But she wasn’t. Rory had been here, and now he wasn’t either. And on a deep, dark level that he wasn’t prepared to bring into the light, Hamish knew it was his fault. He’d failed Rory. Failed Nancy by failing Rory.
There was a knock at the door. His heart almost jumped—but it was too brash a knock to be Rory’s who would have let himself in with a key, anyway.
Hamish dragged his protesting body to its feet.
Behind the front door, Doaty waited on the step with hands in his pockets.
‘’Ullo,’ Doaty grunted.
Hamish glared mutely back.
Of course, it was Doaty’s fault that Rory had left. Hamish had trusted the scurvy prick to see his son right all his life, and Doaty had failed him.
The deep, dark part of him raised its head.It was your job to protect him, Hamish.
Doaty mumbled through his beard. ‘Drink?’
Hamish looked beyond him to the outside world. The sun was bright in a clear sky. Somewhere out there, Rory walked or sailed under the same sky.
Hamish stepped out of his house. ‘Nah,’ he said, voice like sandpaper in his throat. He didn’t use it much. ‘Let’s walk.’
Doaty nodded, his dour expression lifting in hope.
On this warm summer’s day under a clear sky, two old friends shuffled down the road together to some undecided destination. Perhaps to something new.
* * *
In the Aft Tower, King Aonghas studied his notes in deepthought. He didn’t hear the swish of kelp as Iomhar entered without formally announcing himself.
‘This again?’ Iomhar remarked, looking over his shoulder. ‘Have you come to any new conclusions?’
‘No,’ Aonghas replied heavily.
Iomhar placed his palm over the clay tablet. ‘You should eat, Aonghas. I hear you missed the meal set out for you again.’
The king sighed and turned away. ‘Perhaps I should speak with Liath once more.’
‘It worries you, this news of the Rot in the fae realm. I understand.’ Iomhar reached out, about to place his hands on Aonghas’s shoulders, then pulled back at the last second. ‘But for now it is contained in their realm. We have time to think about creating some defence.’
‘It worries me how placid we have been.’ Aonghas’s eyes roved over the wall of records in front of him, personal logs from kings past. ‘Our two tribes are so caught up in the power struggle created by the bargain that we have forgotten how to truly cooperate. For centuries we have taken it for granted that Redfolk magic can protect us from anything—threats from our world and their own. And this was deemed enough to justify the sacrifice of our sons and brothers.’
Sensing the looming cloud of melancholy about to engulf him, Iomhar closed the distance and gently laced his fingers with Aonghas’s. ‘Drest did not consider it a sacrifice,’he reminded. ‘He went with high hopes of fostering the same cooperation you speak of. We can hope he is achieving his aim there.’
‘Mmm. Where the Rot is.’ Aonghas shook his hand loose and pinched the bridge of his nose. He abruptly changed the subject. ‘Any news on Fionn and Rory?’
Iomhar respectfully backed away. ‘Brudus met them as they rounded the tip of the Isle of Lewis. It sounds as though they are on course to meet Drostan in a week’s time.’
Aonghas smiled wanly. ‘My heart is glad for Fionn. But also crestfallen, for it seems my son may be destined to be Wandering Bluefolk, kept far from home after all.’
‘I suspect his heart has always wandered.’
Aonghas regarded Iomhar’s impassive bearing for a moment. ‘It strikes me that you have always known him better than I.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Did you know he felt failed by me?’
Iomhar’s brow creased, his face softening into an expression both compassionate and a little wretched. ‘I thought to protect you from his resentment. A misguided motive, it’s clear to me now. But I witness your low spirits and I cannot bear to bring them lower.’
