Myth-Touched: Shadows of Eireland, #2

CHAPTER ONE

In hindsight, I should have known that kneeling in front of a mythborn and suggesting he take his pants off would look wrong to any onlooker. On the other hand, neither Connor nor I could have predicted that someone would barge into his workshop at the very moment we were trying to test a new charm for his harness.

The sturdy web of leather and wire surrounded Connor’s leg, holding various amulets and charms in place, and from what little I understood of its intricate design, it was meant to ease pain and allow him to walk. It felt only right that I helped him to improve the harness, as I was, at least indirectly, responsible for his disability. I thought that contact with his skin could help magic within the amulets and charms work better, thus the pants-off remark I threw.

Connor reacted to my enhancement ideas with a slight amusement, but he didn’t protest trying things out. At times, I couldn’t help wondering whether he did so to ease the guilt I felt whenever I remembered the circumstances that led to his injury, back when humanborn and mythborn were still at war.

He, of course, chose to remember only the good part of our first meeting, namely the fact I dragged him away from a giant’s path, saving his life, but I couldn’t forget what preceded it. It was a skirmish like any others in the war, so its details eluded me, and I might have not remembered the strike that would make me very personally responsible for his lame leg.

He never brought it up, though, as if my saving his life had erased all my prior deeds. Back then, if anyone had learned of it, I would have been branded a traitor. Now it had earned me the only friendly person in the mythborn-filled Court, a place I was stuck in for the past weeks, and his workshop had become a retreat from the Court politics and gossip, especially that hardly anyone ever visited it.

Well, at least until now.

I sprang to my feet at the sound of the door opening with more force than necessary and faced the scrutiny of a mythborn female whose expression made it clear that the old this isn’t what it looks like response just wasn’t going to cut it. She had red hair, thought more in the carrot department than in the fiery one, and skin similar to Connor’s: peach, with slightly darker, marble-like veins marking it. Many of the mythborn had skin that bore resemblance to natural objects—stone, wood, sand, and so on, often in odd or fantastical hues, so it had to be a trait of their species. The amount of makeup covering the newcomer’s face suggested she didn’t consider her skin pretty.

Clíodhna, have you met Kaja? She’s a myth-touched learning our craft. Connor lifted from his chair, his moves stiff as the unbalanced harness immobilized his leg. Kaja, this is my cousin, Clíodhna.

I envied his composure. He acted as if there was nothing improper about the situation, or perhaps he cared little of what others thought of him. During the past days, I’d caught glimpses of dismissal or pity other mythborn had for him, so I wasn’t surprised he didn’t bother trying to win anyone’s approval. He stood confident, ignoring that the harness was forcing his body into an odd and likely uncomfortable position, and he stared at Clíodhna expectantly as if she was the one to explain herself.

Clíodhna glanced at me once more before focusing on Connor, and as soon as she opened her mouth, a wave of mythborn language slipped from her perfectly shaped—or rather perfectly outlined—lips. Nothing made it clearer that I wasn’t invited to join the conversation than speaking language I hardly knew. Judging from the bits I caught, I wasn’t missing anything important.

Yes, I’ll see you in the evening, Connor replied tiredly.

I considered it a courtesy that he insisted on using English, even if she didn’t. All mythborn displayed uncanny linguistic skills, learning languages quickly, so she knew English at least as well as I did, if not better, considering we both were second-language speakers.

She opened her mouth, but Connor waved his hand.

It’s my leg that is incapacitated, not my mind, he said with clear ire. As all the mythborn I’d met, he was proud. I can remember about a dinner with my relatives.

Clíodhna’s lips arched, dissatisfaction lurking in the creases of her mouth, but she nodded. Then she left without even acknowledging me, and I was alone with Connor again.

I apologize. Connor leaned over the table and picked up one of the amulets we’d removed from his harness before the incident. Clíodhna’s convinced that she’s doing me a favor by dragging me to those family meals.

