A/N: Happy belated birthday to Dita/Pluto's Angel! This one came quick because it was 3/4 done already when I posted the last. I promise we will return to the Nomad while Sinbad and Maeve are out of commission, too, to see what's going on with the rest of the crew. Thank you for reading and reviewing!
The Gift
Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: M
Setting: Just after Season 1
All standard disclaimers apply
The familiar house at Breakwater surrounds Sinbad. A rush of cold air hits his skin, steadying him slightly. It's probably perfectly warm to Wren, but the transition from the stuffy bowels of his ship jars him. He rubs his leaking eyes impatiently on his shoulder and pushes open the door of Maeve's room, lurching through on unsteady feet. He thought he'd never see this place again after Antoine's last visit, but he blinks his vision clearer and enters the room.
She's here.
He's never been one for religion, but in this moment he swears he might start. He will thank every god personally and by name for that beautiful form lying still on her bed, the spill of very familiar, very adored red hair falling over her sharp shoulder.
"Is she alive?" Swift strides bring him to her bedside. "Tell me she's alive." He shoves past Keely, Niall, and a young girl he doesn't recognize to get to her.
"Watch it," Keely snaps. "No shoving—I'm just as pregnant as she is. And of course she's alive. Why would I bring you here to wring your hands over a corpse?"
He settles lightly on the edge of the mattress, terrified to disturb her, to touch her. The last time he reached for her she disappeared under his fingers. But he can't keep away, no matter how afraid he is. His uninjured hand shakes as his fingertips feather over the sharp angle of her bare white shoulder. She's so cold. So pale, like the fall of winter light on snow. But she's here. She's solid and real, and she doesn't disappear when his fingers find her skin. Dried blood still coats her lips, her chin. A puffy, red-violet bruise mars her perfect face, spreading from that high, delicate cheekbone to the muscle of her jaw.
They've undressed her, exposing her broken body to the light, and Sinbad feels an intense urge to wrap her tightly in anything warm he can find. She looks like death, so still and silent, white as the linen sheets under her. So passive, something wholly antithetical to Maeve's being. She's nothing but sickly-pale skin stretched tight over bone, save for the swell of her pregnant stomach, painted horribly with the malignant evidence of Doubar's brutal attack, the bloody bloom of a spreading bruise so stark against the deathly pallor of her skin. He leans forward and drops his forehead to rest lightly against hers, his uninjured hand cradling her bruised cheek softly. She's so cold. As cold as that place that's not a place, the place between worlds his body remembers too well.
The touch of her skin calms and re-centers him, the gnawing, grating pain within him fading just a little. It's enough. She's alive, and they're together again. He's touching her. Scratch can't hurt her here. Rumina can't see her. And Doubar is very, very far away.
"Maeve." He strokes her skin, closing his eyes for a long moment as he presses his forehead to hers, feeling the light feathers of her breath against his lips. He kisses her softly, tasting neither the blood dried on her mouth nor on his, only the swell of relief inside him as the panic flowing through his body eases, its flavor changing slightly. They're together now, as they're supposed to be. She's alive.
But will she stay that way?
"She's freezing." His voice cracks. He clears his throat. She shouldn't be alive, but Wren was right—she's tougher than even she knows. "Why isn't she covered?" He moves to wrap her in the white linen sheet, but Keely blocks his hand.
"Because I'm working. You had your moment. Now look at me." She unceremoniously hauls him upright by the shoulder of his shirt, frowning as she inspects him with those unnatural green eyes. She says nothing about the blood on his face, in his hair. "So that's how she did it. Fuck."
"Did what? She's so cold." He moves to cover her again. He's glad Keely removed that awful leather cincher—which he plans to burn if given half a chance—but she shouldn't be bare like this. She needs warmth. He's sick with relief that she lives, but also sick with new worry. He hasn't seen her undressed since before Rumina's spell. She's a skeleton, save for the tight swell of her belly. That bloody splotch of bruise terrifies him, such stark evidence of Doubar's fury. He stares at the repulsive color.
"Being cold is the least of her problems. I can only deal with one at a time. Maybe not even that." Keely wets a clean cloth in a bowl of steaming water and draws it gently between Maeve's legs, her touch swift but tender. The cloth comes away streaked with bitter red.
"What does that mean?" Sinbad demands. Nothing good, he knows that much. Icy fingers of fear curl along his spine and threaten to stop his lungs again.
"Is she still bleeding?" Wren asks from the doorway.
"Yes, but not so bad as before." Keely drops the cloth on a pile of others on the floor, ignoring Sinbad's question. "Shit! I need another energy source. He's her céile so the obvious choice, which is why I had you bring him, but he's already sapped."
"I am not," Sinbad protests.
"I could go get another sailor," Wren says hesitantly, shooing several little dark heads away from the doorway. "But they were all fighting, and no one else has been here before. It might take some time to convince them."
"There's no time!"
"I'm fine," Sinbad insists, pressing his unhurt palm to Maeve's, linking their fingers. "Whatever you need, use me. Please." He'll do anything, be anything. Whatever they need. Whatever will keep Maeve and his daughter alive. He can't drag his eyes from the terrible red-violet blotch over her belly, the wound Doubar put there. His brother hurt them, Maeve and his daughter both, and the reality of that hasn't quite sunk in yet. Later. He can wrestle with it later. Once he knows they're safe.
"Shut your mouth," Keely snaps. "Have you no mirror, no one honest enough to tell you how awful you look? Yes, you've obviously been brawling, but besides that. You're nearly as bad off as she is, and if I kill you trying to save her Maeve will never forgive me." She looks at him impatiently, and her eyes fall on his hand entwined with Maeve's. Her breath catches lightly in her throat. Her head tilts to the side as she studies the bracelet on his wrist. It glows softly, as it always does here, a reaction to the powerful magical shields on the islet.
Keely's chest lifts as she inhales sharply. "Now there's an idea." Her expression hardens as she makes her decision.
"I don't know where it came from." Sinbad trusts her. She can do whatever she wants, so long as she saves Maeve and his daughter. But she has to know the risks. "It just appeared one day. I don't know anything more."
"I know one thing more," she says, nodding at Niall and the strange girl. "It's about to save Maeve's life." Her eyes lock squarely with his. "Lie down. I've never done this before and I don't have time for explanations. Keep hold of her. Do not let go, do you hear me? You wear the bracelet, which means you're the conduit. I don't know what that will feel like. You may be sick. You may faint. Whatever. Just don't let go, and don't disturb me."
He won't. He has a million questions and none of this makes sense at all, but this is not the time to ask and he's never letting go of Maeve again, regardless. He settles himself without complaint on Maeve's far side and rests his arm gently across her torso, below her breasts and above her belly, too scared to move her, to draw her into his arms. He conforms to her instead, pressing the length of his body along her side, lifting his head to watch Keely's preparations. He still wants to wrap her in layers and layers of soft, warm cloth, but he resists the urge. He can wait. If Keely says he needs to, he can wait.
"Quickly now," Keely says. "Conventional cures won't help anymore, they're both too far gone. We're working with an artifact whose properties are unknown, but we don't have a choice." She places a hand gently on Maeve's head, cupping the crown firmly. "I need everyone's help if we're going to do this. All the energy we have. Niall. Cara, put yourself at the foot of the bed." The strange girl crawls onto the foot of the bed as directed and wraps her hands gently around Maeve's bare ankles. She's maybe eleven or twelve, Sinbad thinks, and her face is horribly scarred.
"You, too, mo chailín," Niall says gently, beckoning Wren close. "I know you haven't much magic but we need all the help we can get. Where's Bran?"
"Here, da." Niall's eldest boy slips through the doorway.
"We need you. I'd take your brothers, too, were I sure of their concentration. Go sit by Cara, please."
The boy willingly climbs onto the bed and settles himself next to the girl with the scarred face. She relinquishes an ankle and he lifts Maeve's foot into his lap, securing his hands around it gently. The adults line up at the side of the bed and rest their hands on her as well. Sinbad knows Nessa is no longer in the house but he has a moment to wonder that Antoine isn't here. He was violently angry at Maeve when they last met, even disowned her, but Sinbad didn't realize he was angry enough to withhold crucial aid that could potentially save her life, her child's life.
A ripple of language Sinbad doesn't understand passes Keely's lips, like the swift rush of icy-cold snowmelt down a rocky ledge, the sound of their homeland, rough and sharp, yet not unsweet.
