As the Crow Flies (Book 19 in the Godhunter Series)
Page 22
“Queen Vervain, King Arach,” he said. “Welcome back to the Castle of Eight. The High King-” Craigor stopped when he spotted Lugh.
It was kind of a funny coincidence that Craigor was the one to greet us. He happened to be the father of the only other known fey/god child in existence, Aradia. So Craigor knew immediately who Lugh was, and how his birth must have come about.
He turned and ran into the castle.
“Craigor!” I shouted after him. “Damn you, Craigor don't you dare tell them before we get there. This is my news! Sir Craigor, I order you to stop!”
Craigor came to a halt about twenty feet away from us. He may not have been a fire faerie, but his rank was so far below mine that he had no choice but to obey a direct order from me. So he turned around with a long, disappointed sigh, and trudged back to us, moth wings hanging behind him dejectedly.
“But the High King should be warned,” Craigor pouted.
“Uh-uh,” I smirked. “He's going to be surprised, just as you were. Then Lugh gets to see his honest reaction, and has the reassurance that he's truly wanted.”
“There's doubt that the High King will want him?” Craigor's eyes narrowed on Lugh. “Why? What have you done?”
“Nothing!” Lugh declared in shock.
“Well then,” Craigor shrugged, “you don't need assurances. You're a prince.”
“Is he?” I asked as we hurried along with Craigor, who started rushing us through the hallways of the castle as fast as he could. I think he wanted to outrun the rumors that were sure to start flying as soon as the faeries got a good look at Lugh. “Is he royalty without even being acknowledged?”
“He was royalty at the moment of his birth, A Thaisce,” Arach answered for Craigor.
“The moment of his conception,” Craigor huffed. Craigor had always been an unpleasant sort, and even though he'd become slightly more agreeable to me after I'd introduced him to his daughter, he was still a bit of an ass.
“Then I guess I should say, 'Welcome home, Prince Lugh',” I nudged Lugh with my shoulder.
“Home,” Lugh looked around the magnificence of the High Court with wide eyes.
Even for someone brought up in Tara, the Castle of Eight was wondrous to behold. The tree itself was used extensively in the interior designs, and the rest of the furnishings were equally astounding transformations of natural objects. Crystal clusters had been grown into the shape of chairs, rivers flowed through rooms bearing floating trays of refreshments, magma had been shaped into bookshelves and hardened into lava rock, and objects of art were held aloft by gentle puffs of air. All the elements were used within the castle, yet another layer of comfort for the assorted faeries residing there.
But we weren't giving Lugh time to take it all in. We strode briskly past the woven walls of the round dining hall, down a corridor, and then into the throne room. We entered through a pair of double doors, and stepped into the heart of the tree. Here, there was no ceiling, just an open column all the way up to the sky. Branches created a patchwork roof, which sunlight filtered through, and they also formed benches for the winged fey who flew above us.
The walls were polished into a mirror-like sheen, and they reflected back the droves of faeries who filled the room. The Fey gasped as they saw us, murmuring and pulling back to make a central aisle. Craigor preened, satisfied to be a part of the parade, if not the message bearer himself. He strode ahead of us, his moth wings held up proudly, but before we reached the dais, I pulled him back.
“I got this, thanks Mothman,” I dismissed him, and he glared at me before easing to the side with a grudging bow.
Upon a dais molded from the living tree, grew living thrones. The High Royals of Faerie sat upon these ancient thrones. Cian's was a golden oak color with branches stretching up behind him, sturdy and proud. Meara's was a paler, daintier design with a fan of blooming branches for her backrest. They were much more impressive than any gilded throne I'd ever seen, and I admired them as I strode up to the foot of the dais. Kirill took Brevyn from Arach so that he carried both boys. This left Arach free to join me before the high thrones without having to worry about Brevyn.
“King Arach, Queen Vervain, we are most pleased to receive you,” King Cian started, but Lugh's gasp caught his attention, and Cian's eyes were drawn to Lugh's face. Where they remained.
Father and son stared at each other as the High Queen inhaled sharply and surged to her feet. Flower petals fell from her throne and drifted to the floor from her abrupt movement. Cian stood too, more slowly than his wife, and came down the dais steps as if in a daze. He stopped directly before Lugh. It looked like I wouldn't be needed after all. Not for hand holding or making introductions.
Cian stared at his son with eyes gone wide and hopeful, “Your name, if you please?”
“I am Lugh Mac Cein,” Lugh declared, and the faeries around us gasped again.
“Your mother,” Cian wasn't about to give into joy without absolute certainty, “what was her name?”
“Her name was Ethniu of the Formorians,” Lugh said confidently. “But I was given to Manannan Mac Lir and his wife Fand to raise.”