He reattached the amulet where it belonged and ran his hand along his thigh and the magical harness, bringing my feeling of guilt back while he readjusted the charms and removed the newest addition. Words weren’t necessary—I knew it didn’t work the way we’d hoped for. So much for my brilliant ideas that were supposed to undo what I had possibly caused in one simple charm.

We should get back to your lessons, he said.

His casual tone reminded me to not dwell on the past even if we both were haunted by it. After all, we weren’t enemies anymore, not even because the war had ended. I was now what they called a myth-touched, a magically changed humanborn, and a member of the mythborn Court… Well, at least a nominal one. That meant we were on the same side.

Connor had never said it openly, but he made it clear that the quicker I made the transition from thinking like humanborn to behaving like a mythborn, the better. Until then, he suggested between the lines in quite an uneasy manner, as if he was forced to pass the message rather than believed in it, I was stuck within the old Collins Barracks building that used to house the Museum of Decorative Arts and History and currently was the seat of the mythborn side of the government.

With a sigh, I took the pile of parchments he offered. I hope you don’t expect me to match the finesse of your carvings. Memorizing a bunch of unfamiliar squiggles was a pain enough, and adding the mythborn equivalent of calligraphy to that tedious task wasn’t on my list.

Connor smirked. "You could refine your skills a bit. You wouldn’t ruin so many amulets if your etchings were more precise."

I don’t think improving my carving skills is what’s going to convince Lady Eithne to let me out of here.

When I’d first emerged from the magical pool that saved me from death and made me into a myth-touched, the head of the Court insisted I stayed around for a while, as if going outside meant venturing into some sort of a savage land and not into a city that might still bear the marks of the past war but had already recovered enough to welcome tourists from abroad.

Lady Eithne wasn’t even trying to make my stay sound like a suggestion, and having survived only because of her benevolence, I had little room for defiance. She let me write a short letter to Albert, likely to ensure that the Trinitians, or rather their leader himself, didn’t go to war over the lack of news from me. But that was it when it came to the contact with the outside world, so as days passed, my patience was wearing thin.

I’d been spending most of my time in Connor’s workshop, and even though his tutoring had immensely improved my skills of amulet, charm, and curse making, I had never intended to become a full-time artisan. When I first picked it up, it was mostly curiosity to see if the craft could help stabilize the chaotic magic that raged within me back then. I got better over time, creative with what little I knew, but learning it properly meant boring basics and simple tasks.

Connor sighed and shook his head. Give the lady some time. Now her mind is focused on chasing down the other Snake agents.

It’s not like I want in on it, I replied with more bitterness than intended.

My last encounter with the Snake’s servants was still fresh in my mind, including the memories of Emma’s talons tearing into me and the magic poison eating away my body. Those images returned every other night in a fresh set of nightmares, spicing up the vast collection of bad dreams I already had.

But she could say, ‘Hey, Kaja, go for a walk, just be back before dinnertime,’ and I swear I wouldn’t be late, I added.

He gave me an apologetic glance, and I didn’t press him. Whatever reasons Lady Eithne had for keeping me at the Court, he wasn’t at liberty to discuss them, and the last thing I wanted was to make him feel guilty. He was kind enough to teach me and offer some distraction and companionship. Otherwise, stuck alone at the Court, I’d likely have gone insane.

Why don’t you take these to the garden? he offered all of a sudden. I wrote down the names of the runes in English for you, so you can study there and get some fresh air. Take a few days to learn them and relax. Being stuck in a workshop day after day doesn’t do anyone any good.

I bit down the remark that he was spending even more time in said workshop than I did, and I snatched the papers in a desperate swipe. Even if going to the Court’s so-called garden wasn’t the same as going outside freely, I appreciated the thought. It didn’t matter whether he really cared about my wellbeing or was simply tired with my growing frustration and low-key whining—his suggestion gave me a way out, and I needed it badly.

Otherwise I’d risk losing the only friendly mythborn I had around.