Sinbad tries to swallow and nearly chokes, his throat too dry to function. He's frozen with fear as he holds Maeve's still body, watching the dull gleam of his bracelet against her icy skin. Fear never freezes him like this, but never has so much been at stake. Maeve. His prickly sorceress, his sweet fire. The hollow ache in his gut churns. He presses his palm to her skin, fully aware he's trying to soothe himself and not her. Wherever she is—her mind, her spirit, the essence of her—she can't feel him. But he can hold tight to her body, can will every scrap of energy in his being to her, to his daughter, as they fight for life.
Keely's voice continues, vowels flowing like wind on rock, consonants landing like rain on grass. He doesn't bother trying to make sense of the unknown language, focusing instead on the woman in his arms, the bracelet on his wrist. It flares to life, pulsing several times along with the swift cadence of his heartbeat before the light steadies, pure and strong.
"Neat," Bran whispers, watching with big eyes as the colors shift and swirl, painting the little room with streaks of vibrant light.
"Focus," Niall says softly. "Close your eyes if you must."
The boy obediently closes his eyes, his hands clutched around Maeve's foot.
Keely's volume grows, and Sinbad's head swims. He holds Maeve tighter to him as the room spins and pitches violently around him. The others sit or stand steadily—there's no real movement, no earthquake or landslide. It's all in his head, but that doesn't stop his stomach from lurching dangerously. He's never been seasick in his life but his belly threatens revolt as the room dances. He slits his eyes and grits his teeth through the sensation. His bracelet feels warm against his skin, not cold like metal. The glowing colors converge to form a pure white light so bright his eyes water anew. Slowly it bleeds into him, soaking into his skin like wine into cloth. A rush of energy fills him as the light does, a heady drug sweeter than wine, stronger by far than Ant's whiskey. It makes him want to climb mountains, makes him want to jump from the summit, convinced, in this instant, that he would fly.
"Steady." Niall's voice floats to him through the rush. "Stay still. Don't let go of her."
He won't. Not ever. Doubar may have attacked her but the true fault is his. He will not make the same mistake again. He presses his mouth to her sharp shoulder, breathes the strong scent of magic and, under it, the sweetness of her skin. His Maeve. His girls. He'll do anything for them, for her and this child. Holding onto them isn't a burdensome task, it's a gift, something he's been denied for far too long.
His head spins even faster, his vision blurring, but through it he watches, fascinated, as the warm white energy completely fills him, nose to toes, and slowly, slowly, overflows into Maeve. Everywhere he touches her, the light slowly spreads from his body to hers, threads of magic like wisps of cloud, moving much slower than it filled him. She glows silver where the light spreads, and her breath catches on her lips as the first taste of it touches her chest, her lungs.
The rush that filled him flows away, and he's no longer sure whether he's spinning or falling, lying on a feather mattress or hovering in the air above it. He welcomes the chaos, because of what it means. He's the conduit, Keely said, linking Maeve to the power in his bracelet. He'll gladly be that for her, and more. He'll be whatever she needs him to be. Whatever it takes to save her life. He holds her tightly and wills her everything he has in him as Keely's prediction proves right and, for the second time today, his mind sinks away.
He wakes abruptly, weary and cold, colder than he's ever felt in his life. Colder than he thought possible. His body aches, wracked with cold that's turned to pain, and he can't feel his feet or his fingers. He jerks his dominant hand down to feel his toes without thinking and bites back a yelp of pain. But it obeyed him. It moved.
He forces his eyes open, blinking blearily in what feels like frigid air. Fuck, he's so cold. Is this how Maeve has felt since she lost most of the lean muscle on her frame? When he blinks his eyelids feel as if they're coated in tiny daggers of ice. But when his eyes finally focus, it's on a mass of tangled red curls nestled against his face, obstructing his view of the rest of the room, and yes. Yes, that's perfect. Exactly what he wants.
As his senses return to him he hears the soft sound of her sleeping breaths, long, deep, and untroubled. His icy nose holds the gentle scent of her, sweet rain and new green things, the memory of salt sea air still awash in her hair. The room is dim, lit by a murky evening sky pouring rain and a single light-globe on her desk. He raises his head on a weary neck that doesn't want to hold it, glancing past the ruby glow of her curls. The room is empty, the door shut and latched. Whatever Keely and the others did, it's over.
And Maeve lives. He fishes his arm out from under a heavy pile of blankets, his limb shaking with the effort. His bracelet glows dully, just as it always has here on Breakwater. Dim washes of watercolor light paint the walls and Maeve's pale skin as he lifts the bracelet free of the blankets for a moment. It doesn't look any different, at least at first. But as he watches, his tired eyes detect a faint, slow throb, a pulsing of its light.
It's breathing with her.
Under other circumstances he might be repulsed. Horrified, even. Not now. Keely did this, tied the power in his bracelet to her, using him as the conduit. He feels so very tired and so very cold, but Maeve lives and that far outweighs any discomfort. He presses his mouth gently to her bare shoulder. A calm peace settles over him as he burrows back under the blankets, seeking warmth. Maeve is his chéile, bound to him in ways neither of them completely understand. It's only right that he's the link for this power that saved her life. He'd have given her his own body's energy happily, every drop he has, even if it meant his death.
She's unconscious still, deeply asleep, resting quietly on her back as he readjusts his frozen body and curls around her once more. It's difficult to tell in the dim golden light, but he thinks her color has improved. Someone cleaned the blood from her face, a small mercy. He winds his body along hers, molding himself to conform to the shape of her. Someone dressed her while he was unconscious, encasing her body in a long, shapeless garment of soft, thick lambskin, the fluffy fleece turned inward, against her skin. He runs a finger along the collar, feeling the wool, soft and springy, not scratchy at all. The front remains unlaced and the collar has fallen to one side, baring her sharp shoulder. He kisses it, running his cold nose along her sweet skin, the tip of his tongue dipping into the severe hollow of her collarbone. She's still cold, too, despite the heavy clothing and the pile of blankets heaped over them. But he has to have faith. Keely wouldn't have left them alone if she was still in danger, would she?
He remains in his own clothes, though someone removed his boots. He wants to be surprised that anyone managed that without waking him, but he has to be realistic—he's wearier now than he thinks he's ever been. Keely could have trussed him up like a fatted calf ready for a feast and he wouldn't have stirred.
Thoughts of Keely bring with them countless questions he can't answer. Antoine told Maeve she wasn't part of this family anymore. He was very clear about that. But Keely welcomed her, fought to save her sputtering life. Even brought Sinbad to her side, something he will forever be grateful for. His crew all but convinced him she was dead, that she tried to run for her life but didn't ultimately have the energy to retreat successfully. And they were right, it seems, except that Keely caught her. Saved her. So whatever's going on in this house, it's not as clear-cut as he and Maeve assumed.
He wraps himself around her, conforming to her sleeping body, willing her whatever dregs of heat and comfort he can possibly give. Fuck, he's so cold. He's past shivering, which he didn't know was possible. But more than his own warmth he aches to see her cheeks turn sweetly pink again, as they do when kissed by the heat of his southern sun. She's so pale, and looks so sick. She shouldn't be alive—Firouz wasn't wrong about that. She had neither the energy nor the training to do what she did. But she did it. She's here.
He rests his head on the pillow once more, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest through half-closed eyes. His fingers are too numb to feel her breath but he lightly touches her lip anyway, careful of the swollen spot where it looks like she bit herself. At least the blood's been cleaned away. He'd rise and do it himself no matter how tired he is if it hadn't.
His sorceress. He blinks slowly, watching her sleep. She looks so sick, but even that can't wholly disguise her fierce beauty. She's by far the bravest person he's ever met, facing everything Scratch and Rumina have thrown at her with her characteristic stormy-sweet fire. Never once has she faltered. Never once has she backed down, attempted to desert him. He believes firmly that she never will. Antoine hurt her badly, but even he couldn't break her.
Though Doubar tried.
He holds her tighter, burying his face in the fall of her hair, the bright strands glowing deeper red in the dim golden light, crimson and ruby, deep vermilion and almost black, like the deepest drops of heart's blood. She inhales, a long, slow draw of her lungs, and her head shifts toward him. Her eyes do not open and he knows she won't wake, but the touch of her cool forehead against his feels nonetheless like a gift, one he doesn't deserve. She's alive, but not thanks to him. She saved herself by retreating from Doubar's attack, and in turn Keely saved her from the consequences of that terrible flight. He merely happens to wear the bracelet that provided the needed power. He's glad he can give this much, but he will never forgive himself for trusting Doubar too far, for not seeing the warning signs for what they were. He's as responsible for her state as his brother is.
