Gareth followed Niall to a narrow opening in the cave wall that was mostly hidden in the shadows. He glanced behind him once. Govannon wasn’t much like his brother Gwydion. For one thing, he was corporeal, whereas Gwydion wasn’t—or at least wasn’t most of the time. He also lacked Gwydion’s hubris. Never once in all the time that Gareth had been Gwydion’s unwilling pupil had he ever shown the least remorse for his actions. Govannon, on the other hand, was still mourning and guilt-ridden over an accident.

Brothers. Relationship doesn’t equal similarity.

Niall pointed up a narrow path, the floor cut into irregular steps. “This way. It leads to the Keep dungeons.”

“How do you know? You remember it from when you were imprisoned?”

Niall glanced back at Gareth and grinned crookedly. “Was hoping we wouldn’t have to go through that. But I used to sneak down here as a boy, too. Spy on Govannon through that very crack.”

“You— you were a boy once?” Gareth could have kicked himself at displaying astonishment. He still wasn’t sure he’d forgiven Niall for his past behavior. But two hundred years’ worth of slavery—for Gareth’s sake? It was difficult not to cut the man some slack for that.

“Yes. My mother was human, so I was born in the usual way. Not like you Seelie blighters, springing magically into being.”

“Just because we didn’t have to endure puberty doesn’t mean we didn’t have to learn.”

“Well, puberty. Didn’t miss much there. Turns out pubescent half-breed fae are as wild as a phooka on a mead spree. I don’t recommend being one, or being near one.”

Gareth chuckled, and for a while was content to follow Niall up the rough staircase in silence. But when Niall slowed down, his breath changing from even to halting, Gareth caught up with him. “What is it?”

Niall nodded, jerking his chin up ahead of them. “Look.” The stairs were blocked by the body of a trow, its neck turned at an impossible angle, even for one of its kind. “Now we know why Tiarnach’s guards didn’t seem too concerned with actually guarding him. They weren’t his guards at all.”

Niall edged past the body, and Gareth followed. “Do you think the plot is more pervasive than we thought?”

“I don’t know. But Eamon told me there were factions that weren’t happy with the restrictions the Convergence would place on them.”

“Alun said the same about the Seelie court.”

“I don’t know what the problem is. They can hardly run rampant in the Outer World like the old days anyway, so it’s not like they’re losing much.”

Gareth glanced back at the body of the guard before a twist in the stairs hid it from view. “Maybe that’s the point though. Maybe there are fae on both sides who actually like the idea of breaking Faerie open like an egg, regardless of any havoc it might wreak, so the Outer World can be their playground again.”

“A total regime change.” Niall frowned, playing his flashlight on the steps as the light of the Abyss faded and the stairs wound into darkness. “With the return of Nuada Silverhand, gods save the bloody fools.”

They climbed in silence for another few minutes. “Niall?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why did you agree to leave with me? That day in the Stone Circle. You weren’t going to come, were you? Already denying any memory of me. What made you change your mind?”

“Oh you know me. Game for a lark. Always was.”

But even in the relative darkness, able only to see the light playing on the stone stairs and the tension in Niall’s wide shoulders, Gareth could detect the lie. “That’s not the real reason. Won’t you tell me?”

The flashlight beam wobbled as Niall took a huge breath. “I saw Tiarnach in the woods with two guards. One of them was aiming a crossbow at your back. It was either scarper, or take the bolt myself, and I didn’t fancy that. My back had enough problems.”

“So you saved me. Again.”

Niall’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m not keeping score, Gareth, if that’s what you think. You don’t owe me anything.”

I’m not sure that’s right. I think I might owe you everything. But Gareth wasn’t sure he was ready to admit that yet—at least not to Niall. He had to convince himself first—and find his own way to atone. Although he hoped it wouldn’t be quite as extreme as Govannon’s method.

Ahead of them, the darkness began to fade to dimness, then a shaft of torchlight pierced the gloom as they rounded the last turn in the stairs. They emerged into a narrow corridor, lined on one side with barred cells, all of them thankfully empty.

“This way.” Niall led Gareth up another winding stair, and at the top, they discovered the bodies of two more trows. “Shite. Eamon won’t have any subjects left at this rate.” He loped forward, through an archway and into the throne room. It was empty, thank the Goddess, of either living or dead. Niall stopped and faced him, planting the butt of the spear on the flagstones, Herne’s horn bumping on his back. “I need to get to the Stone Circle as soon as possible, so I think we split up now, yes? You need to go get the harp.”

A pang of worry pierced Gareth’s chest. I don’t want to be parted from him. If Fionbarr is still planning to sacrifice him . . . “I think we ought to stick together.”

