by M. C. Aquila
James could only stare into the fire beyond her, his mouth parting. He felt like he was falling or had been falling for a long time. But without her on his side, he was suddenly aware of it. There was nothing to catch him anymore, and he didn’t know where he would land.
“I do trust you, Deirdre. I trusted you enough to answer… everything you asked.” Past the burning in his throat, he said, “You trust Iain now after everything he did. I guess I don’t get the same treatment.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, and as she blinked, tears rolled down her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands and walked away. Though he regretted what he said the moment he said it, James knew there was no taking it back.
Deirdre had made it clear there was no fixing this.
* * *
“Worried?” Cai asked.
Kallista looked up from where she had been staring at the flames of the campfire to the swordsman, who had his inscrutable gaze locked on her.
Her mind had been racing as she thought of the looming Wild Hunt, when she heard a thud in the clearing ahead. James had snatched a book from his backpack and thrown it against a tree with all his might; it fell into the brush, the pages splaying in the dirt.
The boy plopped down on the hammock, hunching over and holding his head in his hands. Then, with slow hesitation, he had stood and plucked the book from the underbrush. After shaking the pages out, he lay down in the hammock with the book held tightly against his chest.
Since Iain had gone to wash up before bed, Kallista had checked on James. The boy had barely answered her, and speaking to him had been like trying to have a conversation with a wall.
When she returned to the campfire and sat down, her chest tight, she met Cai’s question with a blank look.
“No, I’m not so worried about the Wild Hunt,” she said, picking up a stick and poking at the burning logs, sending up sparks. “Iain has always been very capable, and I trust you have been teaching him well despite the fact you are wounded in every fight.”
The man rolled his eyes. “I’m not always injured.”
“It’s the faeries here who worry me. They could lose Iain or not even notice if he’s hurt or left behind.” She went on, sighing, dropping the stick. She twisted her hands together, her fingers absently searching for the metal band around her finger and finding nothing.
“I didn’t mean if you were afraid for Iain.” Cai nodded toward the clearing, folding his arms and leaning back against a tree.
Kallista’s eyes stung, and as she rubbed them, she blamed it on the smoke. “When I was a little girl living in Ukraine, I used to run about the forest all day near my community. My mama told me there were monsters in the woods, but I did not care. I was not afraid of monsters. Of anything…” When she caught Cai staring at her with his eyebrows raised, she said, “I bet you don’t believe me. You’re thinking ‘There is no way this frail, weepy woman was ever a strong, brave girl.’ But it’s true. I used to be fearless.”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all.” Cai cleared his throat. “What you did for your son—that was very brave.”
Focusing on the flames, her posture rigid, she said, “Even when I met a real monster like the Master, I did not fear for myself. But when I was in his employ, I realized what real fear was.”
She had tasted fear before then—when her family had shunned her. When her husband had pulled away from her, shut her out, and had never opened up to her again.
“The real fear,” Kallista continued quietly, looking at the outline of her son on the hammock, “is facing something intangible that I cannot fight. I cannot wage a battle for someone who refuses my help.”
Cai considered her. “That’s true. I know a bit about personal demons. And sometimes there’s nothing you can do to get through to someone. But sometimes you do get through.” The man scratched at his beard absently. “I know someone who got through to me, at least.”
With a faint smile, Kallista let her tense shoulders fall, and she reached up and started braiding her hair. “I am probably worried for nothing, yes? After all, my sons are teenagers now, and I remember everything feeling like the world was ending when I was their age. But Jal… Jal is a good, sweet boy.”
“Could be nothing,” Cai agreed. But he was still looking at her son’s face in shadow, his mouth a hard line of a frown.
Well, he is always scowling, isn’t he? He’s a very, very grumpy man. I’m sure it means nothing.
Deirdre sat on the empty hammock, the toes of her boots scraping the ground as she swung her legs and frowned at her hands in her lap. As Kallista approached, it was clear from the faery’s puffy, red eyes she had been crying. A few feet away in the other hammock, James was lying on his back, glowering in their direction. The book he was always flipping through was still clutched to his chest.
“You do not mind sharing a bed, do you, Deirdre?” Kallista asked. In response, the faery scooted over, making room for her. “You know, I used to have to share a bed with my sister when we were growing up. It was not so bad, but she talked nonsense in her sleep.”
When Iain returned, looking quite zombielike as he shuffled into the clearing, he made a beeline for the hammock and threw himself down beside his brother. The hammock was sturdy and wide enough for three people, but James nudged him in the side with his elbow.
“Move over, Iain,” James complained, his voice reaching a high pitch. “You’re all sweaty and gross.”
“I literally just bathed.”
“You’re going to crush me then.”
Before too long, James was asleep, and as he rolled over onto his back, his head fell to the side and against his big brother’s chest. Iain froze for a moment, seemingly unwilling to breathe or risk waking his brother, then he smiled before snuggling up and resting his chin comfortably on his brother’s head.
“He’s never this nice when he’s awake…,” Iain had commented when he caught Kallista watching, smiling.
