Tiernan confirmed with a single nod. “Garvan escaped the dungeon in Kyol. Maeve…she killed him.”
“What? How?” Stunned, Aran glanced between Tiernan and his father. “He was chained in iron. If someone let him out, that means there may be traitors in Autumn’s ranks. Parisa could have infiltrated our forces and?—”
“That’s impossible,” Dorian interrupted smoothly, tucking his hands behind him.
“How do you know?” Aran’s brow knitted with concern.
“Because I’m the one who released him.”
“What?” Aran shouted, bewildered.
Tiernan reached for his sword.
“There’s no need for that, High King.” Dorian remained unfazed, as though helping his treasonous son escape imprisonment was of little concern to the rest of them.
Granted, Garvan was dead. But that was entirely beside the point.
“My son was ready to die,” Dorian continued, inhaling deeply. If there was any pain hidden beneath his cool façade, he kept it well hidden. “So, I gave him the chance to make amends.”
Tiernan’s hand hovered near the hilt of his weapon. “You mean you gave him the easy way out.”
“I assure you…” Dorian’s magic blazed, a baleful rush of death and decay. “Nothing about his punishment waseasy.”
Aran winced, ducking his head to disguise his shame.
Because he’d been the one to torture Garvan. Tiernan remembered Aran professing it to the will ó wisp as his darkest secret. He wielded his magic against his brother, rotting Garvan from the inside out, dragging him to the brink of death, only to let him heal for a time before repeating the process all over again.
“Garvan made a deal with Parisa. A poor one, though perhaps if I had been more present, I could have swayed him from such a decision.” Dorian’s mouth pressed into a firm line, masking the anguish behind his carefully crafted appearance.
“Do not blame yourself for that, father.” Aran gripped Dorian’s arm. “He made his choice.”
“As we all do.” The High King of Autumn relented, and years of weariness bled into his face, aging him. “Just as we carry guilt in our own way.”
“Why did you release him?” Tiernan asked, trying to make sense of the High King’s reasoning.
“Because he would rather die than be forced to do Parisa’s bidding any longer. I suppose in that sense, he and Maeve are rather similar.” Dorian sighed, spreading his arms. “So, I gave him an option. He could either die by my hand, or by Maeve’s…he chose his sister.”
Tiernan’s mind emptied of all rational thought. Dorian had allowed Garvan to choose who would be the one to end his life, and he’d picked Maeve. Tiernan’s resilientsirra, who already carried the weight of the world upon her shoulders, who’d already witnessed so much death in her life. She suffered so much, and yet her own father had unknowingly forced her hand into taking the life of one of her siblings.
He didn’t know whether to be furious or dumbfounded by Dorian’s complete lack of sympathy toward his daughter.
“Did she know, I mean…did she realize…” Aran stumbled through his words, unable to form a coherent thought.
Apparently, he was just as taken aback as Tiernan.
“There was no hate in Maeve’s heart for Garvan when he died. In fact, I believe she felt empathy.” The High King seemed to ponder this notion, as though such a thing was unthinkable for the fae. “His death brought her to tears.”
Fucking gods.
Tiernan had no idea. He didn’t realize Maeve had been upset over Garvan’s death. But Tiernan was all too familiar with the agony experienced when the Strand tying one to a family member snapped. He’d felt it when his parents were murdered, he knew she endured the same when Shay died. And now, Garvan as well.
He raked his hands through his hair, seething. The brunt of his anger, of his frustration and misery, was directed only at himself. Because she hadn’t felt like she could tell him, she hadn’t come to him in her time of need.
Or perhaps it was because he’d been set on making her feel terrible forfadingto Kyol without him.
Tiernan silenced a groan, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
Such a classic dick move on his part.
