door banging open. It slams shut again, hard, as I turn.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brennan shouts.

Garvey leaps to his feet, snarling, and I grab at him to pull him back. A shock of pain rolls through my head, and I cringe away from it. Brennan freezes, just out of Garvey’s range.

“Please lower your voice,” I plead.

“Or what,” he sneers, “you’ll set your dog on me?”

I squeeze my eyes shut against the ache, but it doesn’t help. “Brennan . . . what do you want?”

“Where the fuck have you been?” he demands, no quieter than the first time.

Garvey strains forward again, against my grip. I tighten down on a handful of his hair, just in case.

“Finding Torrin,” I lie—but it comes out too plainly in my voice. There’s no way he falls for it.

“Bullshit!” he spits. “He’s in there now, talking like we are staying the night.”

Well, that was nice of him. Though apparently not everyone thinks so.

I open my eyes and look up. “We are.”

Even in the dim light cast from the kitchen windows, I can see his mouth hanging open. Like that was the last answer he was expecting.

“Are you out of your mind?” he snarls, at last. “We’ve got to get to Carrigan’s now! I fucking told you we shouldn’t have come here!”

I sigh, and reach up to rub my neck with my free hand.

“Maybe you hadn’t noticed, but that’s darkness above us, up there between the stars.

“We aren’t getting to Carrigan’s today.”

He doesn’t reply, but his silhouette seems to contract, to grow tighter. His breathing grows louder, too. Sharper.

Seething, unless I miss my guess. What a dickhead.

“We are not staying here tonight,” he growls.

I pull back on Garvey again. “Shhh, boy,” I say softly. “It’s okay. Just relax.” He glances back at me for just a moment, and eases off a bit, then returns to watching Brennan.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Brennan. The decision’s made. We’re staying the night.”

“You worthless little pup!” he snarls, and stomps a step closer. I almost jerk back, away from him, but Garvey’s instant reaction gives me something more to worry about. Brennan stops short again, as I pull Garvey back.

“What the fuck are you doing with that dog?” he snarls. It’s hard to tell, but I’m pretty sure his eyes aren’t on me.

I almost want to smile.

“Brennan . . . go inside and have some dinner. I’m too worn out to deal with your shit, right now.”

“My shit? My shit? Faolan gave you the simplest little job to do and you’ve managed to fuck it up. At every turn! First bringing that Keely twit—and nearly getting us fucked up—and now this!

“You always were worthless! Now get the fuck up and let’s go!”

Garvey strains away from my hand again, and the pain in my head needles me, like the incessant whine of a mosquito . . . like a screaming baby . . . like a jackhammer. I rub my neck harder, but the pain is deeper than I can reach.

A worthless little pup.

A worthless . . . fucking . . . pup.

Well, that didn’t last long.

I close my eyes.

“Are you done?” I ask quietly.

“Not even close,” he snarls, and my breath catches in my chest. “But it’ll wait. We’re going. Now!”

A vise starts to tighten, somewhere inside, deep. I can feel it. My breathing grows shallow, tight, and all the hairs on my head stand. The throbbing in my skull grows louder, heavier.

A worthless little pup.

A worthless little pup.

So, nothing’s changed.

You know what?

Fuck ‘im.

“You seem to have forgotten who’s in charge here,” I growl, through my teeth, as the anger leaps up into my brain. I open my eyes again and glare up at him. “So, unless you’re going to do something about it, asshole”—the pain in my head flares with the tension in my face, flares into something screaming . . . violent . . . consuming. I want to hit something. I want to hit something. I want to hit something—“go, the fuck inside and leave me the FUCK alone!”

I push to my feet, still holding Garvey, but he wants me to let him go, and I’m starting to want to let him.

“If Faolan were here—” he snarls, but I cut him off.

“If Faolan were here? If Faolan were here?”

Was that fear in his voice? The thought makes me giddy.

I pull Garvey back behind me and let him go. He stays put, at my side, but I can feel him, still taut. Ready to back my play. I almost smile, but Brennan’s impotent little snarl drives me on. I stalk a step toward him. Garvey follows, growling.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what Faolan would do if he were here.”—Another step.—“He’s not here. I am.”—And another.—“I’m in charge. Me. And this is my call.”

I reach him, and I must really be drunk, because I jab a finger at him, into his chest. Hard.

“So do something about it,” I yell, into his face, “or shut the fuck up!”

So close, I can feel the tension in him. He is shaking with it. The fucker so wants to take me. He so wants to try. He wants to beat me to a bloody pulp.

But he won’t. He won’t! Because he’s afraid of being on the hook for what happens!

I feel the smile spreading on my face. I’m daring him to do something. I’m fucking daring him.

And if he does?

Fuck him! Let him try. Come on, Brennan. Fucking try.

You stupid son of a bitch. It’ll be fun to wrap my hands around your neck.

