The Sun Sídhe

22 - To Learn of Fear

Maeve was agitated.

As they huddled beneath a tree for shelter, Aeden kept a close eye on her. Anger was by no means unusual in her, but this was different. This was something much darker. Her amber eyes fairly glowed from the force of her emotion, though she didn't seem aware of it and nobody dared point it out. There was a new stiffness in her, even as she sprawled onto the ground: a tightening of the shoulders, a tension in the legs and arms. Aeden recognized it easily. How could he not? That was how he moved.

She had learned fear.

While the finer feelings of others often escaped him, he was quite sure he understood her in this. Ronan had come dangerously close to death once again, and this time he'd been the target. Aeden knew the worry that brought. He'd once had a sister. He, too, had wanted to protect her.

Though the notion of protection had ceased to hold meaning to him, right alongside safety.

Tsking under his breath, he shook the thought away. He was trying to empathise, and that required a decent amount of concentration. He found a low branch with a decent vantage point and sat down. His shoulder ached; he gingerly stretched it as the others settled down.

It didn't surprise him that, for once, Maeve joined Morrigan in fretting over nothing—nothing being the cut along Ronan's head. She hovered more than she helped, badgering her brother as Morri dressed the cut. Don't move so much, drink this water, that sort of nonsense. The young human took it in stride, but when he caught Aeden looking, an invisible plea for help entered his eyes.

He sighed and stood up. He did like Ronan: the man was easy to speak with, and doused Maeve's temper when it mattered. Plus, Aeden still needed to make amends for the punching incident. He cleared his throat, drawing focus to himself. "We need firewood," he announced. "The storm—the real one—is still coming. It'll be cold."

Ronan waved off the women and stood, a tad too eagerly. "I'll go."

"Not alone, you won't," Maeve snapped, seizing his arm. Heat spilled off of her in waves. If her summoning abilities didn't fade at night, she'd do nicely as a campfire herself.

"Maeve," he said gently, "it's only wood. I'm not going far."

"I don't care. I'm going with you."

Aeden raised a brow over her shoulder, questioning.

Ronan must've seen something in Maeve's face that changed his mind. He shook his head at Aeden, apparently ready to accept his fate. "Then we'll both go."

It wouldn't be right to say that the two split off. After the tantrum Lún had thrown, it would've been stupid to go far. They hardly strayed beyond the light of the campfire. While they kept their voices lowered and steps soft, Aeden could hear them perfectly. He could catch their breathing, as a matter of fact. If not for the indefinite hum of the forest—insects buzzing, birds calling, leaves rustling—he suspected he'd be able to hear their heartbeats. Having keen senses was as much curse as blessing.

Aeden was polite enough to tune them out, though that was only because they weren't speaking about anything worth eavesdropping on. He glanced at Morrigan instead. She'd retreated into a spot of shadow and looked like she'd prefer to stay there, hidden from the world. Her arms were wrapped tightly about her middle. Her breathing came stilted.

"What's wrong, Morri?" he asked. Sensitive as she was, Morrigan rarely remained this shaken after her visions ended and things calmed down. She'd seen death too many times to be surprised, and was sídhe enough to accept it when it came. Panicking was a human tendency.

"When I saw Ronan die," Morrigan replied quietly, "I also saw Maeve's reaction."

Aeden thought of Sorcha, of how her heaving gasps had halted as her eyes emptied. It had been a sudden, terrifying moment. The quiet had swelled. "Grief?" he murmured, knowing better.