Page 28

CHAPTER 28

The Northwest Passage

I froze, my fingers curling embarrassingly deeper into his shirt, into the muscle flexing underneath. And all the while, his irises whispered sparks over porcelain white cheeks.

“Bryn?” I whispered. “Your—your eyes—”

They lowered to my lips, so intense, I could almost taste him on mine. “Yes, my Rowan?” he breathed. He slid his hand from my braid to cup my neck, long fingers threading through my hair. More shivers burst out wherever they touched, until it was all I could do not to vibrate. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be cold and hard and brittle—or I wished he was, for my sake.

His thumb skimmed the length of my throat. “Does it embarrass you to be my muse?” Bryn murmured.

My heart pounded so loud, I couldn’t hear my own lie. “No.”

His mouth lifted, his wide lips glistening gold with the sparks from his eyes. The ones I should be saying something about right now. The ones that taunted my dreams.

I wet my lips.

“ Rowan .” Bryn’s voice wasn’t teasing anymore. It was dark, rough, a ripple of thunder at night.

The hand on my neck tightened in question. But there was no escaping now, not my trilling pulse, not the blood rushing to my head, not the roar dulling my ears, not the parted lips waiting for my answer, and not the two golden planets rapt on me.

I tasted his breath, tasted winter, tasted Ruhaven. And wanted.

Outside, the winds stopped whistling, the magpies fell silent.

His hand squeezed again, gently, as his eyes burned into a thick, melted pool that filled his irises, glowed over his sharp cheekbones.

He was like a god.

A god because he wasn’t from here, but Ruhaven. Where he had a mate, one he was supposed to be faithful to. The one he was supposed to be with, even now. The one he’d climbed to the Gate for years ago because she had died at the Inquitate’s hand. Because he cared that much for a woman in a dream.

“Bryn, your eyes…” I said, hating myself, hating him for putting me here. “They’re gold .”

The notebook slipped.

Its spine clattered to the floor, bouncing in a one-two jig that snapped the bridge between us.

I pried my hand off him, slid my knee from the lap I’d been all but straddling, and pushed away on knees weaker than my resolve.

I wanted to be the one he waited for in the Gate. Who brought a glow to his face at the mention of returning to Ruhaven. Who he’d given up his life for. Who he woke up every morning at five to visit. The woman that—right now—I hated.

“Rowan,” Bryn said, and my belly tightened at the strain in his voice. “I need to tell you something. I—”

James barged in, flat cap in hand, vest half buttoned. “Right so. I’m ready for a pint meself now.” He froze, gaze ping-ponging between us as a slow grin spread.

Bryn’s irises snapped to an ocean blue.

“Well, Roe,” James said with worrying charm. “I see O’Sahnazekiel’s not keeping ye nearly as entertained as I thought.”

He barely avoided the clementine I chucked at him.

I wouldn’t look at him. No.

Because if I did, my face would heat up worse than it already was—which was bad enough with the Ford’s spluttering heater.

When I rolled down the window, it jammed with five inches to go. Was everyone not sweating in this car?

I chanced a look at Bryn. His mouth twitched into a sideways smile.

“Are you well, Rowan?” he asked, his voice a near purr in my ear. Yeah, not helping.

When I tried the window again, Bryn huffed a laugh, reached across me, and wrestled it down. I tried to ignore the hand he braced on my thigh—and failed. “If that helps at all, do let me know,” he added, then drew back.

Did he not regret what happened? Should I ask about his mate? No, better not.

I let the brisk wind bat away my arousal until James parked the Ford across from An Béal Bocht, one of the fifteen pubs in a town with a population of a couple thousand. And nothing, absolutely nothing, seemed better than about six shots of straight whiskey right now.

James held the door for us as we entered, Kazie leading. Candlelight stroked the oak-paneled walls, the light dim enough that even the most grizzled Irish fisherman would pass as handsome—which meant Bryn rose to the level of god-like.

The fireplaces blazed with applewood coal, drawing everyone to its flame and turning the pub into a low hive of conversation, laughter, drums, fiddles, and flutes.

But in the bar’s stifling heat, Bryn was simmering ice at my back.

I shoved a hand through my hair—found my braid still loose from when he’d grabbed it. Desire stirred in my belly when I pictured his face again, the hand urging me closer, the all-encompassing look of him. Like he wanted me. All of me. Roe .

For once, he’d been absolutely clear.

I inhaled a steadying breath. Or I was turning an awkward mess into something it wasn’t because I’d been in the Gate too often with Sahn instead of working.

After Willow died, making house calls and repairs had grounded me, not rolling under indigo skies with a feathered monster. Tomorrow, I’d fix Naruka’s banister. Nothing leveled the hormones like a railing replacement.

Kazie nudged me and pointed. “Whoa, Colm spotted. Stay away, far away.”

I glanced at the man leaning against the bar and felt Bryn stiffen behind me. Colm’s mouth pursed around a smoke, his forehead furrowed in conversation. The man next to him belted out a laugh, but neither noticed us.

James put a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t want any trouble with him tonight. One rumor gets out in a town like this and I’ll be swimming in them for years. Bad enough I’ve had the Garda call me, so we’d best stay together.”

I eyed the bar’s fire poker ruefully.

James looped an arm over Kazie’s shoulder. “Will we find a table, so? Leave these two lovebirds to get the drinks?”

Thanks for that, James.

Thoughts of Colm disappeared in the time it took to drag my hands down my face. But when the crowd swallowed James and Kaz, I had no choice but to pivot to the bar. And Bryn.

His crooked smile was a flash of teeth in the low lights. Had I really opened my big fat mouth and ruined any chance of those lips on mine? Yes, yes, I had.

“Is it Beamish, then?”