Hit me. See if I fucking care.

Fucking pup, my ass. You might win, asshole, but you won’t like the price.

Faolan can take his leash and shove it.

I lean in closer. Maybe he’s right—maybe I am out of my mind. But he’s not getting the option, this time. We decide this, right fucking here, right fucking now.

“I’m done with your bullshit!”

His eyes dart from me to Garvey, and back again.

I lean in, closer still.

And he stumbles back.

“Fine, Tiergan,” he spits, and backs off another step. “Fine.”

He backs toward the door.

Two steps.

Three.

He pauses. “I’m going to enjoy watching Faolan tear you apart.”

“Yeah, whatever. You fucking coward,” I spit back. “My whole life! My whole fucking life, you’ve been pushing me around. And it turns out, without Faolan at your back, you’re nothing.

“Get the fuck out of my sight.”

He glares at me, on a knife’s edge. Shaking visibly. Torn between his pride and his future.

The smile on my face spreads wider.

“Come on, Brennan,” I say, and the glee in my voice scares even me. “Fucking try. Let’s find out. You know you want to.”

I laugh out loud. Even I can hear the maniacal edge to it.

I hope I’m not just drunk. Things could get bad.

Oh, well. I giggle again at the thought.

“Fuck you, Tiergan,” he snarls and stomps off to the kitchen door. He yanks it open, stomps through, and slams it shut behind him again.

Garvey yips at my side, and starts skittering around, tail wagging. Nervous, but happy.

Or is it relief?

Whatever. I won.

Asshole.

Fucking coward.

“Go to hell.”

Chapter 7

The small shed is well-hidden in bushes—much further from the house than I’d expected—and the light is failing quickly. Maybe I should have carried my clothes back and dressed with Torrin—these eyes and this light . . . .

Yeah, and likely passed out. Idiot.

Anyway, Garvey seems to know the way.

Something tall and dark moves away from the shed as we approach. Torrin, I hope. There’s a rattling sound, and suddenly there’s light on the ground.

“Always good to have a torch handy,” he says cheerily. “You manage to find everything?”

I nod, then realize he can’t see me, and say, “Yeah. Garvey helped.”

“Good, good. Follow me, it’s not far.”

I fall in behind him and his pack of dogs. Garvey stays close, but even he seems happy to be nearing home. He trots forward, his tail high, occasionally brushing my midsection.

The ground is mercifully flat and well-trodden. Uneven terrain, just now . . . I don’t even want to think about it.

Of all the fucking days . . . .

Somewhere up ahead, a bright point of light pokes through the trees, then several more. I can hear the river again, too. I guess we must be getting close.

After several more minutes, we step out of the woods into a clearing across from what must be the side or back of the house. Lights shine out through several windows, glowing warmly.

“Here we are,” Torrin announces without turning. The dogs surge past him and run, barking, into the expanse. Only Garvey and what I’m pretty sure is the dangerous-looking setter remain behind—Garvey near me, her near Torrin.

Ahead, off to the right side of the house, the dark silhouette of the tower looms heavily against the deep, almost-black blue of the sky. A lone star shines brightly, just off to its left.

“You probably can’t tell,” Torrin says, “but this is the vegetable garden. Not much left growing, now, but Eoin does a wonderful job with it in the summer.”

“Eoin?” I ask, though I’m not sure I care. My head feels like it’s floating in syrup.

“Oh, you haven’t met him, I guess. Sky let you in?”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “Sky.”

“Ah. Well, Eoin’s sort of my apprentice. Quite talented, really. But, ah . . . yes, well, he does all the cooking. It’s kind of our arrangement.”

He laughs and adds, “Don’t tell him I said so, but, really, I’m getting the better part of that deal.”

I nod, though he’s not looking to see.

We cross the clearing and approach a heavy wooden door, set in a narrow stone archway. Two bright windows are set off to the right. The dogs rejoin us, crowding in around Torrin, but he waves them off.

“Not in the kitchen, guys—you know that! Go on, around to the courtyard!”

He points down the wall, and with barely a moment’s hesitation, they all take off, running happily after each other, racing to be first around the corner. Even the setter goes, this time. Only Garvey stays.

“What?” Torrin asks, turning. He kneels to tousle Garvey’s head, then tries to draw close to his face, but Garvey backs off—into me—avoiding Torrin’s hands. He glances to me, then to Torrin again.

Torrin watches both of us for a moment, then rises, chuckling. “Okay, okay,” he says. “But no grabbing snacks from the counter.”

Garvey starts wagging his tail.

“He seems to have grown quite attached to you.”

“Can’t imagine why,” I reply. “I don’t even like dogs.”

He watches me impassively as I say it, then looks down, away from me, and smiles. I follow his gaze down and realize he’s looking at my hand. It’s rubbing Garvey’s flank. I pull it away, and grin sheepishly.

