Chapter Ten
There was no way Cathal could forget a single syllable Sorcha said. Ever. She was being torn in two, and he hated that he was adding to it.
“It’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s that I’m not sure I’ll find out anything,” he told her. “But I’ll ask around.”
She smiled. “That’s kind of you, especially after how I’ve treated you.”
“It’s never easy to learn your world has been turned upside down.”
“No, it isn’t. Where are my manners? Please, sit.”
They walked to the living area. Cathal waited until she chose the chair before he lowered himself into a corner of the sofa. She shifted a few times, trying to get comfortable through her nervousness. It made him want to smile.
“I guess it would be better if you just finished telling me what you tried earlier,” Sorcha said.
Cathal put an ankle over his knee and rested his elbow on the arm of the sofa. “The Fae that spoke with you at the Fairy Pools? There are more gathering around the isle, waiting for you.”
“Me?” she asked with a frown. “Why? Because I’m half-Fae?”
“I don’t think the fact you’re a Halfling plays into it at all. This is about your family’s bloodline. From what I gathered from a Fae I spoke with today, if one of them can plant his seed within you, then they’ll be able to return if the Fae are ever booted from this realm. Because of their child with your bloodline.”
Sorcha’s frown increased as she blinked, trying to take it all in. “That doesn’t make sense at all. Why just me? Why not my cousin, Rhona?”
“Because you’ve not done the ritual. Apparently, you must take part every year.”
“Bloody hell,” she murmured as her face smoothed out in shock. “Everyone always talked about that damn ritual, but there are so many. All of them are touted as important, but I never learned the reasons.”
Cathal nodded. “And you didn’t want to leave the house.”
“That was part of it, yes,” she admitted.
He waited, hoping she’d say more, but she didn’t. “You chose not to do the ritual. I’m guessing that had something to do with you not wanting to do magic anymore.”
Her gaze darted away as she took a deep breath, green eyes flashing. Then she looked at him once more. “As far back as I can remember, my mother taught me magic. My sister, Molly, and I spent hours doing it, perfecting our skills and learning spells.”
“Magic came easily to you,” he guessed.
“Very. Mum cautioned both of us constantly on how to use magic and when to use it. Molly didn’t struggle with it, but she didn’t always catch on as easily as I did.”
Cathal nodded slowly. “You never thought you were more than a Druid?”
“Never. Mum never singled me out for doing magic better than Molly. Nor did Mum ever pull me aside and tell me she was worried about the magic I used. Perhaps it would’ve been better if she had.”
Something in her voice alerted Cathal to the fact that there was more to the story there, but he didn’t press her. Even if he did want to know what it was that she hid. He didn’t want to tell her that he knew her mother and sister were dead, but he wasn’t sure how to delicately broach the subject. In the end, he realized there was no good way to ask it.
“Have you asked your mum or sister about any of this?”
As if knowing that was his next question, Sorcha barely blinked as she said, “They’re both dead. And before you ask, they died on the same day. At the same time. And I was responsible.”
He hadn’t expected that. He paused, noting how her statement hadn’t been said with anger. There was sorrow, yes, as well as regret. Something else was there, as well. Guilt and shame. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed them from the very beginning. He should have since he carried the same emotions within him.
“I’m sure that isn’t possible,” he said. If it had happened, she would now have red eyes. The same rules of the Fae applied, even with Halflings. And especially with one such as she, who had power coming from both her Druid side and her Fae side.
Sorcha’s gaze lowered to her lap, where she picked at a hangnail on her left thumb. “I assure you, it is. Does that change your opinion of me?”
“No,” he answered immediately.
She glanced up at him. “Because you’re Dark.”
“Because I know that there is always more to a story than one simple statement.”
Sorcha smiled, but there was no humor in the action. She kept picking at the nail. “I’ve not talked about…what happened. Ever. Not even after it happened. Everyone assumed I was in shock. Corann knew, though.”
Cathal could well imagine that the previous leader of the Skye Druids had known a great many things. Cathal remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
“Corann took me aside and stared into my eyes for what felt like an eternity,” Sorcha continued after taking a shaky breath. “Then he told Rhona to bring me home. I don’t remember the days following that. It’s like I blinked and found myself standing by the graves dug into the ground as my mum and sister were lowered into them.” She gave a quick bark of laughter. “So many tried to ask me what happened, but Corann quickly silenced them. He remained by my side the entire time, even during the funeral. I thought once everyone left that he would sit me down and ask me what had occurred. But he didn’t. He gave me a kiss on the forehead and told me that he’d be there if I needed anything. Then he left.”
Cathal swallowed, watching the play of emotions on her face. Her family’s deaths might have occurred ten years ago, but to Sorcha, it weighed on her as if it had happened just yesterday.
She lifted her gaze to him. “I didn’t leave the house after that. I didn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone. I think everyone believed I was just grieving. Then, as the weeks turned into months, and months into years, they accepted it. Well, everyone except Rhona. She usually comes by every month or so.”
“It’s good that she does,” he said.
Sorcha’s lips twisted. “Perhaps. I’ve long wanted to ask her if Corann told her what happened that day with my family, but I don’t have the guts.”
“Has Rhona ever treated you differently?”
Sorcha thought about that for a moment before she shook her head.
“Then there’s your answer,” Cathal told her.
“You’ve not asked me either.”
Cathal glanced at her hands, still picking at the thumb. “Everyone has something in their past they don’t want to think about or share with others.”
“Including you?”
“Including me. As you’ve pointed out, I was Dark.”
She frowned. “Was?”
“Am,” he corrected, wondering why he’d let that slip out.
Her head tilted to the side. “You don’t act like a Dark.”
“Have you met many of us?” he asked with a grin.
Her lips began to curve slightly. “I can’t say that I have. I’ve only seen one from afar.”