Niall grinned crookedly. Don’t fall for the charm. Just don’t. “As grand as that would be, love, we don’t have the time.” He winced. “Sorry. That slipped out.”

Gareth didn’t want to admit that the endearment warmed him more than the flames of the Abyss. “It’s all right. But we don’t know what we’ll be facing. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to have each other’s backs?”

“Perhaps. But at the moment, I’m more concerned that nobody has Eamon’s back—or your brothers’ backs when it comes to it. We’ll do a lot more good if we stick to the plan. The main thing here is to repair the spell—accomplish the true Convergence—and you’re the only one who can do that.”

Gareth nodded, still uncertain how exactly he was supposed to manage that. Govannon’s confidence that he’d know what to do was hardly reassuring considering the fatalistic way he seemed to be preparing for his own destruction.

“That’s the barber.” Niall turned and took two steps before he stopped. “Ah, bugger it.” He whirled and strode back to Gareth. “I know you may never forgive me for the past, for the deception, for being the thing that you hate—”

“You’re not.”

His lips quirked. “That’s something, I reckon. But Gareth, you have to know—if this is the last time we’re to see one another, if it all goes wrong—I never regretted the cost to myself. My time in the forge, my father’s anger, I’d take it all again. It was worth it. You were worth it. You were the best thing in my life.” He reached out and stroked Gareth’s hair with a tentative finger. “I miss the curls, but you’re still the most beautiful man in all the worlds to me.”

Gareth closed his eyes against the want. How much of his hatred was born before he’d met Niall, and how much was the result of misunderstanding his departure?

Niall’s hand fell away, and Gareth opened his eyes as Niall stepped back.

“Here.” Niall unhooked the strap of Herne’s horn from his shoulder and held it out. “I think you should take this. It will be much safer with you in the glade than it will with me in the Circle.”

“But what if you need to blow it, to summon Herne?”

“I doubt he’d come for me.” A smile glimmered in Niall’s eyes. “You realize this whole conversation is a load of double entendres.”

Gareth barked a laugh. “Only you would think of that now.”

“Eh, what can I say? The edge of danger was always my favorite spot.” He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss high on Gareth’s cheek. “Stay safe. You can do this, I have absolutely no doubt.”

This time, he turned and strode across the room toward a half-height door in the corner, his borrowed sneakers squeaking against the stones. Gareth sighed. Time to do my part, I guess.

Gareth made his way to the Keep entry, shame scalding him when he remembered his scene with Alun the last time he was here. So many misconceptions. So much misplaced anger. Against Eamon, against the Queen, against his brothers. Should he have directed his anger at Niall all that time? Did he regret his time with Niall?

No. Never that. Niall had brought him to life in a way that he’d never experienced before.

Gareth pushed open the Keep door, narrowly dodging a stone that fell from the lintel. The massive gate stood ajar, hanging askew on a single hinge. Not a week since, the gate had stood tall, the door sturdy and guarded. In Faerie, those few days in the Outer World could be measured in hours, in minutes, yet this much destruction had already occurred.

Govannon had the right of it. Faerie was disintegrating around them.

He quickened his pace, a sense of urgency driving him into a near run. He was tempted to run flat out, but the road which had been smooth before was now pitted with potholes.

He hummed a marching tune to himself, then stumbled to a halt when he realized where he’d learned that particular melody. From Gwydion—he’d used it to rally the troops from Gwynedd on their march south to Dyved. So what? The use the music was put to wasn’t the fault of the melody.

Besides, for the first time in his life, he was glad that his tutor had been an arrogant, bloodthirsty, warmongering bastard, because he needed to channel some of that single-minded conviction today.

When he burst into the empty ceilidh glade, he was more appalled than he had been by the pitted roads and deteriorating Unseelie Keep. Whereas in the past, the moss that carpeted the glade could withstand the entire host of Seelie fae dancing the night away at a quarter day feast, now his footprints crushed the browning moss, marking his trail.

When he reached the oak where he’d secreted the harp, he was half-afraid to pick it up, considering he’d all but forsworn it when he’d left it here. But when he lifted it from its case, the strings sang briefly, a soft chime of welcome, as the instrument fitted into his hands as if he’d been born to play it. As perhaps I was.

He and his brothers had never asked why Arawn had chosen to have them spawned. Perhaps this was part of the tapestry woven by the elder gods all those years ago.

He stood, cradling the harp in one arm. Now comes the hard part. Maybe in the few minutes it would take him to reach the Stone Circle, the elder gods would get off their collective duffs and give him a fucking clue about what to do.