by Megan Chance
I pushed away from Patrick and ran to my mother’s side just as Diarmid lowered her to the pier. Her bodice was soaked with blood, her arms ribboned with it.
“Get away from her!” I screamed at him. “I’ll never forgive you for this!”
He jerked back as if I’d hit him, and then Aidan fell to his knees beside me, and I forgot everything but Mama. She was still alive but barely breathing.
“We need a doctor,” I called. “Someone find a doctor!”
“Grace, no.” Aidan’s electric blue eyes shone with grief. “This is what she wanted. You can’t take it back. None of us can.”
Her eyes flickered, her lips moved.
“Mama, don’t talk,” I said. “We can save you. I know we can.”
She lifted her hand weakly. I held it against my cheek, her warm, soft skin already growing cold. “It was my job to save you,” she whispered. “It’s a new world, a leanbh. Remember . . . be true . . .”
She gasped. Her hand went limp in mine. Everything faded, the fire and the mob, magic and power. I heard only her vater’s music, wavering in a final note before it silenced, and I was just a girl kneeling at the edge of worlds while my mother died in my arms.
After
Diarmid
The vater’s power gave them victory before the night was out. By dawn, the fight had become a celebration, the neighborhood one giant party even in the freezing cold of a November morning.
But the vision of Grace’s mother haunted Diarmid. Those fierce blue eyes, those slender fingers wrapped around the hilt he’d thrust into her heart, her blood on his hands. And Grace . . . Grace . . . He felt a despair so deep he knew he would never be free of it.
And yet, he was a hero. The Fianna were alive, and worthy again, honorable again. They had a future, and Diarmid had been the one to give it to them. Kegs of beer and whiskey flowed. He couldn’t turn around without someone shaking his hand or hugging him.
“I’m proud of you, Diarmid.” Finn’s smile was bright as sunlight.
Any other time, those words would have been reward enough, but now they only made Diarmid feel empty. He wanted to crawl into some dark corner and sleep—and if he didn’t wake again, so much the better. Then he wouldn’t have to think about what he’d done.
“I’ll never forgive you for this!”
He slipped away to the empty flat, curling beneath the blanket on his pallet. But Grace’s words, her tears, accused him when he closed his eyes. Finally, he gave up and sat staring into darkness, listening to the shouts and laughter outside.
“Be who you must be,” Grace’s mother had said, and he’d been that. He’d made the choice he’d had to make.
So why did he feel that it had been the wrong one?
He heard the creak of the door, a loud, brief blast of the party, and then footsteps on the stairs. There was flickering candlelight, and with it came Oscar, looking tousled and a little drunk.
“There you are. The others are asking for you.”
“I’ve had enough celebration.”
Oscar squatted beside him. “We’re alive, Derry. The Fomori are gone, and because of you, we’ve a chance to change this city for the better. The Fenian Brotherhood wish to meet. They want to discuss a partnership to make things right.”
“No doubt ’tis Patrick’s doing.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“Aye. He’s loyal to Aidan and Grace, and Aidan will help him see what needs doing. Grace, too, once they’re married.”
Oscar frowned. “Married? But . . . she loves you.”
Diarmid laughed shortly. “I killed her mother, Oscar, or weren’t you paying attention?”
“Her mother was the vater.”
“Does that mean Grace loved her any less?”
“No, but . . . but her mother offered herself freely. She knew what was to happen. She chose it.”
“Grace didn’t know her mother was the vater until that moment,” Diarmid said. “None of us did.”
“I see.” Oscar sat back on his heels. “She’ll need time to grieve then. But she’ll come to accept what was meant to be.”
“When did you become an expert in how women think?”
“’Tisn’t about men or women, Derry. It’s about war and loss. I’ve seen enough of it to know, and so have you. Men do things they didn’t think they could do, that they can’t answer for. You learn to live with it. ’Tis easier when you know the sacrifice wasn’t meaningless. Grace’s mother bought a future for the Irish in this city. Grace will see that in time.”
All Diarmid heard was, “I’ll never forgive you for this!”
But Oscar was watching him carefully, so Diarmid said, “Aye, you’re right, I know.”
“Then you’ll come out?”
“In a bit,” Diarmid said.
Oscar rose. “Don’t be too long.”
“No, I won’t.”
Oscar paused, looking uncertain. “I’ll come looking for you again in a quarter hour.”
Diarmid watched Oscar leave and told himself his friend was right. Grace would accept her mother’s fate and forgive him, and he would come to terms with what he’d done. And—
No. No, he didn’t believe that. Grace’s love for her family was too strong. She shouldn’t forgive him. He would never forgive himself.
He rose, going upstairs, slipping into the narrow yard. The morning was overcast, gray and cold, and he shivered. Everywhere gang boys were quaffing beer as if there were no tomorrow. He’d thought he was looking for Oscar and the others, but suddenly he was walking to the alley, escaping a celebration that pained with every smile and every raised glass, trying to escape her accusing eyes. He didn’t realize he was sneaking out until he was two blocks away, and the laughter and talk were behind him.
He didn’t realize he was leaving until he was already gone.