What the mythborn called the garden, I considered a greenhouse. Located on the topmost floor of the building, it wasn’t open to the outside weather. Instead, charms provided light imitating the sunshine Eireland always lacked anyway and produced a light summer breeze that carried scents of flowers and ripe fruit. Countless pots and flowerbeds took most of the space, and only narrow gravel paths led through the greenery. The mythborn architects had also removed parts of the roof, replacing it with tall windows—something I noticed back when I was only a visitor to the Court but never bothered to ponder, and even now they made little sense to me. One could look down into the courtyard, though I wasn’t sure what for, since the empty cobblestoned square didn’t offer anything worth watching.

I sat on the bench, pretending to study the runes, so that the few mythborn around would leave me alone. Not that many of them would stoop to a conversation with me anyway. Those who had the time to visit the garden midday were usually spoiled nobles, and I was hardly better than a humanborn in their eyes. In a way, not much changed in my relations with most of the Court mythborn since I’d become the myth-touched, except that instead of being able to go home whenever I’d had enough of their company, I was stuck here with those pricks.

Their hushed conversations reached my ears so clearly it was as if I was sitting next to them. The peculiar skill I’d acquired during my lifesaving ritual seemed to be growing stronger instead of waning, so at some point I had to learn how to control it. But listening in was more annoying than useful, as the meaning of their words escaped me more often than not. Many mythborn used primarily English and Irish, making the communication with everyone else easy, but some kept to their own language that after hundreds of years of separation hardly resembled the old Gaelic that they might have once shared with humans. I had to learn some of it if I wanted to get information they would be keeping from me otherwise, but at the same time I doubted any of the mythborn in the garden had anything meaningful to share. I suspected most of their conversations were gossip or some petty political games.

Yet I needed to hone my newly acquired skill. If I’d paid more attention to it, maybe I would have recognized the sound of footsteps stopping right outside the workshop and would have gotten up before Clíodhna made her entrance, sparing Connor and myself some embarrassment. I gritted my teeth, because all those would haves were children of my general frustration, and that feeling seemed to be an extremely fertile mother, spawning more and more unwanted thoughts.

Since I wanted a distraction to chase them away, I might as well see how well my new listening skill worked.

A mythborn walked past me, his gait rushed and uneven, so it would be easy to follow among other noise. With my eyes closed, I focused on the odd rhythm, doing my best to cling to it before it faded off in the distance. The conversations around me became clearer, and I even caught some that were carried in English, but the footsteps faded as they normally would.

Clearly, I sucked at that.

Determined to figure it out, this time I picked a mythborn sitting at a distance who was tapping his fingers against the wood of the bench. I couldn’t tell whether it was a sign of impatience, or maybe he was tapping to a tune in his head, but it didn’t matter. I needed something that I couldn’t hear from where I was sitting—perhaps my skill picked up only on things that were too distant for my normal hearing.

In an instant, the buzz of many conversations around me became almost deafening, and it took a lot of my focus to tune them out. Still, I didn’t catch a single sound of tapping… With all the mythborn talking as loud as if they stood beside me, I knew my peculiar skill was working, but for some reason, it wouldn’t pick up anything but voices.

It seemed that the chaotic magic that once threatened my life after the ritual had become very specific magic. I wasn’t going to complain, though. Hearing every single sound within who-knows-what radius would be cumbersome, while eavesdropping on conversations alone could be of immense value. I doubted that I’d learn anything useful from the Court’s spoiled and bored nobles, but there were others around who exchanged secrets and orders, and the prospect of learning those was enticing. Even though, at the moment, it felt difficult and tiring, I hoped that with practice, it would become easier.

I looked down at the parchments. Now that I had more enticing things to explore, memorizing the runes felt even more like a pointless chore, but the sooner I was done with it, the sooner Eithne would run out of excuses to keep me at the Court. Well, I wanted to believe so, for the sake of my own sanity.

I paid little attention to the sounds of footsteps around me as mythborn strolled to the garden constantly, but when one stopped right in front of me, blocking what little light an overcast day was offering, I lifted my head and met Clíodhna’s eyes. She grimaced ever so slightly when I didn’t stand up.

Anything I can help you with? I took the initiative.

