Page 22 of Ironling
Aislinn’s smile was bittersweet. She always loved her father’s“Let’s see what you can do.”Where other fathers may have forbidden or reprimanded, Merrick Darrow only ever encouraged and advised. Even when Aislinn, and especially Jerrod, deserved reprimand.
Speaking of which…
Her father’s good humor still hadn’t returned, and Aislinn didn’t see a reason to ruin it again.
Best do it now.
With a heavy heart, she pulled the Warden’s letter from her pocket.
“We received this not long ago.” Handing it to Merrick, she explained, “Jerrod’s run away. Nobody can find him.”
Her father’s frown deepened as his eyes skated across the page. Stark lines carved across his face, making him look much more his age. Aislinn hated the reminder that he was growing older—she hated the hairs that had gone gray, the wrinkles that fanned around his eyes.
She hated Jerrod for putting such a look on their father’s face.
After a grave stretch of silence, Merrick cast the letter down on the table in disgust. Sitting back in his seat, the look he finally turned on Aislinn was stoic, but she knew her father well enough to see the hurt pooling beneath the surface.
“As the Warden says, it’s not wholly unexpected. It was perhaps too much to presume he’d accept his punishment with any grace.”
The words weren’t half as harsh as Jerrod deserved, but Aislinn couldn’t help wincing. Whatever she felt, or didn’t, for Jerrod, he was her brother, and if nothing else, she pitied him.
Yet Aislinn held her tongue, for what was there to say? Perhaps she might’ve mustered something in his defense were she able to forgive him for what he’d done, but she hadn’t and couldn’t.
Sorcha was like a sister to her, the sibling of her heart. A friend whoknewAislinn and accepted her for all she was. A friend such as that was invaluable—and came before even blood. Aislinn knew what it was to be misunderstood, to question why someone paid her any attention; neither was true with Sorcha.
His gaze faraway, Merrick brought his goblet to his lips and swallowed the last of his mead in a single gulp. Sitting straight in his seat, his look hardened, and Aislinn prepared herself for something she wouldn’t like hearing.
“If he wants to make his own life, I suppose I can’t fault him that. But we should find him, at least. Your brother has a penchant for trouble.”
“Shouldn’t he be returned to the Ward?” Six months hardlyseemed a true punishment.
“Yes, but who will keep him there? Shall I send knights to guard over him and watch as he tends to the sick?”
If that’s what it takes. If that will finally make him learn.
“No,” Merrick answered his own question, “there’s no point to it. Let him try on his own.”
He sighed, his face gone haggard, and Aislinn bit her cheek to keep silent. The decision sat like lead in her stomach, uncomfortable and heavy. Were they to just never see him again? Never speak his name or know what became of him?
Her father took in her silence and raised his hands. “I know, kit. I just…what he did is…” Merrick shook his head. “I suppose it will be worthwhile to keep an eye out for him. If he’s gone south, we’ll surely hear word of him.”
“South?” Aislinn repeated, frustration prickling at her neck to think she’d missed something.
She didn’t miss her father’s wince.
“Yes, that.” Leveling her with a look, he said, “Ciaran and I have decided to make another expedition south. It’s obvious we haven’t accomplished nearly as much as we’d hoped against the slavers, and the ones who took Sorcha are still at large.”
The words rang in her ears with an echo of disbelief.
“But you and Sir Ciaran have retired from that. I thought Connor and Niall Brádaigh were to take up the mission.”
“They certainly are, but there’s much their father and I must show them. People they must meet. And…” here he sighed again, “Ciaran and I…our work isn’t complete. I can’t rest knowing that, kit. To have slavershere,so close—I won’t have it. Those who took Sorcha must be punished and made an example of. Else what will all our work have come to? Nothing.”
Aislinn shook her head vehemently. “That’s not true. You’ve already done so much good—it’s time for others to take up the work.”
“Soon,” he said, as if that would reassure her. “And we don’t intend to leave until after Sorcha’s wedding. Wouldn’t miss that, of course.”
“You can’t just leave again.”