What? Oh. Drinks. If Bryn wasn’t suffering from the lingering arousal of a kiss that didn’t happen, then I shouldn’t be either. I muttered a half-hearted agreement to the beer I’d already forgotten.

He ordered and said nothing while the bartender suspended time to pour a single stout.

Say something, you idiot. What, though? My brain had emptied of everything except him . What were we talking about before the non-kiss? Levi. Ask him about Levi. Casual, though, like I’m not drowning in my personal theatrical play of what should have happened.

“About the kitchen—”

“Bryn, I wanted to ask—”

I froze. Wait, what was he going to say about the kitchen?

Bryn smiled, and gestured for me to proceed.

No, no, go back to the kitchen .

“I, uh.” God, this was even worse. “About Levi,” I said lamely, and his brows winged up. Yeah, this isn’t what I want to talk about either . I cleared my throat. Where the hell was that pint? “I meant to ask you about a translation for his journal.”

He reached toward me, ran a tender thumb down my braid, then dropped his hand. “I believe I somewhat recall you mentioning his journal in the kitchen. Distantly.” His mouth slid into a sideways grin again.

I would have to take that pint and roll it over my forehead.

“I—well—Kazie said you could speak Spanish.” This was the worst after-almost-kiss talk anyone had ever come up with. “And I thought you could help with a few words.” Because I was plucking at my scarf, I tugged out my journal from the pocket of Willow’s jacket and angled it under the bar lights.

He moved to stand beside me, his scent filling my nostrils like I was on the deck of a boat. “These lines, is it?”

I swallowed, nodded, and held my breath as he scanned the few paragraphs along with my scribbled notes.

How many drinks would it take to end up right back in that kitchen again? Four? Five?

“No, that is all fairly correctly translated,” he said, breaking through my imagination. “Blue skies, the smell of cinnamon—canela. You note that these are not the colors or smells of Ruhaven, and I agree. So Levi appears to have lied about more than just his address.”

The stouts finally materialized, dripping with foam and cold sweat that had my mouth watering. “But we still don’t know why,” I said as we gathered them up and fought our way through the crowd to Kazie and James, Bryn a head taller than any man, even with his cane.

Sitting a short distance away from the band, they squabbled like young siblings, loud enough to compete with the traditional Irish music blaring in my left ear. One of the musicians, an old man with a bag under his elbow, squealed into pipes with all the delicacy of a car accident.

I slid into a miniature stuffless-stool while Bryn took the one beside me. He struggled to get comfortable, needing to stretch his crippled leg under Kazie with the pub so packed.

“James, I forgot to tell you, I saw Jamellian yesterday with Essie, practicing with your bow and arrow,” I said, pushing a pint towards him. “You seem to have gotten better. Or, at least, Essie thought so.”

His mouth twitched around the foamy head of the stout. “I’d better be. The woman has me training day and night.” He held up his fingers like they could blister here.

Kazie added, “I’ve seen him too. He’s still terrible. Essie giggles at everything.”

James poked her. “Watch yerself.” She rolled her eyes. “Yera, I did see we’re closer to using the Florissant though. Might be we find yer Tether soon, Roe, once Kazmira’s done adjusting the instrument.”

Yes, Nereida had been poked, prodded, and pulled, and not just by Sahn. Kazmira had needed to take samples from her, including cutting off a jelly hair strand. I’d gagged when it started wriggling in Kazie’s hand. My hair looked like someone had shoved stars into clear jelly and rolled it into long, putty threads. Willow would have paid a fortune for it.

I waited until the piper finished his solo. “And then what? After the Florissant?”

“Then,” Kazie toasted, “we’ll be in Drachaut! I hear it’s freezing since it faces away from the star.”

I shivered on my stool. Drachaut. What would it be like? And if I met my Tether, would I recognize it as me? Was that why Willow and I were the first twins allowed through the Gate? Because I’d been her Tether in Ruhaven—or no, Drachaut—and it’d allowed me to come through? Maybe our connection there was as strong as it was here.

As I contemplated over my beer, Bryn told James and Kazie about the letter he’d found.

James peered at Bryn speculatively. “That’s—well, I guess ‘tis still possible he’s dead, but at least he was alive then. I wonder why he wrote to Carmen and not meself?” Something I’d ask Tye about when he was back.

Kazie pushed James’s drink toward him. “Let’s not talk about all that tonight,” she said, then set James off with a reminder of the Englishman he’d gotten into a fight with two years ago at this bar. “What was it about again? Trees?”

“It was, as I recall, a vigorous argument about Irish oak,” Bryn drawled.

James skewered the air. “That was it, ye’ve a good memory. They feckin’ steal our oak, build their—”

Pints sloshed when Kazie slapped the table. “Not the Irish oak again,” she whined, then mimicked James’s accent. “ They built their parliament, they stole the bloody North , something, something, Cromwell . If Ruhaven can live in peace with Drachaut, you can manage the English!”

When James flicked her, Kazie jumped like she’d been stung. “Just so ye know, the Drachaut never terrorized Ruhaven for a thousand bloody years,” he grumbled, draining the pint.

We finished another round, then another, until Kazie strolled over with the fourth. That was the precise number for James to pop to his feet and belt out a surprisingly on-key tune. My cheeks hurt from grinning at them, from listening to Kazie explain how Bryn had convinced her to move to Ireland, then James’s embellished tale of carrying Tye home from the bar, how Bryn had gifted the budgies to Kazie.

I kept my eyes on Bryn—on the rare joy that had laugh lines forming at the corners of his eyes, that loosened his stiff collar, that lifted his high cheeks on a coral wave.

I wanted to be a part of them. Nereida. A Ruhaven. To have James tell some story about me stealing his car in ten years.

And I wanted it bad enough to keep living this lie.