“I hate this part,” said Donal.

  Finn pinched his face and looked away from the window toward his brother. “Sitting quietly in a fancy keep?” he asked. “Or just sitting quietly?”

  “The part where we’re sitting outside of a room while decisions are being made for us,” Donal said. “You’d think we’d done enough by now to be included.”

  Finn nodded. “I’d say so.” Four years ago the brothers sat in a deluge as their living arrangements were determined by Murrough and Mrs. MacSweeney. He’d nearly forgotten that day in the crush of everything that had happened since. “At least we’re dry,” he said. “The view is much nicer, too.”

  Mountsandel’s keep was damp and stuffy compared Doe Castle, the only other keep Finn had entered—though it was taller and wider than Doe. Both locations had their own versions of decoration and ornamentation. Whereas Doe benefited from three hundred years of architectural advancement, Mountsandel’s walls and hallways were lined with the touches and flourishes—sometimes in the form of small cracks and imperfections—only gained from three hundred years of life.

  One of the O’Cahan’s ancestors divided their formal hall in two. On the other side of the wall Siobhan, Maeve joined the twins in petitioning their parents for help. On this side of the wall, a narrow antechamber allowed those denied access to the lord and lady to nurse their pride on padded seats.

  “I know that manner of shouting,” Fergal said. He untucked one of his folded arms and bounced a palm in Donal’s direction. “It’s for the best we’re out here.”

  “You don’t see many keeps with their walls painted white,” Donal said.

  “We don’t see many keeps at all,” Finn said. “This antechamber isn’t a common feature—at least from what I’ve read.”

  Fergal eyed something behind one of the hanging tapestries and smiled. “It may not be common,” he said, “but it is necessary.” He pulled a bottom corner away from the wall, revealing the spot where someone had patched a lengthy crack on the exterior wall. “This new wall is structural.”

  “Forgive me for asking,” Donal said, “but you really have no sílrad in you?”

  “Not even the lightest amount,” Fergal said.

  “No one else in your family, either?”

  Fergal shook his head. “None that I can tell, sir.”

  “How did Maeve come to tell you about us, then?” Donal asked. “Did she just walk up and say, ‘Hey there, fella, guess what?’”

  Fergal smiled. “I wasn’t told. I was shown.”

  “Sorry?”

  “We were fighting some wolves,” Fergal said. “One was about to attack me from the side and Brendan tossed into the air by making a brave lock of dirt leap out of the ground.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Hang on,” Finn said. “Go back to how you met. Why did they take you fighting?”

  “The twins came to my inn four years ago,” Fergal said. “They told us they were hunting a bunch of wolves that had been skulking about The Creeve.”

  “Here?” Finn asked. “That’s a long way from Rathmullan.”

  “Hai, so it is,” Fergal said.

  “How did Maeve get mixed up with them?”

  “They were friendly with each other, and the twins called for her help,” Fergal said. “It’s my understanding she was here in this town for months. She was called back to Tyrconnell because of…” His eyes shifted between the boys.

  “Because of?” Donal asked.

  Fergal shook his head and sniffed himself out of his distraction. “Some incident. She caught the wolves’ trail near Rathmullan and sent for Brigid and Fergal. Maeve was less familiar with our side of the Swilly so I went with them, not knowin’ any better of who they were. We caught up with and captured the people responsible for ‘em.”

  “Dya’mean by that?” Finn asked.

  “A couple of wizards used some kind of magic to change the wolves and control them,” Fergal said.

  “They were training them as pets?” Finn asked. “Seems like an odd use of a sorcerer’s time and skill.”

  “Sure look,” Fergal said. “Those Fomori folk used that stone circle to make them bigger and wile ravenous. Then they made them move and act in ways unnatural for any animal.”

  But why? Finn thought. He scratched his right brow with three fingers and returned to the view outside the keep. He paid little mind to the rest of Fergal’s story, providing a polite nod or grunt whenever Fergal paused for breath.

  The necessity of the wolves rubbed against the front of Finn’s mind. Surely, there were more efficient ways to hunt. If it was for protection or a night watch, a large stake and rope would keep them tethered. Only one goal made sense: the wizards were training the beasts to fight.

  Then there was Fergal’s mention of an “incident” and the timing of it. Four years provided ample time to execute last year’s blighted plan with wolves instead of dullahans and ávertachs, yet they encountered none last year. Did the Fomori abandon the plan, or were they thwarted?

  Finn racked his brain for any previous mention from Murrough, Mrs. MacSweeney or Niall about any ‘incidents’ four years ago. As for himself, the whole year was a blur because…

  Impossible, he thought, even as his stomach twisted in a full circle.

  “Ex—” Finn started, but his voice wavered. He cleared his throat and tried once more. “Excuse me, Fergal.”

  Fergal and Donal turned to Finn. “What is it, sir?” Fergal asked.

  “How many people did those wolves attack four years ago?”

  Fergal straightened and held up both hands. “Who told you about the attack?”

  Finn said nothing, opting instead to wait for the realization to spring within Fergal.

  Fergal showed the entirety of irises to the room once he read Finn’s face. He bumped the wall as he backed away from the brothers and covered his nose, mouth and chin with his oversized hands. Light from the window behind Finn glinted in Fergal’s eyes as the large man wiggled his mouth in his hands.

  Finn turned a palm to the floor and eased himself towards Fergal as if the man were a fawn drinking from a forest river. “S’alright, fella,” said Finn. “It was a dirty trick I played on you, and for my part I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t my place, hai,” Fergal said. “I’m a fool.”

  Finn dipped his head and turned his face so that Fergal was visible in just his left eye. He raised an eyebrow as he spoke. “And?”

  Fergal’s head bobbed up and down by fractions of an inch before his face dropped to the floor.

  Finn’s legs wobbled as he stumbled toward the back of the closest chair and leaned.

  “What happened?” Donal said, his wrinkled nose and soft sneer bouncing between the two other men. “Finn, what’s going on?”

  “Please, sir,” Fergal said, hands falling to his side as his head shook.

  Finn’s eyes slid to his younger brother, his former ward. Two dozen thoughts swirled through his head and not a single one held Donal’s answer. Instead, he sat down and rubbed the side of his face.

  “I’ll have to tell you later, Donal.”