Song of the Fairy Queen

by Valerie Douglas

  For a moment Oryan was still.

  Thunderstruck, Philip, Jordan and John stared after the departed Morgan, before turning back to the other two at the table.

  “What the hell did I just see?” John demanded, bewildered.

  “Kyri,” Oryan said softly. “What did you do?”

  It hurt more than Kyri could possibly have imagined, watching Morgan leave so carelessly, without a touch, a caress, a kiss. She fought it back.

  She was Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy. She had to remember that.

  She lifted her chin a little, took a breath. “I made him forget.”

  Faces reflected a little puzzlement or stunned shock. They were confused, but they didn’t know.

  Oryan knew, he remembered – Gawain, his son, and the woman who cared for him.

  A simple magic, Kyri had said.

  Forgetting…

  Closing his eyes, Oryan said, “Forget what?”

  Although he knew.

  “Me,” she said softly.

  In that instant the others realized what it was she’d done. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t thought the same themselves upon a time – that was clear by their expressions – but they’d said nothing. How could they, knowing how much Morgan loved her…and she loved him?

  How much can you love someone, that you can let them go?

  Kyri said it anyway.

  “He was killing himself, trying to be everywhere. I am Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy and enough of a tactician to know you and he are overstretched, Oryan, but he wouldn’t abandon me…us… the Fair.” She couldn’t be less than honest. “He wouldn’t abandon me. He wouldn’t leave us undefended. It’s not in him to do it. So, he kept trying and would keep trying, wearing himself out. He loves me… ”

  Her breath caught.

  “Loved me…but to see me, he had to stretch himself even further.”

  Queen of the Fairy. There were her people. The folk of the Kingdom, as well. What was she against them all? Against Morgan…

  “Then there are my people. The Fair. I am what I am. Kyriay.”

  “But, this way? Would they ask you to make this sacrifice, Kyri?” Oryan asked.

  Spinning to face him, her eyes steady, she said, “No, they wouldn’t ask. They would trust me to do what I must for them to keep them safe. I am Kyriay, it’s for me to decide and it’s what I was born to do.”

  “This way?”

  She looked at him. “What would you have me do, Oryan? Lie to him? Tell him I don’t love him when he knows I do? How could I hurt him that way?”

  Tears shimmered in her brilliant eyes.

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. Should I tell him I don’t want to see him, even though he knows I do? I can’t. I’m Fairy, I can’t lie. Tell him to stop coming, stop trying? I’ve tried.”

  Her proud head bowed.

  “Even if he would accept the sense of it, it would hurt, but he wouldn’t. You know Morgan. He would keep trying to find a way to make it work. And I would want him to. And if he let me go, willingly? For his honor, his duty? What would that do to him? He would only throw himself into the fight even more fiercely, with the same result. You know that, you said so yourself. He is what he is, you said, as I am what I am. Tell me I’m wrong, Oryan. Tell me you’ve had more success in making him see sense…”

  Oryan couldn’t and they both knew it.

  They knew Morgan. He was stubborn, determined. He would never accept that he couldn’t have both, somehow. He wasn’t that kind of man.

  “Tell me then how to watch him kill himself,” Kyri said softly.

  All the breath went out of her, her heart wrenching at the thought.

  “As we all have. He was making mistakes he never would have made if he wasn’t stretched so far.”

  A single crystal tear trembled on an eyelash, falling to the table with a light, musical sound.

  “This way there’s no pain for him. No might haves, no could haves. No second thoughts, no regrets. He’s free to love again, as your people do – without the memory of the ‘Fairy Queen’ to haunt him. The one who left him, who he loved and lost, or to haunt the one who someday comes to love him.”

  “There will be someone else for you to love, too, Kyri. Someday,” Oryan said.

  Kyri would have laughed, save for the pain of it, so it came out as more as a gasp.

  The smile she gave him was even more painful to watch.