After
Grace
We arrived home that night to discover it wasn’t only my mother who had died, but my grandmother as well.
“In the middle of that terrible thunder,” Mrs. Devlin said, tears in her eyes. “But her suffering is over at last, my dear.”
I wasn’t surprised. I’d suspected that she was only waiting for Samhain. I’d already said good-bye. But it didn’t ease my grief, and there was no comfort to be found.
The next days passed in a blur. I knew of the celebrating in the streets, and Patrick told me that the Fenian Brotherhood and the Fianna had agreed on a new course for the city. It was a new world.
I tried to be glad, but not everyone had paid the cost I had. All of my family was gone—but for Aidan, who stayed with the Fianna, where he said he belonged. I relived that night over and over again in my dreams, waking with a scream caught in my throat and tears streaming down my cheeks and thunder exploding in my ears.
The world did not seem quite real—or at least, it seemed a pale imitation of what it had been. I grieved as I was supposed to. I dyed my gowns black and bore condolences with numb thanks, and I felt nothing and everything. When the funerals were over, I moved out of Patrick’s house, despite his pleas, and back into my own. Aidan stayed there sometimes. Patrick hired a maid to look after me, and I let him. But I had trouble caring about anything. The future stretched bleak and empty before me.
“You have to start thinking of what you will do, Grace,” Aidan told me. “You can’t go on this way.”
I ignored him. Fall turned to winter, and the first snow fell, powdering the roofs and icing the streets and deadening the stink of the city. My dreams began to change; now I no longer relived that horrible night. Instead, I dreamed of Diarmid beside a river or a rocky beach. I dreamed that he loved me. Each morning I woke, expecting to find him with me. And then I would remember, and fall into despair. I hated him. I loved him. I missed him. I never wanted to see him again.
I felt I was going mad, and in a way, it was even what I wanted.
Then my power began to hum within me, hovering, waiting, impatient. You are done with
grieving, it said. Use me. It tempted me with memories of the pawnshop and Roddy’s endless polishing. Training with Sarnat, and the pride in Iobhar’s eyes when I’d done something well. How much I’d loved learning. How powerful and confident I’d felt.
No. I’d had enough of magic and ancient power. I wanted no part of it.
But what else was I made for? The only other thing I was trained to be was a wife, and Patrick waited for me. He’d put aside his dream of a free Ireland to work with the Fianna and the immigrants here. He’d done it at least partly for me and Aidan. He had given us everything, and I knew he would do more if I gave him the chance.
Mama had wanted me to have the life Patrick offered, and any other possibility only brought me pain. Being a wife was something I could do for my mother, and for Patrick. A way to make up for everything, a small absolution. Eventually people would forget my past. Rose had sent a letter asking forgiveness, saying, “I won’t let Mama influence me so again. I promise you I’ll make all of society miserable until they accept you back. You know I can do it. They’ll be begging for you at dinners before the spring.” I thought I was ready to let Rose try.
With relief and determination, I made up my mind to do it. When Aidan came the next day to help me reply to letters of sympathy, I said, “I know what I’m going to do.”
My brother had taken to watching me as if he thought I might explode at any moment. He scrawled his signature across the bottom of the note I handed him, and said carefully, “I can’t support you, Grace. You know that. I’d do it gladly if I could, but there isn’t any money—”
“I’m going to marry Patrick.”
“What?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”
“Well, yes. But what about . . .”
Diarmid was a ghost between us, a pain powerful and sharp and unbearable.
Aidan put his hand to his temple and groaned as the connection between us flared.
“You’re feeling my thoughts again,” I accused. “I can block you out, you know, when I don’t want you there.”
“It’s harder for me. Grandma’s still there, like cobwebs. It makes it hard to concentrate.”
Grandma’s death had cleared his head somewhat, though we both suspected bits of her insanity would always remain, crippling his ability as a Seer. Because I could hear the world’s music, and because I was the brithem, I could discern the lies caused by her madness. But sight was the sense most easily fooled, and Aidan had a much harder time.
Aidan said, “It’s what’s best, Grace. Patrick loves you. He knows what you’ve been through. You’d never have to pretend with him.”
Except it would all be pretending.
I pushed the thought away. I’d made a decision. No going back. “There’s only going forward.”
Diarmid’s voice was so loud in my head that I started. I looked down at the letter in my hand: “Aidan and I appreciate your thoughts at this sad time . . .”
Because of him. Remember what he did.
My fingertips tingled as if in protest. I heard the faint strain of music—the world, my life, and within it, a discord I refused to hear. “You’re right, I know.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“Is happiness even possible anymore?” I asked bitterly. “Anyway, I mean to go over there today to tell him. Would you walk with me?”
Aidan frowned, but he said, “Of course.”
I got my cloak, and together we went out. A thin layer of snow crunched beneath our boots. The freezing air burned my lungs. “After I’ve moved to Patrick’s, there will be no one in the house. You should live there. It belongs to you. It’s better than the tenement.”
“We’ve moved to a new place off the Bowery. At the corner of Rivington and Eldridge. Finn thinks we should be near those we mean to help. He says it reminds him to be thankful of”—Aidan swallowed hard—“sacrifice.”
