by M. C. Aquila
“Feel the intent of the Flora Magic,” Cecil said in a low, calm voice. “Then smother it with your own intent. Your will must be stronger, more insistent. Think about why you need this magic, what purpose you’ll use it for…”
James sat on the ground with his side facing the mirror a little distance away, and both his hands were clenched around a tree root that rose from the ground and back into the earth. As he focused, the tree root shifted, moved by the magic inside it. Dark ribbons of Flora Magic sprouted from the tree, spiraling down the root and over the boy’s hands.
“I-I can feel it.” James gasped. “It’s so amazing. It’s showing me— It wants to protect the grove. It’s like Deirdre said—it’s communicating!”
“Never mind what the magic wants,” Cecil chided with a laugh. “Focus on your intent.”
“O-okay.”
As he refocused, James’s features hardened, and he shut his eyes. The ribbons of magic were wrapping around his hands like bandages over the root, but he did not seem to notice and did not open his eyes. Then the ribbons of magic grew more sporadic, wild, and abundant, twisting down the roots like snakes. As the ribbons passed over the boy’s hands, they solidified, holding him there.
“James, steady…,” Cecil warned.
The magic slithered from the root and up James’s arms. They held like a vise for a moment before, trembling, they absorbed into his chest and vanished. He slumped forward, gasping, before righting himself. Then as more magic slithered from the tree and up his arms to protect the tree, he absorbed that just as quickly.
“He’s done it!” Vera cheered, jumping in place.
Laughing, Cecil called out, “That’s enough, James. Now come back to us.”
But James either could not hear him or did not listen. Magic surged from the tree and down the roots, in wilder, thicker strands, and the vines of strong, more corporal magic lashed around the boy’s arms and chest. The moment this happened, James convulsed, letting out a raw, agonized shout, his face ashen.
“James, let go,” Cecil ordered firmly, stepping toward the mirror with his hand outstretched as if he could reach through. But his fingers just met cold glass.
The boy slumped backward with a strangled cry, going unconscious. The vines of magic wrapped around him. James’s face bruised purple, and his mouth twisted in anguish.
“He’s dying!” Vera cried, grabbing Cecil’s arm. “Cecil, the magic is killing him. Do something!”
Wrenching away from Vera, Cecil pressed his fingers hard against the glass and focused all his magic on the scrying spell. The magic warped the glass of the mirror but did not shatter it. On the other side, the well of water rippled. Solid streams of Water Magic burst forth and latched onto the boy.
Cecil’s vision darkened, but he pushed through it, biting his tongue until he tasted blood. The streams of Water Magic pulled at the vines of Flora Magic. But they were not strong enough. Cecil poured more of his magic in through the water, all kinds of magic—all the magic he had stored inside him.
As Unseelie magic hissed through the water and touched the tree roots, the Flora Magic recoiled as if scorched and shrank back long enough for the Water Magic to drag James’s body away from the tree back to the front of the well. The vines of Flora Magic receded from his body, and Cecil manipulated the Water Magic to hold the boy upright as if with his own arms.
He remembered holding his little brother’s body the same way. He’d felt so heavy with the promises that would never be fulfilled and the experiences he would never have.
Unable to stand any longer, Cecil dropped to his knees in front of the mirror.
A moment passed, and then James took a shuddering breath, his back to the mirror. When he tilted his face back to look at Cecil, his lips were no longer purple as he sucked in more air. James groaned and clutched his chest, curling in on himself.
“Easy, James,” Cecil rasped, pressing his forehead to the cold glass and closing his eyes. “Just focus on breathing.”
After a few long moments, the boy’s breathing was less pained and difficult. His eyes were wet, and he swiped at them with a trembling hand, then hid his face behind his arm.
“I-I’m sorry—” James choked out, dazed. “I didn’t want to disappoint— I know I could have done it—”
Cecil was vaguely aware of Vera’s hands on his shoulders, trying to support him. His own eyes blurred. He said with false calm and cheer, “Don’t be ridiculous. You did fine. You were… you were brilliant.”