She looked me up and down. I’d seen this type of glare a long time ago, back when I was in high school. Back then, I also had been on the receiving end of it when the school’s most popular girls would evaluate my clothes and makeup as insufficient to be socially acceptable, and then cross me off their party invites list. I didn’t intend to dwell on the past, but the way Clíodhna carried herself, and the way she looked down at me, definitely brought a spoiled and entitled teenager to mind.

Actually, yes, she replied in that tone that suggested I was being granted an ultimate privilege: an opportunity to be helpful to her. I know what you’re trying to do, and I won’t allow your petty scheme to succeed.

I arched my eyebrow in polite interest. I doubted that Clíodhna was referring to my desire to get the heck out of the Court, so whatever plot she’d conjured, it had to be good.

You’re playing on my cousin’s vulnerability, she continued, but he’s not going to fall for your charms. He knows you aren’t worthy of him.

I almost burst out laughing. Sure, I liked Connor, and it seemed he reciprocated the sentiment, since he acted casually in my company, but I was certain the feelings on both sides were purely platonic. Having experienced what a real attraction to a mythborn was, especially with my inner magic’s clear response to touch, I had no doubt that neither Connor nor I were interested in anything but friendship. I hoped I could explain that to the teen-like mythborn and send her on her way, wherever she was going next. Hopefully somewhere far from me.

But if I thought I’d get even a word in, I was wrong. Clíodhna was just getting started. You think you can ensnare a mythborn from a good family just because he’s a cripple—

This time, I didn’t let her finish. I jumped up from the bench and stood right in front of her face, any respect for personal space be damned. Mythborn didn’t seem to care about it anyway, so they didn’t get to complain.

Clíodhna took a step back, her mouth slightly open, though words weren’t flowing anymore, and her startled expression suggested she didn’t expect me to react so strongly.

He’s not a cripple, I said. He’s a veteran who risked his life to ensure the privileges you’re enjoying. If you can’t see beyond his injury, if you can’t see the hero he is, you’re the one who’s not worth his company.

Clíodhna’s dumbfounded stare provided me a lot of satisfaction, and I didn’t care whether I broke any protocols or etiquette. She deserved every bit of rudeness for what she’d said.

Her trembling lips and raging glare foretold the tantrum she was about to throw in response for my words. She opened her mouth, and I automatically tuned out the rant to come. I think she started with you little, but at the same moment, my enhanced hearing picked up a commotion down in the courtyard. Guards were calling out, and even though I couldn’t catch every word through the noise Clíodhna was producing, I caught the gist of the message: the Scáthanna returned.

Before I became a myth-touched, I worked with Eithne’s elite squad for a while, and aside from Connor, they were the closest to friendly faces I had in the Court. I doubted they considered me a friend, but they cared enough to save my life when I was dying from magic poison… even if it might have been only at their teammate’s insistence. If they were returning, perhaps they would have a few days off, and I could go talk to them… or at least spend some time with Riagán—a cheeky master archer whose interest in me, contrary to Connor’s, was definitely a romantic one.

I snapped out of my thoughts, as the tone of everyone’s voice carried concern and even fear, so I ignored my mythborn companion and rushed to the window.

Clíodhna shouted her displeasure at my turned back, but then curiosity got the better of her, and she joined me. Together, we watched the Scáthanna enter the courtyard, one by one… Only six of them.

With a blood-congealing feeling, I scanned their faces—ceannasaí Cathal led them, and then others followed with grim expressions. When I caught Riagán’s gray hair as he walked in through the gate, I almost collapsed from relief, and the strength of that emotion surprised me. We might have kind-of-sort-of confessed having some feelings for each other, but with the little time we’d spent together, I didn’t expect any deeper attachment to form.

The Scáthanna parted, with their ceannasaí heading toward the Court’s main entrance, probably to report to Eithne, and the rest taking a turn toward their quarters. I ran their names against their faces before they disappeared in the doorway.

Laoise. Laoise was missing.

I pictured the black-haired scout, so skilled with her two knives she could put to shame some seasoned humanborn warriors, and I conjured all the reasons for her not to be around, from spying on someone to running a solo assignment, but from the Scáthanna’s expressions and other mythborn’s reactions, I knew none of them were true.