“Manannan...” Cian's eyes went distant. “Fand? They raised you?”
“I was told that my mother was married to another man. She couldn't keep me,” Lugh tried to speak without emotion, but it was evident that the pain of his mother's abandonment still weighed upon him. “And that my father was Tuatha Dé Dannan, a king who died in battle.”
“I knew your mother well,” Cian took Queen Meara's hand as she came up beside him. He glanced her way, and smiled when he saw her supportive nod. “Intimately. She never told me she had conceived a child, but your face is proof enough. Lugh, I am your father.”
The faeries shouted in joy as father and son embraced, giving me and Kirill lots of noise to cover the sound of our laughter. Nothing could have made that beautiful reunion sweeter than the High King of Faerie using the most famous Star Wars line of all time. I was in geek heaven.
As Lugh was welcomed by both father and his new stepmother, Arach and I eased back beside Kirill, and took our sons from him. The five of us huddled together in happiness, watching the most powerful man in Faerie cry tears of joy as he held his son for the very first time.
Around us, the Court was going wild, several faeries weeping right along with their king. Men and women hugged, kissed, and spontaneously danced while I gaped at the hoopla around me. I hadn't seen such a delighted display since my pregnancy was announced to the fire fey.
“Wow, they're really excited,” I whispered to Kirill and Arach.
“They have an heir,” Arach shrugged. “It's cause for celebration.”
“An heir?” I lifted my brows. “I thought he couldn't be made heir because he's partly a god?”
“But he's fully Fey as well, Vervain,” Arach laughed. “He is like you in that regard, able to rule through a complete faerie essence.”
“Son of a centaur,” I whispered in awe. “I didn't think of that.”
“My son!” Cian declared, turning with Lugh to face the High Court. “Faeries of the High Court, meet your new Prince!”
“See?” Arach nodded.
“But he can be a prince without being an heir,” I was still doubtful.
“Spirit finally has its heir!” Meara declared right on cue, graciously giving her blessing to her husband's son, while simultaneously giving up any claim her future children could have held on the throne. It was a generous show of support, and Cian knew it. He kissed his wife sweetly as the faeries cheered.
“Now do you believe me?” Arach chuckled.
“I believe in you, and trust that you're telling me the truth as you know it,” I kissed his cheek. “I just wasn't sure your truth was going to match Cian's.”
“Blood is blood,” Kirill had a strange look on his face, wistful and bittersweet. “Zat is all ze truth you need.”
“Well said,” Arach nodded in approval, and nuzzled Brevyn. “Blood is blood.”
“You've made another family whole, Tima,” Kirill whispered into my ear. “I'm so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” I kissed his cheek, and watched his eyes travel down to Rian, squirming in my arms. “Do you want to hold him?”
“No, you hold your baby,” his hand laid briefly over Rian's head, and the baby stopped squirming. “I can vait.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The High King declared a celebratory feast in honor of his newly discovered son. We all moved in an amorphous, merry crowd to the dining chamber; that circular room with the woven walls of living branches which we'd passed by earlier. It was a unique dining room, even for a faerie court. Every other kingdom I've been to has a traditional rectangular shaped hall. But I suppose when you had to work within the confines of a living tree, you made do. So the room was circular, with a wide ring of open space for dancing and socializing, and a massive spiral table filling the center.
The table was an interesting idea. It allowed you to easily see and speak with the people dining with you, as they ended up being layered in the spiral all around you. My problem with the table was that the higher rank you were, the closer to the center of the spiral you sat. As monarchs of Faerie, Arach and I were about as high as you could get, with exception to the High Royals themselves. Kirill, as a visiting god and my husband, sat with us. So we all had to make our way to the center of the spiral, where the table ended in a wide curve. This was where the High Royals sat.
The path between the spiral tabletop was made fairly wide, to ensure there was enough room for chairs and pedestrian passage. This spaciousness meant it ended up being yet another place to socialize. And faeries loved to talk. So getting to the center wasn't just about navigating the spiral, but navigating the throng. It seemed to me to be a long laborious process just to get fed.
Lugh and his new parents fortunately took the brunt of the socializing. All the faeries wanted to meet their new prince. So my family and I reached the center long before they did. But even without most of the court stopping to greet us along the way, as they normally did, it was still a long journey. We were starving by the time we reached the center. But there was a perk to sitting at the royal end of the spiral; food was brought to us first. So I was able to get a head start on feeding my hungry children. When you were a mother, you learned patience and control. Your children always ate before you did. Unless you were a bird I suppose, then you'd have to eat it first and regurgitate it for them. Gross. Sorry about that. Not the best dinner time musings.