The Cait Sidhe’s magic, unsuppressed, was beginning to take over. The other magic he had carefully absorbed over the past few days was gone now, and he was weakened and hollow.
“Are you hurt?” James asked, sounding more aware.
“That doesn’t matter,” Cecil breathed. “I lost one brother already. I was not about to lose you.”
Then, as the scrying spell faded, Cecil unable to keep the magic flowing to it, he caught a glimpse of James’s wide-eyed, confused expression before the image faded.
Vera was by his side in an instant. As he leaned against her, she wrapped her arms around him tightly. “What just happened?” she asked. “You’ve weakened yourself. You won’t be able to…”
She did not need to finish her sentence. Cecil knew what this meant. He would not have time or strength to absorb the magic he needed for the coming battle now.
“For one thing, I believe I just saved our brother’s life.” Cecil let out a forced, wry laugh. “And for another, I believe I just defied a direct order from the Winter King.”
Chapter Twenty
That same morning, Cardea led Deirdre, Cai, Iain, and Kallista out of the tree shelter through a damaged, muddy forest, full of large puddles, fallen branches, torn-up bushes, and even some fallen trees. They passed through to the hilltop home of a Noble faery who, with enormous clay and stone ovens, was the realm’s most prolific baker. Many other Nobles, young and old, were present, breakfasting on fresh bread and pointing out apple and pear trees nearby, which had been protected from the storm.
As she finished, Lonan, looking exhausted, appeared on the hilltop from a spark of light and asked her to come for her daily lessons.
“Are you all right?” she asked, taking in his hanging shoulders and the circles under his eyes.
He immediately straightened and grinned at her, replying, “I am fine. Last night was just… busy. It is difficult to use magic during the royal highnesses’ storms, even just for protection. I assume you fared similarly?”
She nodded quickly, then changed the subject.
During the storm, Deirdre had not tried again to reach out to any magic, though she had felt it all around her. This morning, while carefully communicating with it once again, it was far less overpowering than last night.
And as she followed Lonan through the damaged woods, she played with a tiny flame on her fingers again. Focusing on her small magic was a distraction from the memory of the terrifying storm and the realization of her own weakness.
But her flame went out when, a few minutes later, they reached a clearing on the side of a cliff and below saw the damage on the woods and small fields below. Some entire sections of young groves had been completely leveled, and there was flooding in many lower sections. From there, she could make out the bridge they had trained by yesterday to see one of its mighty pillars had been destroyed.
“Such storms are not the norm within the realm,” Lonan said, standing beside her and looking at the damage below. “It is rare that the king and queen get into such a heated argument.”
“But it still happens.” She looked at him, clutching her hands to her chest. “I-I think Oberon was right.”
“Deirdre—”
“Just reconnecting with my magic isn’t enough. I need to be able to take care of myself.”
“We’ll take care of you.” Lonan put his hands on her shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. “I promise.”
“But what if something happens, like the war—
Oberon said it may come down to a choice between me or Alvey. That shouldn’t happen! And the army and Alan are already on their way.”
Lonan stepped back and folded his arms. “Oberon sometimes speaks hastily. I wouldn’t—”
Deirdre put a hand on his arm; he looked at her in surprise but unlocked his arms as she continued, “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate all you’ve helped me do. I really am happy…” She raised her free hand, summoning another small flame with a grin. “I’m so happy with all we’ve done. But I know it’s not enough.”
There was a small gust of wind that made her jump in alarm as Roshan shot up the side of the cliff, landing a yard away from them.
“Good morning,” Lonan said with a smile and a bow.
“Aye, it is!” Roshan walked over and grabbed their shoulders, giving father and daughter a happy shake. “Finally, finally my parents were able to agree about what to do with you!”
