[This post is from Seamus’s point of view.]
“The drums are closer,” Thom murmured, staring at nothing as Seamus’s smile faded. “I can feel them as much as I can hear them. Is it the same for you?”
The seer had tilted his head back—probably not what J.T. would have wanted him to do, but Seamus wasn’t about to tell him to do something else—and he was staring at Seamus, but almost through the older man at the same time. There were more questions in that gaze than he cared to think about and the feel of Thom’s eyes on him made Seamus want to shiver.
There is more than Finn of the Fianna there. I am certain of it.
Seamus took a steadying breath, choosing his words carefully as he answered. “I feel them down to my soul,” he said softly. “Down to the marrow of my bones, echoing in the places that were once broken and now no longer are. This is an enemy I have faced before—my heart knows it even if my head either can’t remember or won’t.”
“Can we beat them?” Thom whispered.
“We have to,” Seamus said. “We don’t have any choice. This is our home. We defend it—you’ve said it yourself.”
Thom nodded slowly, still holding the balled-up piece of gauze against his nose, looking pale and drawn—and impossibly young. Seamus exhaled a sigh and reached down to squeeze his shoulder.
“Have faith, old friend,” he murmured. “We’ll get through it.”
“We have to,” Thom said, his voice distant. “We’ve seen so much that hasn’t happened yet.” His eyes closed again. “Right?”
“Right,” Seamus said softly, his throat tight.
Nothing is written in stone.
The lie tasted like ashes on his tongue, but he said no more.
They needed the lie, the two of them.
All of them needed that lie.