"My girls," he whispers, touching Maeve's cheek, not quite daring to put his hands near the swell of her belly. She's so delicate, and he saw the bright bruise already forming under her skin, the blood Keely wiped away. He doesn't know exactly what it means, but he's not stupid. Unborn babies are fragile things, their loss tragically common. But he can't lose his daughter now. Not after Maeve fought so hard to keep her alive despite everything Rumina and Scratch have done. Poison. Dark magic. He needs it all to just stop. Not for the sake of his soul, but for Maeve's. His daughter's. They all need a little peace. He will do anything, anything at all, if Antoine lets them remain here. The spells on the little islet can protect Maeve better than anything else he knows of, and she needs her sister's skill. Keely proved that today. He would have lost his entire family without her: Maeve, his daughter, and his brother. As it stands, in this moment he's only lost Doubar, and Doubar did that to himself the moment he put his hands on Maeve.
The soft sound of the door stirs Sinbad from his dark thoughts. He doesn't want anyone but Maeve right now, but he refuses to say so. These people saved her life.
Wren's tawny-gold head appears around the door. "Good, you're awake." Her soft voice matches her relieved smile. "I was afraid I'd have to roust you." She pushes the door the rest of the way open and steps through, Conall on her hip. At least, Sinbad's pretty sure that's Con. He stares at the kid. For him, it's only been a couple of weeks since he saw the baby last. For Con, it's been moons. He's bigger, has more hair, and looks shockingly older than he did before. "You can come in," Wren says, turning to beckon two small forms behind her. "But just for a moment. Maeve is very sick, and she needs her rest."
"Why roust me?" Sinbad forces his aching body to sit, instantly on alert. "I'm not leaving her," he says flatly. "I'll pay for our keep. I'll work for it. I'll do whatever you want, but she's in no condition to be moved and I'm not leaving her."
Wren stares at him. "What are you going on about? Who said anything about leaving? As if Keely would let you." She snorts lightly. Mia and Rory creep around the doorway, Antoine's daughter a half-step in front of her little male shadow.
"I can't leave her," Sinbad insists. "Please." Fuck, he hurts. Why does everything have to hurt these days? He usually brushes off the aftereffects of a battle with no further thought, but today he feels like a wrung dishcloth, as if everything inside him has been twisted and squeezed and battered until he has nothing left.
"Nobody's asking you to," Wren assures him, shepherding the children to the edge of the bed. They stare wordlessly at their sleeping aunt. Sinbad wonders what they've been told. It's possible they know more than he does at this point. "Hand?" Wren holds hers out.
He offers his uninjured one, watching Mia's keen eyes stare at the glowing bracelet on his wrist.
Wren squeezes his fingers lightly. "You're still freezing. Keely said you probably would be. She ordered me to make sure you had a hot bath and some solid food before nightfall. She and Niall are wiped, but Mia can heat the water for you."
"I'm very good at that," Mia agrees. Her little hand reaches for the curve of Maeve's belly, hidden under layers and layers of blankets, but Wren guides her gently away.
"Not there, dove. You can pet her hair or her shoulder if you want, but her baby needs quiet for now."
"Is auntie broken?" Rory asks, his dark eyes huge in his little face.
"She certainly was when she arrived. We did what we could. Even Bran helped. Now we have to wait." Wren touches his cheek gently.
"Will she get better?"
"We hope so. But she's very sick. We have to be gentle with her, do you hear me? Mia, you too. No climbing on her, no pulling at her."
"Will she break again?"
"If you're rough with her, she might. And Keely says people are harder to heal a second time, or a third."
Sinbad knows this much, too. A broken nose may heal straight the first time, but not the second. He watches with caution as Mia pats Maeve's shoulder, but her little hand, though dirty, remains gentle, and she does not attempt to touch her belly again.
"Did she die?" Rory asks.
"No, dove." Wren rolls her eyes where her son can't see. "Death is beyond breaking. It's...a break Keely and your da can't fix. A break no one can fix."
Mia's quick eyes alight on Sinbad's face and widen dramatically. For a moment he's sure he's terrified her with the streaks of blood now dried on his skin and in his hair, but she leans toward him, hands gripping the edge of the mattress. "Did you die?"
"Sorry," Wren says, glancing at Sinbad. "Little minds have trouble with this concept."
"Big ones, too." He had a lot of trouble with it himself earlier today, his mind refusing to accept a reality in which Maeve was gone, permanently removed from his life. "I didn't die," he tells the expectant children, his voice croaking out of him. "But it honestly feels like it."
"You'll feel better after some hot water, I promise," Wren says.
"No." He shakes his head adamantly. A wash of dizziness rolls over him at the movement. "I'm not leaving her." He's grateful for everything Maeve's people have done, but if they think he's moving from this spot they're crazy.
"Why?" Mia stares at him. "She won't disappear."
He can't help the ruthless twist of his mouth, though he manages to hold back the bitter laugh that wants to burst from his lungs. Maeve did disappear the last time he left her, vanished a heartbeat before he could touch her, protect her. And he can't go through that again. He just can't.
"Hush," Wren says, bouncing Con lightly in her arms. "It's been a very long day for everyone. Sinbad, I know you're not returning to your ship, but she'll take no harm in the time it takes you to warm up and wash off that blood. I'll stay right here with her, I promise. She'll be fine."
His hand finds Maeve's under the blankets. She's so cold. "Can we bathe her?" She could use it even more than he. He aches to see that lovely pink flush warm her cheeks again. If Mia can heat the water, he'd love nothing more than to hold Maeve's body gently as her skin thaws.
"Keely says it's not safe to move her. She managed to stop the bleeding for now, but it could easily start again. She has to remain still." Wren sounds regretful. "I'm sorry."
"What's wrong?" He squeezes Maeve's cold hand as tightly as he dares. "What does the bleeding mean? I need some answers. I don't understand anything that's happened since she left the Nomad."
Wren's answering smile is understanding. "I think I know even less than you do. Keely and Niall are asleep, Bran and Cara, too. I don't expect to see any of them until morning, but I'm sure Keely will explain what she can then."
No one has mentioned Antoine yet. Sinbad swallows back that question, but he can't swallow his fear for his daughter so easily. "You have children," he persists. "You must know what's wrong. Why was she bleeding? What does it mean?" He aches to touch the swell of Maeve's belly, the physical proof of his daughter's existence, but he was too scared to do so even before Wren warned Mia away. Now he's doubly afraid.
"I don't know anything about it the way Keely does. All I can tell you is that Maeve was having pains when she arrived, and it's far too soon for that. Keel said there was some sort of rupture. I don't know what that means. She and Niall were able to stop it, but once these things happen the likelihood of them happening again is much greater. I do know that. Keel says we have to be very, very careful with her, and watch for worsening signs. I'm sorry—she'll explain better herself. In the morning."
Sinbad stares at the rounded curve of Maeve's belly below the blankets, feeling the feathers of panic begin to unfurl in his gut again. It's far, far too soon for his daughter to make her arrival—she's not due until after Samhain, and right now it's still late summer. He's not clear on the exact date, especially after Rumina's spell stole three moons from them, but he knows it's far too early. She won't stand a chance.
"It's my fault," he says numbly. He's gripping her hand hard but he can't feel it. "I left her alone." A choice he will never forgive himself for, no matter what happens. Nor will he forgive Doubar for how he feels right now, how Maeve is going to feel when she wakes.
"I don't know that that makes it your fault. You can't be everywhere at once, and you have a ship to run," Wren says, glancing at the small children listening with wide eyes. "You didn't hit her. I know you never would. If you need to blame someone, blame the man who did."
Sinbad shuts his mouth. Rory adores Doubar, and Mia knows him from the adventure stories Maeve tells. He will not hurt the children by admitting the truth where they can hear it, but he can't lie to himself so easily. Doubar did this. Doubar hurt her. And he let it happen. He inhales deeply. The air feels like ice in his lungs. "Is she okay?" he asks, struggling to push away his fears for the future and focus purely on this moment. "My daughter. Is she safe? Is she hurting?"
"She's sleeping," Mia says matter-of-factly, twisting one of Maeve's bright curls in her fingers.
"Probably," Wren agrees, shrugging at Sinbad's cocked eyebrow. "Just like her mama. She's alive, if that's what you mean. I felt her kicking when I was dressing Maeve."
"Felt her?" He stares. "You mean she's moving in there?"
"Duh," Mia says, giving him a pitying look. He's a little offended at seeing that expression on a four-year-old's face. "Don't you know anything?"
"Mia." Wren taps her shoulder sharply. "Be nice. Most men don't know anything about babies. Your da and uncle are exceptions."
Mia's pitying face shifts to her aunt. "If they make them they should know about them."
"Most of the world does not agree." Wren hitches the baby higher in her arms. "Sinbad, truly. Go wash off that blood and warm up. I'll stay with her, I promise. You're connected to Maeve closely right now, as her céile and as the conduit for your bracelet's magic. Once you're feeling better, she will, too."
