“Two?” Neve’s voice shook as she stared at her brother, at the expression of wonder and bewilderment on his face. “Twins?”
He nodded, his eyes distant, shining in the dim. “Two,” he breathed. “Two, deirfiúr beag, mo dheirfiúr milis.”
Then he crushed her against his chest. Her eyes stung and she buried her face against his shoulder.
“Seamus,” she whispered. “Oh gods, Seamus.”
Phelan stood over them as they sat in the snow, brother rocking sister back and forth, back and forth as hot tears slid down her cheeks—tears of anger and pain, because by now her leg had begun to remind her of how badly she’d just abused it.
“You’re hurt,” he murmured at last, drawing back and drying her tears with the placket of his cloak. “I can feel it.”
“It’s nothing,” she said, her voice suddenly raw and rasping. Phelan offered her a hand up and she took it, climbing to her feet and leaning against her cousin. “Where have you been?”
Seamus shook his head. “Leading the Wild Hunt.”
“You said Albina sold you out to them,” Phelan said, his expression grim. “When?”
“Before the ink was dry on the treaty and the marriage contract.” Seamus rose slowly, shaking the snow from his dark cloak. “But she didn’t hand me over right away. She had to wait a time. If she hadn’t, it would have looked too suspicious.” His lips thinned for a moment and his eyes grew distant. “They made me their leader after the Ridden Druid slipped the noose and escaped, after I inadvertently killed their leader when I was brought into the Hunt. The druid…he’s the only one ever to have left the Hunt alive.”
“Seamus.” Neve had to swallow before she could find herself able to speak again. “How did it happen?”
“She’d planned it all along,” Seamus said, sounding sad. “Conspired. My only consolation is that it seems her plans didn’t come to full fruition.”
“How do we free you?” she whispered.
“You don’t,” he said. “There’s no escape for me now. I belong to them.” His eyes slid shut and he sighed. “I’ll always belong to them.”