"I have to get home!" Brigit x Cillian
It was all going according to plan, this ruse within a ruse of the resistance's own devising; all of it -- until Bran O'Connor was also seized. Cillian had been prepared for the inevitable arrest of his brother, even in his crafty disguise as Battleman Run, (if Roderick had ever bothered to learn even a few words of Old Astairan, well, the rebels would have been foiled much more easily!) and that of their cohorts, but Bran was...a wrinkle. It was true that they'd anticipated the arrest of all native Astairans to win, but Bran was a folly for the simple fact that the archer's true identity was Brigit Malconaire -- and Brigit Malconaire most certainly knew the Frosts.
"She'll want to join," Ronan had hissed to Cillian and Saoirse (whose own response had been an eye roll) during a quick, stolen tete-a-tete to deliver the news when Cillian had discovered it.
"Then she'll join," said Saoirse.
"She can't!" said Ronan.
"Why not?" said Saoirse.
This question had stumped their brother.
"It won't come to it, anyway," Saoirse pointed out, at last. "She won't win. Cillian was her teacher!"
But she had won. And now she was imprisoned in the dungeons Roderick had had installed in the one-time cellars of the Citadel. They were decidedly good dungeons, really, had it not been for the Staffords' incisive knowledge of the Citadel, and its many, many secret tunnels. Or for Saoirse's abilities to knock out the guards with a little witch's brew-tinged wine. Or for Cillian's ability to climb in from above and swipe their keys, undetected, even before she'd got to that.
Dropping down outside the cell in question when he saw that the gaolers were finally and wholly out, Cillian leaned against the bars, grinning as he glanced at his beleaguered cohorts caged within. His eyes were laughing. "We have got to stop meeting this way."
No one, save Brigit -- or, as she was currently dressed, Bran -- was particularly surprised to see him. Kale laughed and Ronan, for his part, rolled his eyes.
Brigit's reaction, however, was one of astonishment. "Cillian!"
Chuckling, he reached for the ring of keys at his belt. "Good evening, Master O'Connor." He arched his brows. "Congratulations on your victory at the lists. Your instructor, whomever that mysterious, and doubtlessly roguishly handsome, genius may be, must be extremely proud of your accomplishment, I have no doubt."
"Yes," commented Brigit, dryly, crossing her arms (yet Cillian thought he detected a smile cloaked beneath her deadpan reaction). "Whomever that may be." She paused, pushing herself off the bench at the end of the cell where she and her fellow prisoners were sitting, and coming up to him at the door where Cillian tried key after key on the well-stocked iron ring clenched in his hand. Her voice was hushed, yet urgent. "Cillian, how long have you been involved in all this?"
Pausing as he extracted another useless key from the lockm and thumbed for the next, he flashed her a misschievous smile. "Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it?"
"This is what you've been up to in the woods!"
He shrugged. "What, exactly, did you think I was doing?"
"I don't know...brooding?"
"Brooding? What am I, a chicken?"
"You know what I mean! Since Papa and then I--"
Cillian shoved the new key in the lock a touch more roughly than he'd meant. His voice was a touch rougher than he meant, as well. "I know."
He cleared his throat. Gave her an apologetic glance, tried turning the key to no avail. Started again on the next one.
"You're keeping track of which ones you've already tried, right?"
He chuckled. "I hate to tell you this, love, but...this is not, in fact, my first jailbreak."
"Cillian, why didn't you tell us? You know we would have helped!"
He stopped, falling still for a moment. He heaved a deep breath. "Brig--" he stopped himself, looked sightlessly down at the lock a moment before turning his gaze back to her. "M'lord gave me one final command. Can't you think what it might have been?"
It was Brigit's turn for her eyes to drop, going sightlessly to his hands. She swallowed hard. "To take care of us." It wasn't a question.
"I can't break my word, Brigit. Not to him. Not...now. But not ever, really. I--The less you know, and certainly the less you're involved, the better."
"Well," she said, that old something fierce and stubborn, that he loved so well, flashing in her bright eyes. "I'm both, now."
Cillian's heart gave a little traitorous leap at that look, and his smile softened, eyes growing warm. His voice, when it came out, was low. "That you are." A beat. "Now," he added, clearing his throat and returning his attentions to the keys. "Let's get you out of this."
"Yes," Brigit placed both hands on the bars between them. "I have to get home. That celebration Valentina planned at Malconaire: they'll be missing me soon enough..."
"Right," muttered Cillian, reaching urgently for the next key. "Brigit, your sisters--You can't tell them."
He found her eyes. She looked steadily back. She said nothing.
Shaking his head, Cillian put the key to the lock. "Brigit, they--"
"No," said Brigit, quietly, reaching through the bars to stay his hand. Her skin was cool against his. She lifted her hand from his. She picked a new key. "This one."
Brow furrowing, Cillian looked at it a moment, before turning to her. Her face was sure.
He nodded. "All right." Dropping his key and taking hers, he turned it in the lock. The door swung open.
Brigit turned back towards the others. "Come on, boys. The door's open. Let's go." With that, she walked past Cillian.
Ronan patted his brother's shoulder as he passed. "I'll talk to her."
"Well," muttered Cillian. "That's comforting."
Laughing, Kale slug an arm around Cillian's shoulder as he walked out. "Isn't it, just? Soon enough, I expect," he said with a wink. "All of Malconaire will know what we're about."
"We were hoping to begin fresh recruitment," laughed Cillian, shaking his head as they strolled along. "Why not a whole county all at once?"
"That's the spirit, Frost! We're well past subtlty now, eh? What's the good in denying what we really want?"
Instinctively, Cillian's eyes went to Brigit's retreating back, the slight angle of her face as she turned to look at Ronan who'd come up beside her, the way the light of her eye seemed to warm her whole face in a single look. Only a moment. She looked forward, again, her face lost to him. A light seemed to go out in the darkness of the cells around them.
Cillian's laugh, when it came, sounded hollow even in his own ears. "I can't imagine."