Sinbad looks at her with suspicion. This is perhaps the only argument that might move him, and he's dubious of its authenticity because he suspects Wren knows it.
"I promise," she repeats. "And I'll bring you some solid food after. The gods know you need it."
Still he hesitates. He just got her back. He's not particularly willing to leave her again, even for the promise of warmth.
"You should come," Mia agrees, and she reaches for him. She's too short to touch, but her wings whir at her back and she lifts herself over Maeve's sleeping form, latching a little hand onto Sinbad's sleeve and tugging firmly. "Fin's cold. She doesn't like it. If you warm up, she'll warm up."
"Fin?" Sinbad helplessly lets himself be dragged from the bed, unsure what else to do when confronted by such a small child so convinced of her own veracity.
"Maeve's baby. Fin." Mia returns to the floor but tugs on him again as he tucks the blankets tight around Maeve's sleeping form. They covered her with a soft sheet of white linen, two blankets of thick wool, and a heavy layer of feather-filled cotton, blue instead of red but otherwise identical to the one left behind on the Nomad. He'd consider it a trifle excessive if not for the way the air knifes his skin when he crawls from the bed, the temperature of Maeve's cheek against his palm when he cups it for a moment.
"Fin's a hero's name, not a girl's name," Rory says.
"It is now." Mia sticks her tongue out at him. "She's sleeping, but she's cold and her leg hurts. And she's hungry. I'm hungry, too, auntie."
"It's not time to eat quite yet," Wren says, shrugging helplessly when Sinbad looks at her. She clearly takes no responsibility for what comes out of Mia's mouth. Nor should she, he supposes. That's Keely's kid, not hers. "Go help Sinbad fill the tub and heat the water for him, please. It needs to be hot. Hotter than you like. His body's very confused after all it's been through and needs some help warming up."
"Then will it be time to eat?"
"When he comes back, yes."
"Will auntie wake up if I kiss her?" Rory asks, considering the woman wrapped to her chin in blankets. "Like a sleeping princess in a story?"
"No, my love." Wren's smile is tinged with sorrow. "Thank you for the thought, but a kiss won't cure this hurt. Keely says she won't wake until tomorrow at the earliest. She needs her sleep."
Rory scowls. "It works in the stories."
"You can give her a kiss if you like, but real life doesn't work like stories do, I'm afraid."
"Why not?" Rory whines. "I like stories. I like happy endings."
"I know you do. But in the real world there are no happy endings because nothing ever really ends. It just changes, like the seasons." She touches his upper back lightly with her free hand. "Come. Kiss your aunt if you must, and you can help me watch her while Sinbad washes."
Mia obeys Wren's request to the letter, heating the tub of water to near scalding. After she leaves Sinbad hastily removes his clothes, intent on getting this over with as quickly as possible. Leaving that room, removing himself from the sight of Maeve, disturbs him even more than he thought it would. He watches the soft pulsing of his bracelet's light, slow and unhurried, matching the rhythm of her breaths. It calms him slightly, but not as much as the touch of her skin.
He stares at his body as he undresses, shocked by the change his eyes see, the change he didn't feel as it happened unless blacking out counts. Keely was right. He's never been as bulky with muscle as Rongar, but he's always been solidly strong. He doesn't look as bad as Maeve does, but he's lost a good deal of that muscle mass, and as he inspects his body in the steam-filled little bathing room he's not sure when exactly it happened. He wipes condensation from the little mirror and inspects his face. His cheeks are sunken, yes, and he wears dark circles under his eyes. But he can't say how long he's been like this. Talia and Doubar have told him he looks terrible since Rumina's spell took three moons from them, but he figured it was just an aftereffect of the dark magic, or the tension of watching Maeve deteriorate before his eyes. He knows he didn't look like this, though. This he would have noticed, even without a mirror. He's weak and shaky as he steps numbly into the water, holding the edge of the tub for support.
And fuck, that's as painful as it was after the teas, though for an entirely different reason. He hisses as the scalding water envelops him, and he tries to spring free but his body won't obey his commands. He sets his teeth and endures the pain. He's never been this cold before, never felt the torture of limbs returning to life. It's a strange, burning sort of fire that feels like hundreds of knives stabbing through his skin, deep into his flesh as the hot water forces feeling back into his fingers, his feet. He stares through watery eyes at his dominant hand, injured past use by his fight with Doubar—and the wall of the Nomad—but better now, though not what he'd call healed. He flexes his fingers, balling his hand into a light fist. It hurts, but there's no more crackling sensation and his body obeys him. Whatever he broke inside, he knows it should still be broken. Keely did this, or his bracelet, or a combination of the two. He observes it under the waterline, the knuckles split by the Nomad's wall and his brother's teeth, the terrible, swollen bruising that tells him as clearly as his previous inability to make a fist that he broke something. He doesn't care. Even now, knowing Maeve and his daughter live, he wants to beat Doubar's face still harder.
He forces thoughts of Doubar away and grabs the cake of soap, washing quick and hard once feeling returns to his fingers and the pain of thawing eases, allowing him to grip and move once more. This grief is too raw, too close still for him to consider. Rongar has charge of the Nomad. Rongar will keep everything together until Sinbad can figure out what to do next. Right now, all his energy and all his focus are on the two lives across the hallway, as it should have been from the beginning. If he had placed their welfare at the fore from the first, as he should have, they wouldn't be in this situation now. Maeve would be safe and healthy, his daughter likewise. But he didn't. He paid no heed to Doubar's worsening bitterness, and didn't take proper precautions against Scratch and Rumina. He let this happen. Now he may pay the price. Wren didn't say it straight out, but she didn't have to—they're not out of danger. He could still lose everything. The power in his bracelet stopped the immediate emergency, but that doesn't mean Maeve and his daughter are out of danger.
Even as he thinks it, he sees the light in his bracelet throb. It pulses quick and fast, and his heart jolts in tandem. Something's wrong. He pulls his aching body from the water, dousing the room as he grabs for a drying cloth and wrenches open the door.
The air outside the humid bathing room knifes him, but he ignores the chill as he tucks the towel around his waist and pushes into Maeve's room. Wren sits on the edge of the bed obstructing his sight, but Sinbad can see Maeve's covered feet moving, can hear the frantic rasp of her breaths.
"Let go!" she begs, her body jerking as she kicks futilely at the heavy pile of blankets weighing her down.
"Be still!" Wren insists, holding her firmly by her shoulders. Ordinarily Sinbad is sure Maeve would be able to shake off the smaller woman without any problem, but not today. "You have to calm down!"
"Maeve." He pushes gently between them, and Wren relinquishes her spot on the edge of the bed willingly, though she hovers close.
"She has to calm down. She has to stop moving," she says. "She wasn't supposed to wake up at all."
"Get Keely." He doesn't care if she's sleeping. This is too dangerous to let continue, and he's done taking chances. "Maeve, listen to me. Look at me. It's Sinbad." He presses his forehead to hers, using his body to push her gently back on the bed. Her hands clutch his shoulders as she inhales, breathing him in. "Good. Just relax. Keely's coming. You're safe. You're safe."
She shakes her head desperately, her eyes opening even as her hands slide on his wet skin. "Fin," she says. "She was right here! Cairpra said not to let go! Where is she?"
He hears the swift sound of bare footsteps on wooden floorboards, and an instant later Keely's sharp voice sounds. "That's enough! Maeve, I will put you back to sleep myself if I have to, but I'm very tired and I'd rather not. Don't make me. Lie still. Now."
Sinbad isn't sure he'd be willing to disobey that voice, tired and angry as it is. Maeve stops moving, to his relief, but her frightened breaths, ice-cold on his skin, don't ease. "I just had her! Don't take her away!" Her voice breaks and Sinbad's sure his heart does, too.
"Nobody's taken anyone anywhere," Keely says. "What are you on about? You must have been dreaming, leannán."
"She's here." Sinbad doesn't bother questioning his daughter's name anymore. Mia knows it. Maeve knows it. That's good enough for him. "She's right here, where she should be." He touches the curve of her belly.
"No." Her eyes are wet when he draws away far enough to see her. She shakes her head fretfully. "She was in my arms! Scratch tried to take her away, tried to separate us, but she cried and I found her."
"Of course you did." He'll agree to anything, anything she says, to calm her down. She's frantic, and he's positive it's not good for her or the baby. "You'd find her anywhere. I know you'd never give up. Breathe, please. Fuck, you're so cold."
"She got colder after you left," Wren says, sounding beyond troubled. On her shoulder, Con whimpers. "That's not how it's supposed to work, but she was shivering and her lips turned blue. I was almost about to go get you again, but then she woke."