“What does that mean?” Deirdre asked, smiling despite herself. Roshan’s excitement was contagious.
“They decided on one specific test.” He stepped to the edge of the cliff and pointed at a large river in the distance, surrounded by wooded hills with stone-gray cliffs. “Do you see that river and the mountain with a head like a wolf on the far side of it?”
Squinting, she nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
“There is a small plateau on the other side of it surrounded by rather arid magic. That was fine when there was a spring there. But that spring has dried up, and the area is in danger of losing its balance.” Roshan turned to face her, gesturing grandly toward the river and mountains. “You are to make a new branch of that river, one that will travel up and water that plateau!”
Deirdre’s mouth fell open while Lonan asked, “Is that the king and queen’s decision?”
“Aye! It took them all night to agree to it. They…” Roshan bit his lip, as if holding back a pointed comment about his parents before saying, “It will certainly prove that Deirdre is capable and able to live within the realm.”
“I…” She scratched her head, narrowing her eyes. “I understand that it’ll help the realm, but why does that need to be done now?”
Roshan tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean”—she gestured southward—“the army is on the way here with Alan and that machine. And even though you all have your fighters like Nikias and everything, Alan—he has my magic! And none of you know what he’s capable of.”
“Deirdre, what are you saying?” Lonan asked, leaning forward to meet her gaze.
“I’m not saying the river and all that is a bad idea, but I want to help what’s going on right now.” She stepped back one pace so she was facing both of them. “There should never be a choice between Alvey and me. I-I’m not a warrior or anything yet, but I should be able to do something to help with this war! Can’t my test be connected to that?”
The side of Roshan’s mouth twitched, and he looked around nervously. “You are not jesting, are you, Deirdre?”
“Of course not.”
“My parents”—Roshan ran his hand through his hair, wide-eyed—“it took them so long to agree on your test. I would hate to see how they would react to your rejecting it!”
“It is far too dangerous, both rejecting it and your idea.” Lonan folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at Deirdre. “You have no place near the battle lines.”
“There’s got to be some way!” Deirdre stepped toward Roshan, hands out, beseeching. “Iain is my champion, and he’s putting himself in danger with the Wild Hunt, and I’m just—”
“The hunt!” Roshan’s gaze shot up, eyes alight. “Of course! We could argue that your task must align with your champion’s test—and if he proves the army is coming with the power you say they have, then naturally your test must face that power, that threat!”
Lonan was already protesting, but Deirdre spoke over him, beaming. “So it could work! You’d speak to Titania and Oberon for me?”
“Aye!”
“This is too dangerous.” Lonan jabbed his finger southward. “Deirdre is not a warrior, like she said, so facing the army—”
“The test would not necessarily require her to fight.” Roshan looked back at Deirdre, his face bright but not smiling. “Even my parents must obey the laws and rules set by the bond shared between a faery and her champion. I will present your case, and I know they must agree in the end. However…” He gulped and went on in a lower voice, “They will not be pleased. The test they agreed on was a hard-won compromise for the both of them.”
Deirdre bit her lip. “I don’t mean to offend them.”
“The point is, if Iain fails, they won’t give you another chance,” Lonan said, his voice heavy, gaze shadowed. “If he fails, I would not be surprised if you, Iain, and your friends were all forced to leave.”
“Are you willing to take that chance and trust in Iain’s success?” Roshan asked her.
She nodded immediately. “He’s always believed in me—I know it’ll work out.”
“No.” Lonan looked at the both of them, scarlet eyes flashing. “I refuse to accept this decision.”
Frowning, Roshan said firmly, “She’s of age to make this choice on her own.”
“She doesn’t understand what the dangers are—she doesn’t know what might happen, even if Iain succeeds!”
Stepping between them, Deirdre forced her voice to stay level as she said to her father, “I’m only doing this because the army is coming, and I want to help. I think it’s what I should do. And you’ll still help me, right?”
