“Seamus? Seamus, are you all right?” Neve touched his arm and he jerked, startled by her sudden presence.
“Neve. Weren’t you with Phelan?”
“I was,” she said, her brow creasing in concern. “We’re on our way to ask Thesan probing questions until she tells us why he’s not awake yet, but never mind that. What’s wrong? You look ghastly.”
Tremors hit him in that very moment and he looked around for something to lean against. “I—I need to sit down.”
Jacqueline gasped his shoulder. “Here, lean on me.”
He did as bidden, settling his weight against her and she brought him to a broken slab of concrete resting against a pile of rubble. He sank down against it, burying his face in his hands. “Déithe agus arrachtaigh,” he whispered.
Neve sat down beside him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Seamus, what’s the matter? I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Jacqueline…Neve…will your friends let them stay?”
His sister frowned. “What?”
“They want to stop, want a place to call home. They’re tired. I—I’m tired.” He scrubbed hand roughly across his eyes. “Hellfire and bloody madness. What is this world coming to?” He felt like he was spinning out of control, and a piece of his mind that was still rational decided that he probably was.
“Seamus, I don’t understand what you’re saying. Please, for the love of everything holy and sacred, make sense.” His sister’s fingers dug painfully into his arm. He winced, looking at his boots.
“They’ll release me,” he whispered. “But they’ve asked a heavy price for my freedom and its’ not a price that’s mine to pay.”
She went rigid, eyes wide. Jacqueline cleared her throat and asked the question Neve could not, her voice calm and gentle.
“What’s the price, Seamus?”
“They want a home,” Seamus said hoarsely, the words barely audible. “And they hope it can be here.”