“Okay, fine. Most dogs.”

He shakes his head, still smiling, and turns to open the door.

“Enjoy your run?” asks a male voice, as we step through. But the heat and smells of the kitchen hit me like a blow, and I almost stumble back from it. I feel a sudden shortness of breath, and I go from syrupy to headachy and nauseous in an instant.

Across the room, a young man—somewhere in his late twenties—turns from his work at the counter and stops short. Flour drifts down from his hands to the floor. “Well, hello!” he says to me, then turns to Torrin. “Nobody told me we had guests.”

“Just found out about it myself,” Torrin replies, laughing.

The young man looks back to me and adds, “Are you feeling alright?”

Torrin turns to look at me, and immediately grabs a chair. “Here, you’d better sit down. You really don’t look well.”

“No, no,” I say, waving him off. “I’m fine. It’s just . . . ”—I pause as a wave of nausea rises to my throat—“the heat, after being outside for so long. Maybe I should just go outside for a few more minutes.”

Torrin nods, and I turn to fumble with the latch. It catches once, then releases, and I stumble through, out into the coolness. The nausea mercifully recedes as I pull beautiful, dense, cold air into my lungs.

I walk out a few steps, then drop down onto a thick stump on the edge of the garden. Garvey trots over and sniffs at me worriedly. I rub the side of his neck, but don’t really pay him attention.

“Set up for three more, will you, Eoin?” I hear Torrin say in the kitchen.

“Three? Are you kidding me?”

“Sorry, Eoin. I’ll talk to Sky later—I don’t know why she didn’t think to tell anybody about them.”

He steps out the door and pulls it softly shut behind him. I turn and pretend I wasn’t listening.

“Just how much did you have?” he asks as he arrives. It’s not an accusation—his voice is soft—but it stabs at me, even if he didn’t intend it to.

I hate it when I’m stupid.

“Too much . . . . ” I say. I blink a couple of times and look away—across the vegetable patch, to the dim glow on the horizon. The quiet closes in around me, and, after a moment I admit, “A couple of glasses full, I guess.”

“Glasses?! Shit, Tiergan, you should have said something before we ran all the way back here!”

I snort. “Yeah. Probably.”

My voice sounds angry and short in my ears, and I realize it must to him, too. I turn quickly, to apologize. “I’m sorry, Sir—I, I mean Torrin. I . . . . You’ve . . . .” But whatever it is I want to say won’t form into words.

“Relax, Tiergan. It’s fine. Stay out here as long as you need to.”—He pauses to laugh.—“I’m sure Garvey will keep you company. Look, I’m going to go in and see to Keely and your cousin. ‘Brennan’, wasn’t it?

“You’ll be staying the night, I presume?”

“Sir?”

“Well, it’s dark. It’s generally considered bad form, as I recall, to go traipsing through other people’s territory in the dark. Or has that changed?”

Shit.

When I fuck things up, I fuck them up good.

I drop my head into my hand and debate resisting the urge to cry.

“Tiergan, really—it’s fine. You can stay the night. I’ve got plenty of room.”

I shake my head slowly, in my hands. The tension that has been growing around my eyes all afternoon tightens into something much more sharp. Garvey seems to sense something’s wrong and tries to poke his nose in, to lick at my face, but I push him away.

The words spill towards my mouth, and, stupid as I know it is to let them pass, I just can’t seem to find the effort to stop them.

“I’ve totally fucked this up, Torrin,” I say, though I can’t imagine why he would care. “Faolan sent me to do the simplest little thing—and I couldn’t even do that right.

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

Silence follows, and it grows instantly uncomfortable. I open my mouth to cover it with some kind of joke, but he speaks before I get the chance. “Tiergan . . . . ”

I brace myself for a scathing rebuke.

“Look, I don’t know you, and I don’t know what problems you are dealing with, right now. But I do know this—you aren’t thinking clearly. Do yourself a favour, and give things a few hours to clear, okay? Stay out here, if you want, until you’re feeling better, then come in and have something to eat. I’ll go take care of things with everybody else—you don’t have to worry.

“If you still want to talk about this later, I’ll be around.

“Deal?”

He says it so calmly, so matter-of-factly—like he actually gives a shit.

But he’s right. I shouldn’t be talking to a First, right now. Not like this. Not even this First—strange, incomprehensible, packless one that he is.

For no reason I can figure out, he’s trying to save my ass.

I pull in a deep breath and straighten up, then nod slowly.

“Deal.”

“Good,” he says, and turns back to the house.

As he reaches the door, I call to him. “Torrin?”

He pauses to look over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

I want to say something that matters. Something to express how grateful I am that he’s been so kind. That he hasn’t handed me my ass, as I deserved.

But I’ve got nothing.

“Thanks,” I say. It sounds ridiculous, even to me.

He smiles, then steps inside.