  “No, Oryan. I’m afraid not,” she said wryly, as another crystal tear slid down her cheek. “In that we Fairy are more like the birds we resemble, swans, for instance. Or wolves. We mate for life…and when we lose that mate, there is no other.”

  Morgan would be the only one for her, although she didn’t say that out loud.

  For a moment Oryan stared at her, stunned. He couldn’t imagine it, it was incomprehensible.

  “How soon are you leaving, Kyri?” he asked instead, his own breath short at both the enormity of what she’d done and the cost – clear to him in the pain in those sea-foam eyes.

  The reality of her departure came with a sense of something very like grief.

  She’d been with him, with them, been a valued advisor, since the very beginning.

  Looking at him apologetically, she said, “I’ve already given the orders, my people are moving out even as we speak.”

  Very gently, she added, “Oryan, it really is for the best.”

  She took a breath. It was done. More tears threatened and she didn’t want to shed them.

  “I’m sorry to go, Oryan,” she said, “sorry, too, to leave you, my friend.”

  And she was. She was saying goodbye to all of these she’d loved. Not just her beloved Morgan – pain tore at her – but also Oryan, her dear friend, whom she’d grown to love like a brother. Fragile Philip, struggling to find himself again, and valiant young Jordan, trying so hard to fill his father’s shoes…until the father he’d once known returned to him.

  Even John of Orland, who she’d only just begun to know.

  That truth finally struck Oryan as well and his heart wrenched.

  “So soon?”

  She was leaving. Kyri was leaving. It seemed impossible that he wouldn’t see her fly into camp, her incredible wings shining. He couldn’t imagine a world without her in it.

  That grief ran deep.

  “Will we never see you again, Kyri?”

  She said, with a small winsome smile, “If the fates are kind, my friend, yes. Keep fighting, Oryan, so the Fair can return. You’ve been a good friend to me and my people. I couldn’t have wished for better.”

  “And so have you,” he said.

  Oryan had intended to offer her an arm-clasp but suddenly found himself pulling her into a long, hard hug, mindful of her wings.

  Kyri clung to him. She buried her face briefly in his chest. The tears that threatened now fell. Not only was she freeing her beloved Morgan but she was losing Oryan as well.

  “I’m going to miss you, my friend,” she said, her fingers pressed to her mouth.

  Tears sparkled and shimmered, dropped to the carpets with a soft patter as she struggled for control.

  Suddenly Oryan couldn’t imagine not seeing her, not having her stand there beside the map table with some light comment to ease or brighten things or that calm, clear insight she had.

  It didn’t seem real. None of this seemed real.

  “I’ll miss you, too, Kyri,” he said, intensely, releasing her reluctantly.

  “Gawain is still safe,” she said, so he would know. “Still bound to me. If he needs me, I’ll go to him. Nothing will change that. No matter how far away I am. If anything should happen to me, the knowledge of his location will pass to Galan. I promise you that, Oryan, my friend. Your son will be safe, I swear it.”

  Oryan lowered his head. She’d thought of everything.

  She turned to John of Orland and nodded in salute.

  How much, John wondered, does a woman, even a Fairy, have to love a man to let hi
m go to save him even from himself? Especially this one, the Queen of the Fairy. It was so tragic he thought someone should write a song about it. His heart ached.

  He nodded back and then bowed…in homage, honoring the sacrifice she’d made.

  Kyri laughed a little at that. “John.”

  She turned. “Philip. Stay well.”

  His soft brown eyes met hers, no longer as wounded as they’d once been. Their arm-clasp was hard, his fingers tight, his still-thin face showing his struggle.

  “I owe you my life.”

  She shook her head fiercely. “You owe me nothing, Philip, my friend, nothing. No man should ever have to suffer at another’s hands.”

  “Jordan,” she said, turning to the younger man.

  Jordan straightened, his eyes meeting hers. He nodded, but in disbelief. Was she really going? It seemed unreal.

  Watching her with Morgan had been like a fairy tale. This, though?

  She smiled as their hands met.