Lonan was puffed up like an upset blackbird, but he lowered his shoulders and said, “I promise I will, no matter what happens—or doesn’t happen.”
* * *
Iain was still getting ready for the day when Deirdre unexpectedly returned from her lessons. The sound of boots racing across the ground toward him was something he’d been growing accustomed to, and he turned around just in time to see her running to him, and he steadied her to a halt before she ran into him, gripping her arms and chuckling. She was practically vibrating with excitement.
At once, she told him all about the challenge given to her by Titania and Oberon and then about the compromise she’d suggested. She was out of breath by the time she finished explaining, and Iain was still holding her arms when he said softly, “Deirdre, you’re trembling.”
“I guess I am. Huh.” The faery looked down at her hands and back up to Iain’s face. “I think I’m just a little anxious about…” She trailed off. “What I am I saying? You’re the one who has to face the Wild Hunt tonight. But I’m sure you’ll be fine. Right?”
Deirdre glanced at the ground. Gently Iain reached out and tilted her chin up to look at him, his thumb brushing her jaw. He hadn’t quite noticed just how many freckles were sprinkled on Deirdre’s face—under her eyes and across her nose—and how cute they were. They only distracted him a moment from the terrifying realization that Deirdre’s fate in the realm rested with him.
“I’ll be fine, Deirdre. I’ve got to be, yeah? You’re depending on it,” he assured her. “And Lonan might have doubts, but none of these Noble faeries have seen how far you’ve come in such a short time or how many obstacles you’ve barreled through to get there.
“And you won’t be facing this test alone, yeah? You’ll have the Seelie army with you, and Lonan…”
Deirdre’s expression turned a little sly. It was the same look the other Noble faeries had before they made mischief or teased each other. “Also, I have my champion to help me.”
Now Iain glanced away, dropping his hand to rub at his heating face. He chuckled, saying, “Yeah, too bad I heard he’s kind of an oaf. Not much of a dancer either.”
Deirdre giggled. “Oh, I don’t know. I think he’s pretty great.”
“Well, I can’t help you fly with my magic or anything, yeah?” he joked. “My clumsy feet are hardly comparable.”
Giggling, Deirdre said simply, “Only one of us
needs magic for both of us to fly. And anyway, you make me feel… safe. No one else in the realm makes me feel so secure. Even when I think about facing this test, facing the army and… and even Alan, I feel safer knowing you’ll be there.”
Iain took her free hand in his own and squeezed her fingers gently. “Deirdre…,” he said, the name a whisper, his voice low, his eyelids heavy. He hadn’t meant to speak aloud.
I won’t let you down. I won’t be too late to help you again… and I won’t let General Callaghan hurt us again. We’ll stay together this time.
“Hmm?” She stared at him like she could not look away. Her ginger curls caught the morning sunlight. Beyond the doubt she clearly felt in herself and the challenge she would face, the confidence and power she held inside her was strong.
Looking at her, at the beautiful, lively scenery of the realm around them and thinking of the grace and power of the Noble faeries, Iain wondered in awe how and why she was looking at him like the way he saw her.
“Deirdre,” Iain said seriously, straightening, “I know you’ll prove yourself to the Noble Fae. When you do, you’ll have a real place in this realm, and they’ll accept you as their own. All I want is to stand by you and defend you as your champion until you have all you want and deserve. I just want to… repay you for what you’ve already done for me just by being here.”
Pausing, Iain closed his eyes briefly. “I can’t deny I have feelings for you, Deirdre. But I want you to know I won’t stand in the way of you and your life in the Summer Court.”
The faery’s mouth was hanging open comically wide for a few long seconds as she processed what he’d said. Then she beamed, clasping his hand in both of hers. “Iain,” she said, “I do want this. I do want to learn more about this realm and see how I fit in here. I want to get to know my father… and maybe my mother—but that shouldn’t mean things will change between us.”
Iain smiled faintly. “You make it sound simple, yeah?”
