and he would continue to do so. Shaking off the servants’ hands, he lifted his gaze to the two women. “Is it true?” he asked in a shaky voice. “This young woman is my daughter?”
“Yes.” Cahira sighed. “I guess I should have waited before telling you. It was too much of a shock for you.”
Brody closed his eyes briefly. Let the bitch think that was the reason he had collapsed. Once again, he was grateful for the camouflage of being the Seer. He lifted a trembling hand in Maeve’s direction. “My daughter?”
Maeve gave him a wary look. “Yes.”
She was undoubtedly afraid that he would mention having met her before on the Isle of Mist. “My dear child, will you help me up the stairs?”
“Go.” Cahira gave her a small push, then motioned to the servants. “Bring the chair up here.”
While the servants hauled the litter up the steep staircase, Maeve made her way to Brody.
He reached for her and felt her stiffen as he pulled her into an embrace. “Thank the goddesses!” he cried in a loud voice, then whispered in her ear. “Don’t be afraid. I’m on your side.”
She pulled back, her eyes wide as she tried to see his face inside the hood.
“Come now, let me lean on you.” He grabbed the balustrade with one hand and looped his arm across her shoulders. “Will you bring my staff?” When she reached for it, he added, “What is your name, my dear?”
She straightened, the staff in one hand and her other hand lifting her skirt a few inches so they could slowly climb the stairs. “I am Maeve.”
“A lovely name. And where have you been all these years?”
She slanted a confused look his direction. “I grew up on the Isle of Moon. In the convent there.”
“I see. What a shame I didn’t know.” Was she recalling how on the Isle of Mist, he’d already known all about her? Figure it out, Maeve. “What a delight to finally meet you. For years, I feared that you were dead.”
She blinked. “Why would you think that?”
“Well.” He glanced at Cahira, and the temptation to poke at her was too much. “Didn’t you tell me our daughter had died?”
Cahira winced, then waved a dismissive hand. “It’s a long story. We can talk about it later. Right now, I think we had better take you straight to your bedchamber so you can rest.”
“I am quite tired.” He reached the top of the stairs and took Maeve’s hand in his own. “I always prayed that you had survived. For I knew from my visions that you would become the most beautiful woman in all of Aerthlan.”
Cahira scoffed.
“Oh, not that I have forgotten you, my dear.” Brody turned toward the witch. “But we can’t stay young forever, can we?” He celebrated inwardly when she gritted her teeth. “It is always a joy to see you. Thank you for bringing me here.” He reached a hand toward her.
“Of course, Burien.” Cahira stepped forward to clasp his hand, but he avoided contact by suddenly lifting his hand to push back his hood. He’d tried to make his face appear even more gray and thin, and apparently it had worked, for Cahira reeled back in shock.
“Oh, my dear Burien. We must get you to bed immediately.” She latched onto his arm and hustled him into the chair. “Take him to the silver room,” she told the servants.
While the servants hoisted him up, Brody groaned as if he were in pain. “Now that I have finally met my daughter, I cannot bear to be separated from her. May I have a bedchamber next to hers so I can see her often?”
Cahira frowned. “That is not what I had planned.”
Brody let his shoulders slump. “Will you not grant a dying man his last wish?”
Cahira hissed in a breath. “Of course, Burien.” She turned to the servants and snarled, “Take him to the green room.”
“Thank you, my dear.” As the servants carried him down a hallway, Brody recalled how badly the Seer had wanted to meet his daughter. The poor old man. He let his eyes fill with tears. “Now I will die a happy man.”
“Oh, Burien.” Cahira grabbed his hand and kissed it.
He struggled to keep the disgust off his face. “Oh, I feel nauseous.” He pulled his hand away to rub his stomach.
Cahira gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re not used to traveling on the ocean, are you?”
He shook his head. “I was on the Isle of Mist for seventy-five