Keely curses. "I knew mucking with that bracelet wasn't a great idea, but fuck if I know what else we could have done. She wouldn't have survived without it."
As long as Maeve recovers, Sinbad is sure they can deal with the side effects. He kisses her mouth softly, tasting the bitterness of her fear on her breath. "It's okay, mo chailín," he says, tracing the sharp line of her jaw with his fingers. "Just breathe for me. Here. She's right here." He finds her hand under the blankets and presses it to her belly.
She clutches the curve of her belly with both arms, one over, one under, blinking with confusion as her mind visibly struggles to understand. "No," she whispers. "It wasn't a dream. I held her. Ask Cairpra."
"Cairpra isn't here. Do you know where you are, sweetling?"
And, for the first time, he feels it. Under his palm, pressed close against the skin of Maeve's belly, he feels his daughter move. He can't describe it—it's like his heart shatters and heals again instantly, like he's being pulled to pieces but simultaneously cured. Maeve's breath catches, and he's sure he's not breathing at all.
"What's wrong?" Keely demands. "Do you hurt? You were having contractions before. Are you again?"
Maeve ignores her.
"She's moving," Sinbad whispers. His daughter's really alive in there. He can feel it.
Keely curses and shoves him firmly out of the way. "Move," she snaps. "You can be as weepy as you please once I figure out what the hell's going on." She pulls Maeve's blankets down, revealing the bare swell of her belly, where the long skirt of her shapeless clothing has ridden up. Her hands touch lightly, with the confidence born of long experience. "Maeve, answer me this time. Are you having pains?"
She shakes her head numbly. "But I held her. I did. Scratch separated us, but I found her." She scowls.
"I believe you." Keely pulls her clothing back down her legs, and Sinbad replaces the pile of blankets. He watches as, in a rare tender moment, Keely puts her arms around her sister and kisses her. "I don't put anything past Scratch, and you've obviously been through hell."
"Not exactly." Maeve sniffs and wipes her eyes on her sister's shoulder. "But I thought I was there."
Keely pulls back. "No doubt. You weren't supposed to wake. Not for quite a while. I'd be mad at you for besmirching my skill, but I choose to blame that damn bracelet instead."
Maeve frowns. "What bracelet? I left mine."
"I know, and I'm going to sew it to your skin next time I get the chance. Solder it to you. What in the world possessed you to try to travel without it?"
Maeve blinks, and Sinbad can see the moment her memory returns to her, those last seconds on the Nomad rising before her eyes. "A fight," she says, her whisper barely audible.
"Well, if you'd been wearing your bracelet like you should, you would have been able to get away without nearly killing yourself. As it is, I had to grab you as I felt you near. You wouldn't have made it on your own."
"I know," Maeve says, and in those two words Sinbad hears how scared she must have been as she fought her way here, however it happened. She knows she's not ready for magic that advanced, but she's not good at admitting it. That she does now speaks to her fear. She may not know exactly what's happened, but she knows how close she came to dying.
"Wren," Keely says, "let's have some food, since we're all so wide awake. Maybe we can figure out what the hell is going on."
"I can help," Sinbad says, reluctant to leave Maeve but eager to be of assistance.
"You absolutely will not. If crossing the hall for a bath turned her blue and woke her up, you're not going downstairs," Keely says firmly.
"You don't know—"
"I do. There was no other possible trigger." Keely strokes Maeve's forehead gently. "You can go put your clothes on—in fact, I'd really rather you did. Linen's sheer when wet, I can now see that you were cut as an infant, and that's much more than I care to know about you. But you can't go further than that, at least not until I figure out what's going on."
He goes, but only to grab his clothes from across the hall. When he returns Wren and the children are gone but Keely remains, sinking slowly into the wooden chair from Maeve's desk, drawn close to the bedside.
"If you're awake," he says, pulling his sirwal back on, "I'd really like some answers." He's not cold anymore after the searing heat of that bath, but Maeve seems colder than ever and he wants to know why.
"I would, too." Keely stretches her legs out in front of her, slouching down low in the chair, her hands under the bulge of her belly. It's considerably bigger than Maeve's, even hidden by the draped folds of her loose fawn-colored dress. He returns to his spot on Maeve's far side, putting her between them, tucking his body close to hers.
"I want to sit up," Maeve says, even as she fights back a yawn.
"You can't. Maybe in a few days if all seems well. Until then, you need to remain flat. I'm not kidding." Keely rubs her own belly lightly. "You have no idea how close you came to losing your daughter today."
"I do," Maeve says, stubborn despite her exhaustion. She presses close to Sinbad, hiding her cheek in his shoulder. "Scratch took her away, I told you. He tried to make me leave without her, but I wouldn't put her down and Cairpra knew better."
"No, I mean your placenta tried to detach from the wall. You were bleeding and contracting when I pulled you in." Keely rubs her eyes. She hasn't lost weight as Sinbad has, at least not that he can see, but she looks as tired as he feels. He'd say to hell with food and opt for sleep instead, but he wants answers badly. "You were three-quarters dead and so was your daughter. Niall and I were able to stabilize you basically by throwing all the power we had at you. I made Wren go for Sinbad, hoping to use his energy to do the more delicate work of stopping the bleeding and healing whatever else was wrong. You cracked three teeth, by the way. I fixed them. Long story short, we ended up having to use that bracelet of his as a power source instead."
"Why?" Maeve presses closer, one hand slipping under the flaps of his shirt, seeking the heat of his skin. She feels like ice on his chest, his back, but he lets her do it. He'll give her all the warmth he has. He presses his palm to the tender back of her neck, giving her heat.
"He was already drained. I wasn't there, so I don't know, but I suspect you used him to start your jump when you tried to get to me."
Maeve turns her head, staring at her sister. "I didn't! I'd never just take anyone's energy like that!" Her voice breaks and she tries to clear her throat. "I don't even think I know how."
"He's your céile. You don't have to know how. It just happens." Keely shoots her sister an irritated look. "Don't you know anything?"
About this, no, she doesn't. She's admitted as much to him. Sinbad tightens his hold on her and kisses her temple lightly. "It's okay," he says, eager to avoid another rush of panic like the one that pulled him from his bath. He's sure that's not good for her or the baby. "You're safe now, and I'm fine. There's no reason to feel guilty."
"But I didn't do it," she says, her voice infinitely troubled. "Doubar said I bespelled you, but I didn't! At least, I didn't mean to…."
"Shh." His mouth finds hers and he kisses her gently. She's warming finally, very slowly, her body responding to the heat in his. "Forget everything Doubar said. He didn't know what he was talking about, and he's not part of our lives anymore."
Maeve looks beyond troubled when he raises his head, but she doesn't speak.
"You didn't bewitch him, strictly speaking, anyway," Keely says as Wren shoulders the door open. She has a laden tray in her hands, and Declan and Rory follow her with more. She helps them place their trays on Maeve's desk as Keely rises and selects two steaming mugs.
"Broth first," she says, handing one to Maeve, one to Sinbad. She places another pillow behind Maeve's head. "You can roll on your side to eat, but I'm serious about staying down. I don't want to have to tilt the foot of the bed up, but I will if I have to."
Maeve doesn't object this time, cupping her mug in shaking hands. Sinbad watches, but she's careful and doesn't spill as she brings it to her lips.
"If you can hold that down, you can try some solid food," Keely says, taking the wooden plate Wren hands her. "Maeve, listen to me. You didn't bewitch him, and you have no cause to feel guilty. I don't know who said what, and I don't really care except that everything you feel goes directly to that baby, so right now you need to stay calm. He's your céile. The bond varies—some are looser, some stronger—but it always strives to keep both sides evenly matched. I wasn't there when you left that ship, but I saw what you looked like when you got here. You would have died making that trip without help. A bond cannot survive without both sides. It did what it could, taking from him to try to keep you alive. To try to maintain balance. Do you see now?"
Sinbad does, and he watches as Maeve's troubled eyebrows ease. He strokes her cheek, grateful to feel warmth begin to return to her skin. He'll stay attached to her like this forever, if that's what it takes. "You didn't bespell anyone," he says, brushing his nose against her temple before kissing her lightly. "I asked you. I practically begged you. I made the choice."
"You didn't know," she says, her tired eyes lifting to him.
"Knowing wouldn't have changed anything." It changes nothing now. He'd never choose to go back to what he was without her, and knowing that he helped her survive this emergency makes him feel just the tiniest bit better. The brand on his chest and the corresponding curse has made him feel all but useless, but if his physical health and energy can be used to buoy Maeve's when she needs it, maybe he's not quite as useless as he thinks. "You're mine, sweetling. That won't change."
