[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]
I choked on my protests and let Phelan hold me, his arms tight around me. He couldn’t be sure of that, could he? How could he know my visions wouldn’t come true? I’d let myself begin to believe that they weren’t real, that nothing was wrong, that everything would be fine after Thom accepted our magic as real, once he stopped denying the gift he had. The visions—the ones of him dying of him wasting away and fading—had stopped for a while.
“The visions came back,” I finally managed to say, my forehead pressed against Phelan’s collarbone. “I don’t know if it’s her doing or something else. But I’m seeing him fading again, I’m seeing him slipping again. I can’t lose him, Phelan. I need him—his son needs him. We’re supposed to have a future. That part—worrying about that part—I wasn’t supposed to have to do that anymore.”
“It’s all right,” Phelan murmured. “Déithe agus arrachtaigh, Marin, you know that I’d never let anything happen to him if it was in my power to stop it. This is like everything else. It’ll be okay.”
“Phelan, we can’t know for sure that it’s going to be okay.”
“When have we ever?” He pressed a kiss to my forehead, so tender that it almost brought on tears again. My heart clenched and I sucked in a shaky breath.
“Promise you’ll help me?” I whispered. “Promise you’ll help me save him?”
“That’s not a promise you ever needed to ask for, leannán. You know I will.” He hugged me again. “You know that I will. Now come on. We’d better get back before they send a search party—and before the storm breaks.”
Another shiver shot through me as I glanced up toward the sky, growing darker by the second. I nodded.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go.”