  Kyri’s eyes met Oryan’s and he hers, her expression clear, resolute.

  She’d loved him, too, as a brother and loved him still and always.

  “You are ever and always my friend, Oryan,” she said. “If you have need of me, Call and I will come.”

  Oryan nodded.

  “Geoffrey,” she said gently and touched the back of his hand.

  He’d loved Gwen…and her.

  Geoffrey’s finger closed around hers for a moment.

  “I’ll miss you,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Thank you, Geoffrey.”

  Then she was gone.

  Geoffrey stared after her in shock. It was unimaginable that he wouldn’t hold back the tent flaps for her again, for sweet Lady Kyri.

  Outside Galan and Dorien waited, reaching out to brush their fingers against Kyri’s in some semblance of comfort.

  Kyri smiled back at them, sighed, and let her wings unfold.

  She had the comfort of her people, all of them and they would give it to her as she needed it.

  It was who she was. Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  The waters of the scrying bowl cleared. Pictured within it was the image of a small cottage, neat and clean, the boards starting to weather from the gold of new-cut pine to gray. Flowers grew around it like a skirt. It was a pretty little place filled with sunlight, tucked amidst the tall trees of the forest.

  Kyri peered in it to see Morgan, his shirt off, the broad muscles of his chest flexing, chopping wood with a steady methodical rhythm. Sweat glimmered on his skin, dampened and darkened his fair hair. Her heart caught to see how beautiful he was.

  She smiled and laughed at the sight.

  He looked rested, healthy.

  Although the rebellion wasn’t over by any long means she knew it was going well, well enough that Morgan could take this time at home with his wife. They were having more success, claiming more land as rebel territory, as safe lands for the people of Oryan’s Kingdom. Safe enough for him to have built this cottage, safe enough for him to make something here in this pocket in the forest.

  Small safe havens.

  More people flocked to Oryan’s banner every day.

  There were small sections of the Kingdom now that were more Oryan’s than Haerold’s, where even Haerold’s men feared to tread.

  Sections such as this.

  She remembered when Morgan said he wished he and she could be simple folk living in a cottage…

  Except she couldn’t.

  She was Queen of the Fairy.

  She couldn’t give him that but she could give him this instead.

  Kyri smiled as tears glimmered, nearly blindingly, when Morgan looked to the cottage, to the woman who stepped out of it and he smiled.

  Her heart caught at the sight.

  She knew he’d found someone, a pretty, fair-haired girl who looked at him with love in her eyes, who smiled at him.

  It had taken nearly two years, but he, they, were doing it, they were winning and he was alive and happy.

  “Take care of him for me,” Kyri whispered to her, the girl in the cup. “Love him. I can ask no more and no less.”

  With a wave of her hand, she sent the image away.

  A single tear fell into the bowl, into the water, ringing lightly when it reached the bottom.

  She looked out across the glen.

  All around her were the sounds of her people, making meals, making love, happy, alive.

  A flutter of children flashed across the glen, giggling and laughing, squabbling as children did.

  Her people were safe and the tide was turning in the Kingdoms.

  She couldn’t ask more.

  Kyri lifted her face, looked up at the sounds of laughter in the trees above her and closed her eyes. Turned her face up to the sunlight, to the warmth.

  “My Kyri,” Galan said, softly.

  Turning, she smiled gently at him. “I’m well enough, Galan.”

  With a sigh, she thought of Morgan and his sweet girl, nodding as she smiled.

  “I’m well enough.”

  Letting out a breath, she looked across the glen.

  Her people were happy, healthy…

  She would protect them and keep them that way, whatever the cost.

  She pressed her hand over her heart.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Alarm, despair, fury, helplessness, a tumble of strong emotions not her own coursed through her. Kyri came awake with a cry of horror.

  Morgan.

  She woke to a sense of sudden alarm, to pain. She cried out as it pierced her.

  Morgan….

  He was all she could think of.

  She was too far away...