"I know." She touches his lip gently, a light brush of her fingertips, before returning to her broth.
More children enter the room on hesitant feet, Mia leading her baby sister by the hand, Duncan behind them. Sinbad hasn't seen Lily in ages. She's walking now, if unsteadily, and almost as tall as Duncan. She looks more like Nessa than ever, and he feels a twinge of guilt that these children are now missing their aunt. Not for the first time, he wonders where their father is. He wants to put things right between them, if it can be done, but he doesn't want to start another fight. Maeve needs to stay here. No one seems to be questioning her presence yet, and he doesn't want them to start.
Keely and Wren feed the solemn and uncharacteristically quiet children, passing them plates of food, Keely shaking her head when Lily tries to crawl into her lap. "I don't have space for you right now, ladybird," she says. "Your brother's too big. I told you before."
Lily whines and stomps her foot, which unbalances her and sends her to the floor. Wren hands her a slice of pear, which distracts her from the impending tantrum.
"Oh." Maeve's body jerks lightly against his.
"Pain?" Keely eyes her sharply.
"No." She sets a hand lightly over her belly. "Fin's awake."
"Yeah, she's been moving off and on while you've been out of it." Keely eyes her. "You know better than to name an unborn kid. I know you do."
"I won't apologize for it." Maeve's head falls back on her pillow. She hasn't been awake long, but he can see how tired she is. He sets her empty mug aside and draws the blankets to her shoulders again. "If things go wrong, the only one I'll hurt is myself."
"Can I touch?" Sinbad asks hesitantly. "Will it hurt her?"
"Gently. No pressure." Keely yawns. "How's your belly? Settled or in revolt?"
"I can't even tell anymore," Maeve says sleepily. "I'm too tired."
"Sleep, then. You shouldn't have woken at all." Keely scowls at the bracelet on Sinbad's arm. "Fucking thing. This is why I never mess with artifacts lacking provenance."
"We're really safe?" She presses close to Sinbad, but her eyes are on her sister. "You won't make us leave?"
"Why the hell would I do that? I said you weren't to move, didn't I? I'm not sending you back to that gods-be-damned ship like this."
Sinbad would very much like more of an explanation than that, but Maeve is too tired to wait for one. Her eyes slip closed once she receives Keely's irritated but sincere reassurance, and he can feel the moment she succumbs to sleep, her body going limp against his.
Keely waits five beats before fixing him with her hard green stare, which is actually longer than he thought she would. "Good. Now that she's out, I want some answers. What the fuck happened on your ship that she tried to drag herself here without her opal? Whatever it was, she's in no shape to rehash it, so you tell me while she sleeps."
Sinbad tenses, glancing at the small children listening with avid attention. He knew this question would be asked of him at some point, but he doesn't want to answer with so many little ears in the room.
"Out," Wren says firmly, lifting Lily and herding the others toward the door. "Rory, Mia, take the trays. Dex, you can help me with dishes since your brother's asleep."
"I want to know what happened," he whines, but he doesn't resist his mother as she presses between his shoulderblades. "I'm not dumb. Someone hurt Maeve. I'm old enough to help with payback."
"Who said anything about payback? Blood feuds only tear families apart. You're old enough to help me with dishes, and that's it. If you need to know more, you'll find out tomorrow." Wren closes the door behind them.
Sinbad eyes Keely. He does not want to answer this question, but she deserves to know the truth. She cleaned up Doubar's mess, after all. "Trade?" he offers, sitting up, one hand resting lightly on the curve of Maeve's belly. He can't feel any movement with so many layers of cloth between his palm and her skin, but it settles him anyway. "I need some answers. Why aren't you kicking us out? Antoine disowned her. Told her not to come back."
Keely freezes, a full plate of food in her hand. "He did what?"
"You didn't know?"
Her mouth twists. "I'm not all-knowing. It happens more often than you'd think. What did Antoine do?" She hands him the food.
"I'm not hungry." He's starving, actually, but too tense to eat.
"Eat anyway. Then lay back down with her. She's warming, and I think you're the cause. You or that damned bracelet. What did Antoine do?"
"Screamed at her." He takes the plate and rests it beside him but doesn't eat. He can't concentrate on food. Recalling how Maeve looked the last time she saw Antoine is not something he enjoys. "He disowned her, told her never to bother his family again." A thread of anger rises in him at the memory, but no more than that. He's too tired to be as properly furious as he should be. "Where is he? Can we keep her out of his way while she's here? I don't think she can handle another confrontation like that." Not now, not when she's already so fragile. And she shouldn't have to, anyway. She did nothing wrong. He lowers his head and kisses her hairline softly as she sleeps, so still under the heavy blankets. Once he recovers a little strength he'll gladly confront Antoine on her behalf. He was prevented from pounding his brother as much as he would have liked to and he'll happily pound hers instead.
Keely swears. "Keeping out of his way won't be a problem. That man." She settles back in her chair but she looks tense and anxious, and her hands have difficulty keeping still. "He's got a lot to answer for when I see his sorry face again."
"What do you mean?" As far as brothers go, his is by far the worst. But neither Dermott nor Antoine are winning any awards, either. She survived Dermott's desertion and Antoine's blame, but she wouldn't have survived Doubar's attack without help.
"I mean he took off after Nessa once he realized she wasn't with you," Keely snaps. "If you're not going to eat, let me see your hand."
He holds his injured hand out cautiously. "He did what?"
"You heard me. You broke two bones, you know that? And dislocated that finger. I'm pretty sure the bracelet knit the bones back together, which was a nice side effect because I have no energy left to do it right now. But you're not completely healed." She inspects the swollen bruising on the back of his hand, the torn knuckles, then releases him. "I understand he's upset about Nessa. I do. At least, I'm trying. We're all worried about her, but he has no idea where she went. He's searching blind. How he expects to find her like that, I don't know." She bites the inside of her cheek. "I'm sorry. I knew he was angry. I didn't know he'd take it out on you."
"Me I could handle. He can scream at me all he wants, pound on me all he wants. I won't hold it against him. But Rumina had just cursed us and Maeve couldn't handle him attacking her and taking her family away on top of everything else." He glances at the resting woman beside him. She's too deeply asleep for their speech to disturb her, for which he's grateful. He's not leaving her side again after what happened when he went to wash. "He broke her. I didn't think that was possible. But he did."
"Rumina did what?" Keely's chin lifts as she watches him. "And what are you talking about? Antoine can't take her family away from her, any more than he could take you away from her. That's ridiculous. Start at the beginning. Your story makes no sense."
"Only if you agree to do the same. I have no idea what's going on, and I'm tired of it." He wants nothing more than to curl up with Maeve and sleep, just sleep, but if he can't do that he wants some answers.
"Yeah, fine." She rises and stretches, arms at the small of her back, her protruding belly looking even bigger as she arches. "Let's just all have a nice sleepover and stay up all night. Exactly what we need after today."
Sinbad ignores her prickly temper. This is how she is, and she's tired besides. She means nothing personal by it any more than Maeve does.
"She's been cinching tight," he says, unable to help noticing the difference in the size of their bellies. "Hiding her belly. Is that bad?"
"Yes, and I hid that thing. She can have it back after her baby's born, not before. She's safe here, she doesn't have to hide from anyone." She curses as she settles back in her chair. "Why am I surrounded by a host of you well-meaning idiots?"
This isn't the sort of question Sinbad is supposed to answer, so he refrains. She's in a terrible mood, but he really can't blame her. He toys with the food on his plate, but he has no stomach for it.
"Let's back up a bit," Keely says, exhaling a deep, weary breath. "I know Nessa pulled that stunt with the other girls the day after the teas. She's never been as mindful of the danger as her brother. She's not stupid, but she's not so willing to let it control her life, either. Clearly." She clears her throat.
That's one way of putting it. Sinbad watches Keely with half his attention, Maeve with the other. She's warming, but she still looks so pale, no color at all to her sleeping cheeks. He isn't angry at Nessa, though her attempt to irk Rumina was foolish to the extreme. He feels utterly unable to judge someone for poor decisions when he's made nothing but disastrous ones these past moons.
"They went at each other when she got back. She was furious that we'd kept Dermott's disappearance a secret. Ant was furious that she not only dared to go south but put the rest of those girls in danger, too. Nox is even more aggravating than I am—don't look at me like that—and would have happily taken the risk to piss off a prissy southern sorceress, but I don't think Ness explained the danger to everyone else as clearly as she could have. The sìthichean know what going south means for them, but Rumina's a danger to everyone once she's properly nettled and Ness aimed to piss her off royally."
