Faint crow’s feet appeared around Iomhar’s eyes as they softened with something like… sorrow.
Fionn couldn’t understand why his blood suddenly ran cold.
Iomhar had bonded with someone, once? Worse, he’d chosen to break that bond?
How had Fionn never known this? About the man who was his mentor, the closest he had to a real father-figure. The person who had taught him to ride the currents and wield a spear.
‘Who was it?’ Fionn asked sharply. ‘Why have you never spoken of this?’
Iomhar’s expression settled back into his usual stoic stare. ‘It is in the past, Fionn. My past. You do not have any right to my grief.’
Fionn felt stung. But only, he realised, because Iomhar was right. The old man didn’t owe him his secrets, just as Fionn didn’t owe Iomhar his.
Fionn had the fleeting urge to open up to Iomhar about everything, to spill every detail about Rory, about their mutual confusion over one another, about howrealeverything had felt.
Then it passed, replaced by shame. He didn’t want even Iomhar to know just how foolish and weak he’d been.
Iomhar took the athame from Lachlan’s hand and offered it to Fionn. ‘Here. Or you may use your clam knife, if you wish. You must cut the bond yourself.’
Fionn accepted the knife, weighing it in his palm. The steel was cold against his skin. ‘How do I cut it?’
‘Feel where it lies within yourself. You will know where to cut. You mustwantit to be cut.’
Fionn’s grip faltered. Could he trust himself to do it? When a guilt-ridden voice inside him was pleading not to? He didn’t want to lose his bond with Rory at all.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Meredith asked nervously. ‘He’s not going to bleed out on us, is he? I thought we were just coming to wave some magic ingredients around, or something.’
Lachlan squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’m learning that witchcraft is often more about understanding what you think and feel to be true rather than waving around magic ingredients.’
Fionn stared at the knife. What was true?
He loved Rory. He believed that, cursed bond or not. But Rory would never have chosen him if not for this bond. Rory deserved to be free. Rory deserved everything.
Without further hesitation, Fionn swung the knife into his chest and plunged it into his heart.
He heard the horrified gasps from Lachlan and Meredith, and even an astonished splutter from Iomhar. He felt the knife connect with the current that flowed from his soul into Rory’s. He commanded it be severed.
Fionn convulsed under the force of the bond snapping apart. He dropped to his knees, wresting the knife out of his chest.
‘Oh, my god.’
‘Is he alive? Lachy, help him!’
‘Fionn, look at me.’ Iomhar’s eyes swam into focus in front of Fionn.
Fionn looked down, touched his chest. There was no hole from the knife. Only a dark, angry scar over his heart. He thought he’d felt hollow before. Now the emptiness was tangible where something strong and comforting had been wrenched from his core. ‘It worked,’ he said dully.
Iomhar gave Fionn a light but chiding shove against his head. ‘You certainly never do things by halves, little sprat. You scared all of us.’
‘It felt right,’ Fionn mumbled.
No it didn’t. It felt very wrong.
‘He stabbed himself in theheart,’ Meredith cried. ‘We all saw it! What happened? Why isn’t he bleeding? What—’
‘Magic, I think,’ Lachlan said while gently taking hold of her flailing arms. ‘A lot of it is symbolic. I think you told me that once.’
Meredith seemed to calm down. ‘Yes, well. That was a bloody scary symbol, is all I’m saying.’
