Eithne begins to warm

They had not been alone together until now, but the gaze of Condal’s dim eyes had scarcely left Eithne’s face since she had arrived. Eithne knew it, for she could not bear to be looked upon. The black mark on Cian’s cheek was an elegant adornment beside the stain she wore. And her sister sometimes saw things others did not.

Condal took a breath as if she meant to say something, but she only bit her lips together and held it. When Eithne came near, she held out her arms to embrace her, but too hesitantly. Eithne clamped her elbows against her sides and hurried, head-​​down, to the mirror. Condal let her arms drop.

She took another breath and ventured to say, “Paul seems so nice. It’s glad I am to see Cat with such a man.”

“He hates Cousin Malcolm,” Eithne muttered. “Both Malcolms.”

“Why?”

Eithne picked up her brush and began swiping at her curls. “Young Malcolm because he married Iylaine, and Iylaine was supposed to be married to his friend. And Big Malcolm because he kissed Lasrua.”

“He did?”

Eithne only grunted.

Condal walked slowly around the side of the bed. “Cousin Finn is nice, too. Even if we don’t understand a thing we say to each other.”

Eithne let the hand that held the brush settle on the edge of the small table for a moment. Finn was only an ordinary boy – kin enough to be worth marrying, but distantly enough to be more man than fairy. He was also the eldest son of Cousin Egelric, and her father had tried his hardest to get Egelric as a husband for Cat or Flann. Finn was what her father might have wanted for Condal.

She forced a broad smile onto her lips and agreed. “I think he’s very nice. How old is he – do you know?”

“Fourteen,” Condal said without hesitation. Eithne found this to be a good sign. “Do you suppose he’ll come to live with us?”

Eithne laid her brush on the table, taking care not to make a sound with the wooden handle against the wood. “Us?”

“At Cousin Egelric’s.”

Eithne pressed one hand against her breastbone and rubbed it firmly with the other, trying to calm the trembling of the first with the tingling numbness of the second.

She had been planning to forbid Condal from accompanying her to Egelric’s, but she had forgotten about Finn. Now she was more uncertain than ever. Finn might go to live with his father, or he might stay with Cat and Flann. On this side of the river there were Sebastien and Malo and who knew how many other angels, while Egelric lived in isolation by the lake – but where Eithne went, Cian would surely follow. Likewise, if Condal lived far away, Eithne would not be able to watch over her, but if they lived together, she might not be able to hide the truth from her.

“Perhaps he will want to go wherever you’re going,” she said with an awkward, limping laugh.

“Ach, I’m thinking no,” Condal giggled. Her giggle too was awkward, but the color of her thin cheeks warmed to the coral of a summer dusk. Her awkwardness was only that of a young maiden. There was still a warm, living heart in her. She could be saved.

Eithne turned again to the mirror and squirmed out of her gown, careful not to turn her profile to her sister. The fit of her dresses tried to convince her otherwise, but since her babies had come to dwell in her, she was certain her body had visibly changed. Everyone looked at her nervously when they thought she was not watching, but Osh and Paul – the males of the household – eyed most often her waist. She was old enough and well-​​developed enough to have noticed that this was not the area of her body that ordinarily attracted the most attention from men.

The soft voice of her sister startled her. “Do you suppose your – Cian will be wanting to take you home to the Highlands when he comes?”

“Ach, Connie!”

“Do you suppose he will be fond of me?”

She sobbed, “Connie, no!”

Condal fell silent for a moment, but Eithne saw the reflection of her dim eyes shining, and the firelight twice reflected in them, undimmed.

“Won’t you tell me about him, sister?” Condal whimpered. “You tell everyone you’re loving him, but the very name of him makes you hurt. I’m seeing it.”

“Connie!” she pleaded to her sister’s reflection.

“Is it because you love him so? Or because he hurt you?”

Eithne could only mouth her sister’s name. The room was dimming but for the reflection of her sister’s face, though even the face seemed to be retreating down a dark tunnel.

“Did he threaten to hurt me or our sisters if you told?”

“No!” she wailed.

“Cousin Egelric thinks Cian frightens you like the death. He doesn’t believe – ”

Eithne shrieked, “No!” and hurled her brush at the fire. To her horror, it popped and sparked even as it flew.

Fortunately Condal did not seem to notice. Indeed, she did not seem to have noticed Eithne’s outburst at all. She was too occupied pulling down the blankets on which she lay and slipping her legs beneath them, yawning and rubbing her face as if sleep were the only thing that mattered.

“Come let us lie down together as we did when we were small,” she sighed as she settled her head into her pillow. “We may whisper our secrets in our bed. Pretend we are girls…” she mumbled. Her lips continued moving, but Eithne could not read the words.

Eithne herself began to feel warm and alive at the sight of her baby sister looking so like a baby again. Her tenderness when she touched Cian in the dark seemed as icy as his breath compared to this hot love.

Tonight she would lie beside her sister. Tonight her sister’s warm breath would blow over her face as they whispered together. Eithne would tell her… not the truth, but a little about her husband – the good things. She would tell her about his earnest eyes and his sly smiles, about his ecstasies over her hair and his nonsense with the cat… just enough to make him seem real and not only a recurring nightmare.

She had never described him to anyone with so much as a word. Even her love was a sorrowful burden she had to carry alone, like her fear, like her shame, like her guilt – even like her babies. Perhaps she would tell Condal about them, too.

“I shall tell you a little about him, darling,” she said with a trembling smile. “I couldn’t tell anyone, but I can tell you. I… I wish I had told you before. I’m so sorry…”

The dim edges of the room seemed to brighten, as if her love gave off not only heat but light. Condal would forgive her, she knew, even without knowing the truth. Even without knowing anything.

Eithne waited for her to say it: to tell her she was loved, to tell her she was forgiven.

Condal was still pink, still warm, and her warm breath still moved over her lips. But she was silent.

Eithne yelped, “Connie!” though she knew it would not matter. Her sister would not wake before the dawn.