“I’m glad he doesn’t take it lightly.”
“He never would. None of them do.”
When we reached Patrick’s, Aidan said, “Patrick’s a good man, Grace.”
My smile was more forced than I wished. “I know.”
He was off, both hands shoved in his pockets, breath fogging the air. If there had been one miracle to come from this, it was my brother returned to me.
I turned back to Patrick’s house, the empty stoop, the frosty yew, and suddenly it was a hot summer day, and a glowing boy swooped to catch me as I fell.
I closed my eyes, pushing the memory and the pain away. No more of that. A new life now.
The butler took my shawl. On the table in the foyer was a huge bouquet of flowers—pink roses and carnations. Beside it was an open book of Irish poetry that I recognized as Patrick’s. The butler led me to Patrick’s study. “Miss Knox to see you, sir.”
“Grace!” Patrick’s smile was as warm and welcoming as the cozy fire crackling in the hearth. “What a pleasant surprise.”
He appeared thin, and he looked as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. The sling he’d worn for weeks was gone, his shoulder mostly healed, though I knew he didn’t yet have his full strength back.
“I see someone’s been sending you flowers,” I said.
“They’re for Lucy. Rory Nolan’s son Ian returned from Dublin two weeks ago. You know how quickly she falls in love, but this time, he’s at least a decent match.” Patrick laughed. “She’s suddenly become fascinated by the Irish cause. She’s even borrowing my books. It’s too early to say, but I have hopes we may turn her into a woman of substance yet.”
“I’m glad.” I ran my hand over the brass rivets of the leather chair, unable to look at him. “I wanted to talk to you. I thought it was time we discussed the future. Our future.”
“Our future?”
“I know . . . I know I’ve made you wait a long time, Patrick. You’ve been so patient, and I . . . well, I want you to know that, if you still want me, I’ll—” The words stuck in my throat. I forced them out. “I’ll marry you.”
I expected to feel relief. I expected the heaviness that lived inside me to ease now.
But it just felt heavier.
Patrick said, “Is this really what you want, Grace?”
“Yes. I know you love me, and I’ve been wrong to make you wait so long, and—”
“Do you love me?” he asked gently.
“Yes. Yes, of course. You’ve been so good to us, Patrick. To me and Aidan. We—I—owe you so much.”
He only looked at me. Perhaps he’d changed his mind. Perhaps he didn’t want me. I couldn’t blame him—
“What about your Druid training?”
Again, I heard the whisper of power, faint music. “I think it’s time I gave that up, don’t you? I’m done with it.”
“Are you?” His gray-green eyes glowed in the firelight. “You know what I think? You’re not done with it at all. You’re suffocating, Grace. You have been for months. Before that even, I think. You’ve a great power. You could help the cause so much. Tell me you wouldn’t rather be studying and training. Tell me a brithem isn’t what you’re meant to be.”
I stared at him.
He stepped closer, whispering, “I’d marry you in a moment, Grace, you must know that. You would try to be the wife I need. You’d try to love me. But we both know you don’t. And . . . and I’d have to watch you die a little every day. Don’t ask me to do that. It would destroy us both.”
“Patrick, I—”
“You’re not who you were six months ago. I won’t let you turn yourself into some society matron. I watched you just . . . fade in that ballroom at the Nolans’.”
The tightness inside me loosened and floated away. The faint music in my head swelled, notes falling into place, one after another, harmonizing.
Patrick went on, “Choose for yourself, Grace, not because it’s what I want or what your mother wanted or what Aidan wants. What do you want?”
Faced with the honesty in his eyes, I wanted to be honest in re
turn. “I want to train.” The truth of me was in those words. The music took on depth and focus. “I want to learn. I can manage Iobhar now. I’m safe because of you. You would know if I were in danger.”
“I see you’ve thought about this,” Patrick said with a small smile.
“No, actually. I haven’t thought about it at all—or, I don’t think I have. Patrick, I love you. I do, but—”
“I know.” And then, in a very, very quiet voice, “What about Diarmid?”
“What about him?”
“You’ve been avoiding the mention of him. Isn’t it time you faced what you feel?”
“How could I possibly feel anything for him? He killed my mother.”
“She was the vater, and she sacrificed herself willingly. What other choice did he have? It wasn’t just about him. It was the geis. It was Finn and Ossian and Oscar—”
“You’re defending him?”
“If you’d been forced to choose between him and your family, what would you have done?”
“I can’t believe you’re saying these things to me.”
“I’m your protector,” he said. “And sometimes that means I have to tell you things you don’t want to hear. If you decide your future without considering his place in it, that will be because you’re running away. I meant what I said once before. Run to something instead.”
Faith or fear.
“Forgive him, Grace,” Patrick said tenderly. “Until you do, you won’t forgive yourself.”
I whispered, “Maybe I don’t want to forgive myself.”
“Then everything your mother did was in vain.” Patrick raised my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “‘If you act bravely in the world, perhaps it will reward you’—isn’t that what Iobhar said? You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever known. Don’t dishonor the sacrifice she made by being afraid now.”