When the boys were asleep, Cai choosing to rest by the fire, Kallista settled down with weary resignation, knowing she would not find rest. Her sleep was fitful at best and at worst, plagued with the hazy fear that she was still in the Master’s manor and he had simply enthralled her to believe she was safe and with her sons again.
Beside her, Deirdre rolled over, her eyes glinting with fresh tears in the glow from the floating lights hovering above them. “Is something bothering you, Deirdre?” Kallista asked.
“Yes, something is bothering me. Everything is bothering me.” The girl spoke in a hushed tone, but she could not hide how her voice wavered like glass about to break. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s just—everything. I don’t know.”
“Well, I am listening,” Kallista said calmly. “You can start talking, and perhaps we will get through everything that’s upsetting you.”
After taking a deep breath, Deirdre spoke, her demeanor becoming more open as she went. “Some of the other girls at the orphanage would always talk about finding their families when they grew up and left, like it was a mistake they were left behind, like they weren’t really orphans after all. But I never wanted to search for my parents, even for a while after I knew they were alive.
“I didn’t want to find out they abandoned me or they didn’t want me. But Iain and James convinced me that I had to know. Now I’m here, and my mother can’t even look at me because she doesn’t think I’m real. Maybe I shouldn’t have even come here. The only reason I’m here is because of my magic, and just as I was starting to communicate with it, it was taken from me by…” The girl trailed off, sucking in her lips.
Pain bloomed in Kallista’s chest, tightening like a hand around her heart, but she pushed past it and prompted, “Keep going, Deirdre. It is all right.”
“I don’t even know if I’ll get my magic back or if I’ll fit in here at all… or if I even want to fit in here.” She let out a sigh, her fingers twisting around the ropes of the hammock beneath her.
“Deirdre.” Kal
lista clasped the faery’s hands in her own. “I know your mother loves you. That is why she is… in such pain. If she did not care for you, she would not have acted the way she did. You are working through your pain, but you must give her time to work through hers. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” The girl covered her mouth as she yawned, then said, her voice low, “But there’s more. I don’t know how much I should say. It’s about James.”
Kallista stiffened. “What about James?”
The faery brought her hands to her face and said, muffled through her fingers, “I know I should tell you—you’re his mother, and maybe you could help—”
“Deirdre.” She sat up in the hammock. “Tell me what you mean. I need to know if something is wrong.”
The girl removed her hands from her face. Her eyes were wide like she could not even believe what she was saying. “James told me when he ditched me at the festival and then lied about it to me. He left to meet with the Cait Sidhe.”
“What?” Kallista asked sharply.
“I mean, he didn’t know this guy was the Cait Sidhe when he left, and he was trying to figure out how to find you. But he shouldn’t have gone alone.”
Kallista glanced over at the other hammock, at her sleeping boys. James had his head resting on Iain’s shoulder, his book open on his chest. He looked smaller, younger, when he slept. If the Cait Sidhe had wanted to steal him then or trap him as a thrall, there had been nothing stopping him. In the presence of such a powerful creature with such magic, her son would have been helpless.
Her stomach lurched, and a sickening feeling welled up in her throat. “What happened?” she asked. “Did James tell you anything? Did that creature hurt him?”
“He said the Cait Sidhe just wanted to teach him magic.” Deirdre groaned, rubbing her head like it hurt. “But I don’t think it sounded good—the magic. I tried to talk to James about it, but…”
Slowly easing herself back down, Kallista tried to soothe the pounding of her heart and her racing, horrified thoughts. Clenching her hands into fists, she took a steadying breath. “I thought I was protecting my son by hiding the horrors I went through at the Master’s manor. He needs to know what that despicable creature is truly like. He needs the truth.”
Deirdre sighed, relieved. “I knew you would have a solution,” she said and scooted closer until she was cuddled up next to her. Kallista was stunned at first but quickly wrapped her arms around the girl and held her tightly; she was unsure which one of them was trembling or if they both were.
Over the past week, she had bonded with Deirdre more than she ever thought she would. After learning of Deirdre’s childhood at Trinity Orphanage, Kallista had realized who the faery was—the ginger-haired faery infant she had delivered to the orphanage all those years ago, when Puck brought her from the Summer Court to be hidden. Kallista had sat down with her and explained everything.
She had expected Deirdre to be angry with her, as she was angry with herself for giving the child up to the orphanage. Instead, the faery had wiped her teary eyes, hugged her, and said, “When Iain and James talked about you, I felt like I’d always known you. I’m just really glad it’s true.”
Chapter Eleven
Deirdre woke the next morning rested and surprisingly refreshed. She sat up carefully in the hammock, not wanting to wake Kallista, who was still asleep near her. But the hammock barely shifted as she straightened and stretched her arms out.
As she slid to the ground, her gaze fell on Cai, lying and snoring loudly by the still-burning fire. The brothers were still asleep in the other hammock, James practically elbowing Iain in the face. Though her stomach twisted when she thought of their discussion last night, her spirits lifted some when she remembered Kallista’s promise to speak with him.
