When he’d been a lad, Dageus had thought his da had the wisest eyes he’d ever seen, full of special, secret knowledge. He realized he still thought that. His da had never been toppled from his pedestal.

His gut clenched. Mayhap Silvan had never fallen, but he certainly had. “Go ahead, Da,” he said tightly. “Roar at me. Tell me how I failed you. Tell me how I’ve been naught but a disappointment. Remind me of my oaths. Throw me out if you’re of a mind to, for I’ve no time to waste.”

Silvan’s head jerked in sharp negation.

“Tell me, Da. Tell me how Drustan never would have done such a thing. Tell me how—”

“You truly wish me to be telling you that your brother is less of a man than you?” Silvan cut him off, his voice low and carefully measured. “You need to be hearing me say that?”

Dageus stopped speaking, his mouth ajar. “What?” he hissed. “My brother is no’ less of a—”

“You gave your life for your brother, Dageus. And you ask your father to condemn you for that?” Silvan’s voice broke on the words.

Much to Dageus’s horror, his da crumpled. His shoulders bowed and his lean frame jerked. Suddenly his eyes were glistening with tears.

Och, Christ. Dageus cursed silently, bearing down hard on himself. He dare not weep. No cracks. Cracks could become crevices and crevices canyons. Canyons a man could get lost in.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Silvan’s words echoed starkly in the stone hall.

“Da,” he said roughly, “yell at me. Berate me. For the love of Christ, scream at me.”

“I can’t.” Silvan’s wrinkled cheeks were wet with tears. He skirted the table and grabbed him, hugging him fiercely, pounding him on the back.

And weeping.

If Dageus lived to be a hundred, he never wanted to see his father weep again.

It was some time later, after Nell had appeared and the whole awful matter of tears had been repeated, after she’d bustled about preparing a light repast, after she’d retired again to check on his wee brothers, that the conversation turned to the grim purpose of why he’d returned.

Speaking in brisk, detached tones, Dageus updated Silvan on all that had transpired since last he’d seen him. He told him how he’d gone to America, and searched the texts, only to finally admit that he was going to have to ask Drustan for help. He told him of the strange attack on Chloe, and of the Draghar. He told him they’d discovered the texts about the Tuatha Dé Danaan had disappeared, and that it seemed intentional.

Silvan frowned at that. “Tell me, lad, did Drustan check beneath the slab?”

“Beneath the slab in the tower? The one on which he slumbered?”