  Frantic, desperate, she was already running, barely clearing the edge of her aerie before she was in the air, winging toward him. So far…

  She searched…desperately…

  And couldn’t find him.

  He lived… She knew that. She would have felt his dying, would have begun the slow descent to death herself… Instead there was only a void where Morgan should have been. He wasn’t dead…

  Why couldn’t she find him?

  The pretty curtains that framed the windows of the little cottage blew in the breeze. The door swung open, creaking. There was no sound, no life there, the cottage was empty…

  Nothing.

  He was gone…

  She turned in the yard….searching….seeking…

  Morgan.

  Something inside her shattered.

  He was gone…

  As was the sweet girl who loved him.

  It made no sense. What had happened? Morgan would have fought.

  Kyri stood helplessly…extended her senses…farther…farther… Nothing… Farther….

  Seeking what she couldn’t find…

  Tears and grief burned in her and she cried out her fear for him…and for the sweet girl who loved him as she couldn’t…

  Crystalline tears rained to the earth…

  She’d never known such pain.

  He was alive, she knew that much.

  But where?

  Why couldn’t she find him?

  Taking wing, she quartered the lands around the little cottage but there was no sense of him there.

  Something had happened. There had been alarm, fear…and pain.

  Morgan! She cried his name silently.

  Only iron and earth could hide him from her.

  She took flight, winging toward Remagne.

  In truth, in all honesty, Oryan almost didn’t expect his Call to be answered and certainly not so quickly. He’d dismissed Caleb only a short time before.

  The grizzled old veteran was worried and rightly so.

  It wasn’t like Morgan to just disappear.

  Then Geoffrey, his voice surprised but warm, said, “Welcome, my Lady. The Lady Kyri, your Highness.”

  A familiar light and musical voice answered, softly, kindly, “It’s good to see you,
too, Geoffrey, old friend.”

  Oryan could hear the warmth in that voice.

  He turned as Geoffrey held the tent flaps back and Kyri stepped inside.

  The light of the lanterns caught in her wings as she folded them, gossamer haloing her for that brief instant. Her long golden hair was caught back in braids by her face to reveal the graceful curves of her ears, the rest rippled down to her waist, framing her delicate features.

  Her aquamarine eyes were luminous and shadowed.

  For a moment Oryan’s breath caught. He’d forgotten how very beautiful she was.

  She looked tired.

  “Kyri, it’s Morgan,” he said. “He’s disappeared. I wouldn’t have called, but…it’s Morgan.”

  He’d hated to call her, but he was desperately afraid for Morgan, and for himself.

  According to Caleb, there was no apparent sign of trouble, except that Morgan was gone and Joanna with him. No one had heard from either of them. Caleb had contacted Detrick and a few of the others but no one had seen them.

  It wasn’t like Morgan.

  “I know, I felt it,” she said and there was a desperation in her voice, it caught at him for a moment. “Something happened to him, Oryan. Something terrible but I can’t find him. He still lives but I can’t find him.”

  There was fear and an inconsolable grief in her gaze.

  If he’d ever doubted that she loved Morgan in truth and with all her heart and soul, he didn’t doubt it then, seeing her haunted eyes.

  Crystalline tears rained down her cheeks to patter on the carpet.

  “He’s still alive, Oryan,” Kyri said. “I would know if he was dead. I would know if they’d killed him, but I can’t find him.”

  Reaching out to her, drew her into his arms, to give her what comfort he could. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, felt her fear like a fever in her.

  She leaned into him.

  “Are you sure?” Oryan said.

  Those luminous eyes looked at him and she nodded.

  “I would know,” she said, quietly, surely. “He lives.”

  “We’ve got people out looking,” Oryan said. “Trying to find him, trying to find answers, Kyri. If there’s anything, if we find anything, I’ll Call, my word on it.”

  A gusty sigh shook her.

  She nodded. “I know. I’ll keep searching. Only iron and earth could keep me from sensing him from so far, but if I get close enough, even they cannot stop me. I will find him, Oryan, and I will keep searching until I do.”