"She succeeded, if that makes you any happier," Sinbad says wearily. He's warmer after his bath, but his body misses the hot southern sun with a very physical ache. He remembers how Nessa's friends turned their faces to it, the baking heat melting them to happy puddles on the deck of his ship. He wants to curl up with Maeve in that heat, on the blistering white sand of some secluded southern beach, and melt to a happy puddle himself. The sound of rain on the window, the night-dark sky beyond the glass panes, doesn't help him feel any warmer.
"It does," Keely says, swiping a piece of bread from his untouched plate, "and it doesn't. I will happily let Ness piss that witch off all she likes. Hell, I'll help. But not at the price she risked."
Yeah, Sinbad agrees, and from her furious response to Nessa's presence aboard his ship he knows Maeve does, too. "I talked Ness into leaving. She didn't want to. She and Rumina would have been on each other if not for one of my men holding Ness back, and I know that wouldn't have ended well."
"No," Keely agrees, and her mouth twists viciously. "But I would have enjoyed the look on Rumina's face when someone dared hit her."
Sinbad knows. He remembers with his own twisted happiness the look on the witch's face when Maeve socked her in the mouth in Omar's library. "Well, as punishment, I guess, she laid a spell on my ship after Nessa left. Sped time—I don't even know how to explain it. She took three moons from us, everyone on board. It left Maeve looking like this." He touches her gently, running one fingertip lightly over the hollow of her sunken cheek. "Maeve said the baby grew too fast and it sucked everything from her. Her flesh. Her magic. Everything she had."
Keely frowns. "She sped time? For just your ship? Do you have any idea what sort of power we're talking about with a spell like that?" She chews roughly on her lower lip, the bread in her hand forgotten. "I'm not doubting you. You saw what you saw. But I didn't think she was capable of something like that."
"She had a...a glowing stone. A brimstone? Hellfire, she called it. A gift from Scratch."
"That's not good, Sinbad." Her sharp eyes dart to Maeve, then back to him. "For you or for Rumina. Accepting a gift like that places constraints on a soul. Binds it. I know Rumina dealt with Scratch for your soul, but I thought she was too smart to fall for something so obvious as a gift from the devil."
"Maybe Turok never warned her about that? Or maybe she thinks she's devious enough to outsmart Scratch."
"I'm glad to know what happened, anyway," Keely says softly, staring at her sleeping sister. "We tried to reach you over and over. The opals wouldn't work. Ant's magic wouldn't work. It was like your entire ship disappeared off the face of the earth. For moons. Everyone was frantic." She strokes Maeve's forehead gently and bends to kiss her, touching her lips softly to her pale cheek. "I'm sorry about Ant. Truly. I wish you had come and asked me directly."
"You mean you were never mad at her?"
"We discovered you were gone at the same time Nessa left, so we logically assumed she must have gone to you. We hoped you'd found a spell, something powerful enough to protect you from Scratch and Rumina's meddling. It seemed rational that a spell so powerful would keep us out, too. We had to hope for the best. The only other possibilities were terrible ones. That Scratch or Rumina got the better of you. Or that your ship had gone down, most likely with Ness aboard. Ant couldn't abide that, the thought of two sisters lost at once."
Sinbad scowls. "He didn't give a fuck about Maeve's welfare when he appeared," he says tightly. He's trying very hard not to hate the man for what he did, and only succeeding because his own brother did worse. He can understand their worry, the uncertainty of those moons, hoping against hope that Maeve and Nessa were together and alive. He can understand Antoine's panic at discovering the truth—that Nessa was not with them and therefore had been on her own all that time. But he can't forgive what his careless words did to Maeve.
"It may not have seemed like it," Keely says, her face infinitely troubled. "I don't know, I wasn't there. But he was worried for them both. He started roaming, taking off for days at a time, searching for any hint of Nessa in case she wasn't with you. Then one day he came back yelling his fucking head off, screaming that Ness was lost. Nothing more. He left again the same day, wouldn't listen when I told him he was being unreasonable. There are better ways to find someone. A single man roaming the entire world isn't ever going to find someone who doesn't want to be found." Her mouth twists. "He hasn't been home since. I've been worried about Maeve, but I've got a house and library to run, a new apprentice, two small children and a third on the way, and two fewer adults to help hold everything together." She tosses her hair out of her eyes with a practiced jerk of her head. "I figured you couldn't need anything too badly if you didn't come ask for it."
Sinbad closes his eyes, his hand clasped firmly in Maeve's. So that was it. A desperate brother and a miscommunication of disastrous proportions. He can't laugh, despite the ludicrous nature of the situation. It's not funny. Not when Maeve and his daughter are so sick and may still die because of it.
"Sinbad, listen to me."
He opens his eyes.
"Maeve has been my sister since we were small." She looks him squarely in the eye. "I believed for a long time that we died that night, in the fire, and were reborn in the forest, in the fox den where we hid—rebirthed into this world as kin, the thing we both needed so badly. She never left my side. Never. Not until Rumina cursed Dermott and forced her to. Part of me died the day my sister walked away, you know. The part of me that believed in miracles. The part that believed something would stop her, that she'd never really do it." Her thumb moves on Maeve's sleeping forehead, fingers brushing back the soft red curls. "I don't know when Antoine will return. If he'll return. I hope he will. He knows he has a son on the way, and two little girls who need him as much as his sister ever did. But he doesn't get to choose my family. Only I do that, and Maeve came through the fire with me."
"You're not mad at her?"
"For what? Telling Nessa that Dermott disappeared? I wish she hadn't. There was a reason we didn't, and this is the result. Now she's missing and Antoine's gone, too. But he knew exactly where to hit Maeve, where she's most vulnerable. She didn't deserve that, and it wasn't true, besides." She drops her hand. "That man has a lot to answer for when he comes back."
If he comes back. The words, unsaid, hang heavy in the air.
Sinbad sits next to Maeve's still body, wishing for so much. For Maeve to pull through, and his daughter, too, defying the odds stacked against them yet again. For Dermott and Nessa to return, and Antoine to reconcile with Maeve. For his own brother never to have laid a hand on his chéile. But selfishly, out of all of it, he just wants his girls to be all right. Maeve is marvelously good at beating the odds and, for once, it seems that she has the tools she needs to fight her way back to health. She's safe here, protected in this place where Scratch can't touch her, Rumina can't see her. She has his undying love, and the support of most of her family, people she thought were lost to her. Maybe most of all, she has the magic of his rainbow bracelet to keep her going until she can manage once more on her own.
"Thank you," he says, words he means with his whole heart. "For saving her. Saving us."
Keely considers him. "I did a lot today," she says, acknowledging his gratitude, "but you've been doing more than you think. And for longer. You saved her life before I did."
"Because I'm her céile."
She nods. "Because you're her céile. You've been feeding her with your essence, your energy. After your tale, I doubt it was just today. You may have started doing it when Rumina cast that spell. We'll probably never know for sure, if neither you nor Maeve realized it was happening. But I suspect. That's how these things work." She lifts her thumb to her mouth to chew on a hangnail.
Sinbad tries to think back, but he honestly never considered this possibility before. He was tired after Rumina's spell, and both Doubar and Firouz remarked that he didn't look well, but he figured that was just a reaction to the dark magic, or to the tension surrounding Maeve. He was far more concerned with his sorceress, who looked—and still looks—like a wraith. Hell, he's so tired. He breathes slowly, inhaling cold air deep into his lungs. "Tell me the truth," he says, staring at Maeve. "What sort of chances do they have?"
"I can't answer a question like that. I don't think anyone could. All we can do is our best. You know Maeve never gives less than that." Keely stretches wearily. "I won't lie to you. I'm no good at coating things in honey. We stopped the immediate emergency, but recovery will be long and difficult and I can't guarantee survival. Not hers, not your daughter's. I'm sorry. She's been drained too thoroughly and for too long, and it's not as simple as putting back what was taken. And because we were forced to use the magic in your bracelet to save her, I can't even hazard a guess as to side effects. You're obviously not able to physically leave her. That one I didn't expect."
Buried to her chin in blankets Maeve looks so small, and that's something he's never, ever considered his sorceress before. She's too powerful for that. He shifts his hand, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps, the simultaneous pulse of his bracelet as it breathes with her. "I won't ever leave her again."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Her recovery, assuming all goes well, will take time, but there's no reason to think you'll be stuck like this forever. For now, you can't leave her, aye. But that may well change as she recovers. I hope it does, for your sake. She's going to be in a terrible mood once she starts feeling better. And nobody deserves to be shackled so closely to someone else for life. You'd kill each other within a year."
He doubts that. And even if it were true, he'll pay any price he has to, anything for these two lives.
"Come on now. I paid up. It's your turn. What the hell happened on your ship?"