And he did say he’d ask Alvey about using magic, and that’s great. But I… She sighed, turning away and wringing her fingers. Maybe I should have said yes to his idea of us learning together. But even if trust weren’t an issue, we can’t go back in time to when we were friends because I was first exploring magic and we were searching for Kallista. Those things are gone! And that means the friendship we had…
She rubbed her nose on her sleeve, then patted her eyes and ordered herself not to start crying.
“Deirdre, are you ready?” Lonan’s voice came on the wind to her, not disturbing the sleepers, staying at the edge of the woods, near the base of the hill. Deirdre hurried down to him, with one last look at her friends.
“Will they be all right?” she asked as she reached him.
“This hilltop has powerful and stable Shadow Magic by night and strong Light Magic by day.” Lonan grinned softly as the gray dawn light slowly turned pink over the few trees on the hill. “No faeries will disturb them either, especially Noble faeries. We rise late.”
“Alvey was like that too.” With a small chuckle, Deirdre recalled the first morning she woke up Alvey. “But you’re awake?”
“Alvey mentioned you tend to wake with the sun, and it is good to experience Shadow Magic’s changes from dawn to noon. These are calm hours for it.”
Deirdre looked around as they walked through the forest, hugging herself with a small shiver. The woods were chillier than the hilltop, and an invigorating early-morning cool was woven through it. She could sense Shadow Magic, so quiet it was like it too was asleep.
“I assume your friends informed you about the soldier’s mission?” Lonan asked, glancing at her.
“You mean Iain?” Deirdre frowned. “What mission?”
“He is to go on the Wild Hunt.” Lonan shook his head. “In sooth, a terrible idea.”
“No one told me, I— Why is he going?” Her eyes widened. “Is it because he’s standing up for me, as my champion?”
“Aye. On the hunt, he can both prove himself and be present when Nikias investigates the military’s weapons, to see if there are any that contain magic.”
“Good.” She hugged herself. “I want everyone to know the truth.” Shuddering, she glanced back to Lonan, asking, “Iain will be all right though, on the hunt?”
“He is meant to be preparing for it with the knight. But no matter how he prepares, it will be dangerous. No humans have taken part in the Hunt, for a good reason.”
“I know he can do it.” Feeling Lonan looking at her, she suddenly felt embarrassed, though wasn’t sure why.
Thankfully, she was distracted by something wet tickling her neck and brushing past her. She turned quickly but saw nothing. At first she thought it was the wind, but there was only a slight breeze.
“What is that?” she asked, reaching out to touch the wet air. “Is someone using Water Magic?”
“Aye.” Lonan’s eyes brightened, and he held out a hand to her. “Would you like to see? I think it would be good for you to see more ways magic can be used outside the battlefield.”
When she took his hand, he immediately jumped into the air, landing on a tall, sturdy limb on the highest tree in the area. Before Deirdre could recover, he jumped to one above that and continued higher. Deirdre first gasped and screamed, then laughed. Although Lonan’s hand was the only thing to hold on to, she felt as though falling were impossible, and even though she knew it did nothing, she jumped off the trees in unison with him.
Soon they stood at the very top, where a platform was built into the tree, carved from white wood with a partial roof made of an opalescent material. Lonan directed her attention to a taller tree halfway to the horizon. Unlike their tree, which was laden with large fiery red and gold leaves, the other was a giant sea-green pine, where another open, occupied platform stood.
There a faery was working a giant loom. Instead of yarn or woolen materials, she was weaving light blue-gray strings from the air that shimmered in the dawn. Mist and beads of water floated like midair streams up to the loom, catching the dawn sunlight and contrasting against the dark trees of the forest.
“Is she weaving magic?” Deirdre asked, pointing.
Deirdre looked back at the faery at the loom, her stomach twisting with envy, her voice bitter as she said, “She makes it look so easy.”
“It takes hard work and time to master such detailed work.”
“But is that good for the magic?” When Lonan tilted his head, she continued, “When I was in contact with magic, I felt like it always had things it wanted to do. And I just had to work alongside to get it to stay in control. And it’d be mean to tell it to do something it wasn’t supposed to do. Right?”
Lonan folded his arms, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “’Tis true magic should not be used in a way that is contradictory to its nature, for doing so would be an abuse of our power. But I think your understanding of what falls under magic’s nature is quite limited.” He met her gaze and quickly added, a bit flustered, “Which is normal, of course. You’re still young, and you’ve only just begun learning. We’re all still learning, even after centuries.”
Deirdre looked down at her hands, threading her fingers together. “I thought I lost control of magic because I’d lost my temper, and it whiplashed on me because I was using it wrong.”
But Lonan was already shaking his head. “From what you told me yesterday, none of the ways you have used your magic have been wrong, Deirdre.”
“Then what can I do so it doesn’t happen again?”
Lonan turned and paced for a moment on the platform, considering her words. She kept watching the faery in the distance, who pulled a length of fabric from the loom and shook it out briefly. It caught the light and glinted like the sun dancing on a clear, calm river.