Laoise was dead.

I curled my fingers against my palms, fingernails digging deep into my skin as I tried to keep my own hands from shaking. Laoise was the closest to a friend I had among the squad, with my relationship with Riagán definitely more romantic in its nature, or at least she was the one I liked the most from the bunch. She was also as deadly and proficient as all the other squad members, so I couldn’t even begin to imagine who or what could have bested her in a fight.

Clíodhna still stood beside me, her pretty face twisted in shock and disbelief. As far as I understood, the Scáthanna were almost a legend to many mythborn, and most of them likely considered the team unconquerable.

I bit my tongue before I treated her with some nasty comment. It didn’t seem like a moment for payback.

Your cousin made it back, I offered quietly. He could have bled to death in the street or died by a giant’s hand, but he made it back. I looked her in the eye. When you get a chance, ask him how he got his leg injured, because this was also how he met me, and that’s why we’re friends. Maybe that will convince you I’m not after him.

I walked away before she could respond. I’d said all I had to say, and it wasn’t my job to offer support or comfort to her. She could deal with her emotions on her own, but I hoped that at least she’d go and apologize to Connor.

The Scáthanna didn’t seem in a mood to talk to anyone, and I didn’t have anyone else to ask about Laoise, so I headed straight for my room. Tears were already gathering under my eyelids, ready to flow, and I didn’t need some stuffed-up mythborn noble, one who had probably never experienced a loss of a companion, to witness them.

CHAPTER TWO

After a mostly sleepless night when I kept waking up at the slightest sound outside and at any voice speaking, near and far, I opened the door to Connor’s workshop feeling the full weight of my tiredness.

Connor inspected me with concern, though he didn’t look any better. I wouldn’t be surprised if the news had triggered his nightmares as well. We never spoke about it, but we didn’t have to. I knew that at times he slept as badly as I did, and I also knew why. The way he avoided any war-related topics suggested he felt as uncomfortable discussing the past as I did, and he wanted our first meeting to be just that: an event that brought us together.

I see the news has reached you. His voice carried the same tiredness his body emanated.

Not really, I grumbled. I just saw them come back and figured out the rest.

He put away the piece of mythborn jewelry he was working on when I entered, likely some trivial amulet for one of the nobles. He must have chosen it for the simplicity of the task: enough to keep his mind busy without draining what little energy and motivation he had left after a nightmare-filled night.

You should rest. Go for a walk in the gardens or try to get some sleep.

To my regret, he didn’t mention anything about Laoise, and I wasn’t sure whether it’d be tactful to ask. I’d been living with the mythborn for weeks, supposedly assimilating and all that bullshit, but I still knew very little of their customs. Maybe the lady was right keeping me at the Court, since I haven’t learned everything I might need to know, but it wasn’t like anyone was offering such lessons to me. It was almost as if they assumed I’d learn on my own by just being around them.

Nevertheless, things had changed now. I doubted Laoise’s death was an accident with the threat from the Snake still out there, and it meant that peacetime activities should take a step back and make space for serious work.

I don’t want to rest, I said. I want to learn whatever I should learn and be doing my job again.

I had no illusion that I could have prevented Laoise’s death, but back before I became a myth-touched, I was a successful information broker, with many people bringing me news and gossip. Even earlier, during the war, I was a good scout. If I was out there, doing my job, my real job, I could have learned something of use, something that could have changed Laoise’s odds, so being stuck at the Court grated on my nerves all the more.

Then go to the gardens and study the runes I gave you. Come back when you memorized them all. Unless… He paused, avoiding my eyes. Unless you need to talk to someone, he offered awkwardly.

I’ll be fine. I forced a more lighthearted tone. We both knew it was only a façade, but I would be damned if I burdened Connor, already struggling with his own traumas, with my fears and frustrations. It’s not the first time.

During the war, we often lost friends, squad mates, allies. I hushed the voice in my head trying to remind me the war was over. The