Full night has closed in outside the window. It's late summer or early autumn—a season he's never really experienced before, though he's certainly heard of it—but the air in the house still feels cold to his skin. He aches for more familiar things, but most of all he aches at the truth he can't hide from anymore. Not when Keely's demanding it of him. "It was a good day. I actually think she was doing better. Better than she has since Antoine broke her. Then it all went to hell."
"Yeah, I figured that much. She's not stupid. She wouldn't have just tried to come here without training on a whim. What happened? Did Rumina show up again?"
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He shakes his head wordlessly.
"Scratch?"
He shakes his head again. Staring at Maeve's face, the swollen bruising on her cheek, all he can see is the viciousness of the blow that dropped her, then his brother's leg canting back, preparing to strike. That kick, delivered when she was down and offering no resistance, no threat, is something he didn't think his brother capable of even when fighting an enemy. Doubar was the one who taught him the rules of a street brawl when they were children, rules that did not alter as they grew. And the first is to never, never continue an assault after an opponent is beaten. But today Doubar did. And Sinbad may still lose everything because of it.
"Sinbad! Who did it? I know you never would. You don't have it in you. So why that look on your face?"
His mouth twists, somewhere between a caustic, mocking sneer at his own impotence and a grimace at Keely's continued demands. "I wasn't fast enough. He hurt her. Rongar warned me ages ago. But I didn't listen."
"Who hurt her?"
"My brother." This wound is as painful as Maeve's near-loss, but far more confusing. He's lost his brother forever and that loss leaves a gaping hole in his heart, but the edges are ragged and unclean, already festering. Doubar betrayed him. Betrayed everything Dim-Dim ever taught them. Sinbad will fight a woman if he has to, if she attacks first. He'd happily fight Rumina if given half a chance. But not like Doubar attacked Maeve. He heard the raised voices from atop the mast, knew they were arguing, so he knows Doubar felt her sharp tongue. But no matter what she said, it doesn't justify the escalation to a physical fight. Especially not with a woman so obviously unwell. Ordinarily Maeve could easily hold her own with Doubar, at least for a few rounds. And he didn't know she was with child, a line no one on the Nomad would ever, ever cross. At least, he used to assume they wouldn't. Now he just doesn't know anymore. Doubar attacked another member of the crew, a friend and ally. Kept attacking after she was down. These are also lines he assumed his brother would never cross. He would have put Doubar ashore moons ago if he thought there was the slightest danger.
But he didn't. He knew they were at odds, but he let it continue because Maeve said she could handle Doubar's anger. Because he trusted—they both trusted—his brother too far.
Now he has no brother.
Keely watches him steadily. "You realize even if she was able to get up, I wouldn't let her go back to that ship again. I'd take her bracelet away permanently first, and I wouldn't fucking care if she hated me for it."
"The danger's gone," he says, his voice flat and expressionless. The danger is far from gone. "I put him off the ship. Placed a good man in charge in my stead. I have no brother anymore." He has Rongar and Firouz. Tetsu the ronin. The former Adventurers, now scattered to the winds. But it's not the same.
"You have Niall," Keely says. "I wish I could say the same about Antoine and Dermott, but fuck if I know what's going on in their idiot heads. What possessed him? I know she's irritating as hell. I'll be the first to admit it. Dermott thought it was funny when she was small and never tried to rein her in—never tried to rein either of us in. Not that I think he would have been successful anyway. But that's no excuse for doing this to her. Or is it, in your world?"
These are questions Sinbad struggles to answer, even in his own heart. "He didn't know she was with child." He rubs his hands over his face, feeling the twinge of his own injury. "It's the truth, though not an excuse. I know that."
"That's one line uncrossed, anyway. But she's a skeleton, Sinbad. I wouldn't hit a grown man who looked as sick as she does, and I'm just a girl, not a giant."
His mouth twists. "I know. I know. It's my fault. I didn't listen. Maeve was afraid that the rift between them would never be healed even after Samhain, but I don't think even she foresaw this."
"She wouldn't. She's always been overly confident in her ability to take care of herself. And under-confident in other areas." Keely stretches wearily. "What are you going to do?"
It's a wonderful question. Sinbad has no idea. It's too soon, and he's too raw inside. "I ordered him off my ship. And broke his face." He tightens his fist, feeling the twinge of hurt muscles and tendons. "I'm going to do whatever Maeve needs. Whatever my daughter needs. The rest I haven't figured out yet."
"It's a start, I guess. What they need from you right now is your presence. I'll try to puzzle more out in the coming days, see if we can't make heads or tails of the side effects of using your bracelet. But you can't go back. Not right now."
"I know." He doesn't want to, anyway. He left things a mess on his ship and he's sorry for that, sorry that Rongar will have to pick up the pieces and sort everything out, but right now Maeve needs him. His daughter needs him. And they come first. They'll always come first. He's not Antoine. He doesn't know what it's like to have a sister, but he can't imagine abandoning a pregnant woman and two such small children who need him. He rubs his eyes and breathes softly. "What of her dream? She said Scratch separated her and the baby." Ordinarily he'd try to dismiss such a nightmare. But it's too eerily similar to the truth of what almost happened, and he can't quite let himself ignore it.
And she was so frightened. Maeve doesn't scare like that. Not over a dream.
Keely shrugs. "Who knows? I'm hesitant to discount it. Scratch is powerful, Sinbad, and he won't be happy when he learns where you are. What she carries. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to stop her from getting here. Whether he sent a dream or something really happened, I couldn't tell you. You can ask her when she wakes, if she's willing to talk about it. She may not be, once she's thinking more clearly. She doesn't like feeling vulnerable."
"Nobody does." He's wrung dry himself. He wants to sleep for a week, but he also wants to hold his sorceress, to watch the steady rise and fall of her blankets as she breathes, that near-silent rhythm more reassuring than his own heartbeat. "She mentioned Cairpra, a sorceress in Basra. An ally."
"We can try contacting her, but it will take a few days before Niall or I are ready to do something like that. I'm curious, but not enough to risk myself or my boy." She touches her belly gently.
"Is that why you're so much bigger than Maeve is? Because you're carrying a boy?"
"Doubtful." Keely chuckles as she slowly pulls herself to her feet. "I've done this twice before, so I'm stretchier than she is. And I've been eating regularly." Her amused face sobers. "I don't want to leave you on a low note, but there aren't any highs today. That child is a mess of residual magics—I could feel it the moment I caught her, even before I had to step in with my own. I can't tell you what the effects will be. We won't know until she's born. But I know Maeve's been feeding her with magic."
"Is that bad?" He just can't handle any more bad news today. His soul can't take it. It doesn't surprise him that Maeve would feed her daughter in any way she can, though. She never wanted to be a mother, but she's determined to give that baby everything anyway, everything she has.
"Not in itself, though it can't replace the normal nourishment she needs, so Maeve better not have been trying to supplement a poor diet." She frowns. "There's just such a twisted tangle, the remnants of so much competing magic. She was conceived during the teas. The poisoning was mundane enough, no sorcery there, but I had to use magic to clear the poison from Maeve's body and hasten her healing. Then Rumina's time spell, which probably would have killed them both without you. Whether that bond counts as magic I don't know, but I do know you kept them alive today."
"I collapsed," he says faintly, remembering how little he cared to know why at the time. Maeve was gone. That was the only thing that mattered to him. "When she disappeared. I dropped like a felled tree." He's dazed as this new worry for his daughter erupts. He never dreamed that all that magic could have any sort of effect on her, though now he damns himself for being so stupid. He grew up with Dim-Dim. He should have known better.
"I don't doubt it. You look like you've been fighting a wasting disease." Keely rubs her eye. "At least that's easy to fix. We'll fill you both as full as you can hold. Assuming you actually eat." She casts a significant glance at his untouched plate. "I'm to bed now. Try to sleep. Helping yourself helps them, just as Maeve caring for herself helps your daughter. I doubt she'll wake again, but I said that before, so what do I know? Don't let her up. Carry her across the hall if she needs to go, but otherwise she needs to stay still. I'm not kidding about that. She won't like it, but she'll like it even less if she loses that baby."
Couched in those terms, Sinbad doesn't see how Maeve could argue. He certainly won't. "Thank you." He'll find some way to pay them back. He doesn't know how, but he will.
"She came through the fire with me," Keely repeats. "This is her home. Yours, too, now. That's how family works."
It sounds so simple when she says it. And he used to feel the same way. He welcomed Rongar aboard because he was Mustafa's friend, welcomed Maeve because she was Dim-Dim's apprentice. They're his family now. Maybe his closest kin, along with Firouz. But not Doubar. Not anymore. And he's not sure he even understands what family means without his brother.