“Oh please let me hold one of them,” Queen Meara begged as the high royals finally reached us.
“I'm feeding them,” I warned her. “I don't think you want baby slobber all over you.”
“I'd be delighted to have your son slobber on me,” Meara declared and scooped up Brevyn.
“Okay,” I exchanged a wide-eyed look with Kirill over her choice of words. Nope, not going there.
“I hear you hold a piece of my friend, little fire prince,” Meara whispered to Brevyn. “You are truly dragon-sidhe now.”
“You knew Ull?” I frowned for a moment before I realized whom she meant. “Oh! You were friends with my mother?”
Damn word traveled fast in Faerie. But that was probably due to Faerie herself. I don't know why I was so surprised about Meara knowing my mom. Meara had once been a lady of the House of Fire. She would have lived in Castle Aithinne right around the time my mother had.
“I loved your mother. We were very close,” Meara glanced at me before peering into Brevyn's eyes. “And there she is. Hello, Addy. How I've missed you. Your daughter is lovely, but I'm sure you already know that.”
“My love,” King Cian came up behind his wife, and laid his hands supportively on her shoulders. “You know that's not Lady Aednat.”
“But it is,” Meara tried to look over to Cian, but Brevyn laid his hand on her cheek, and she turned back to him immediately, “Yes, I see you in there.” Then she turned her gaze my way, “She won't interfere with his free will, and I doubt he'll even know she's there. But she will guide him and strengthen him as much as she can.”
“I know,” I looked fondly at my son, recalling how I used to sense things; like when something or someone was wrong for me. It had been my mother guiding me. I was certain of it now. And I had a little bit of her back. I felt my smile widen.
“Of course,” Meara smiled. “You had her first.”
“Meara,” Cian began again, but she interrupted him.
“I know it's not her full essence,” Meara looked to her husband. “But this part of Aednat never returned to the Source. She is as she was. It is Addy in there.” She looked back to Brevyn, and I was shocked to see tears flowing down her cheeks. “My dearest friend. I avenged you. I want you to know that. Those men died screaming for mercy.”
My jaw dropped. A part of me rejoiced in her words. My mother's death had been avenged. I only wished I could have done it myself. Or known it sooner.
“No, darling. No tears,” Cian kissed his wife's cheek. “This is simply another reason to celebrate. Your friend is here with us, surrounded by her family, and a support to her family. And we have our own child now.”
“Yes, we do,” Meara looked back to Lugh and sniffed. “But I'm holding onto Brevyn for now.”
“Alright, love,” Cian gave me an apologetic smile as he eased her to her seat.
I didn't mind at all, it freed up my hands to stuff my own face.
Cian helped his wife into her throne, and then waved Lugh into a seat on Meara's left, directly across the table from Arach. Then Cian took his throne, placing him on Arach's left. Cian looked over his new family with an air of satisfaction before he took a long swallow of fey wine.
“So,” I leaned across the table to speak to Lugh, “how are you feeling now?”
“Grateful,” he said with a deep sigh. “I thought the best I could hope for was a warm welcome, and for my presence to be tolerated. But instead, I find complete acceptance.”
“I told you they'd want you,” I shook my head at him.
“I know,” Lugh shrugged. “But Nuada and Manannan were so adamant, and I've never seen them proven wrong.”
“They have never been more wrong than today,” Cian declared. “I would have rejoiced at your birth, had I only been allowed to attend it.”
“My mothe-, I mean Fand said my mother's husband would have killed me when he saw that I was half Tuatha,” Lugh frowned. “I've always wondered at that. The Tuatha don't look any different from most of the Formorians. But the truth was, my face gave away my lineage, and it had nothing to do with the Tuatha.”
“That's the second time you've mentioned Fand,” Cian's eyes narrowed dangerously. “Does she happen to be a water-sidhe?”
“Yes,” Lugh frowned deeper. “She's married to Manannan. They raised me as their son.”
“Fand!” Cian growled, and Brevyn started to whine.
Meara rocked him and shot a nasty look at her husband.
“My apologies,” Cian took a deep breath. “But Fand, Meara. He said Fand. Don't you recall? I told you of her. I was so grateful that she chose to stay behind when we closed the way to the other realms. But now I know why.”
“Fand? The mermaid who endlessly pursued you?” Meara lifted her ruby brows.
“Fand pursued you?” Lugh also lifted his winged brows, so like his father's. “Romantically?”
“Fand was deeply jealous of Ethniu when I started an affair with your mother. Ethniu's husband was neglectful. They had an arranged marriage, and only spent enough time together to conceive a son; your brother Delbaeth. Then Ogma kept himself from her bed. He wasn't a Formorian either, at least not entirely. He was half Tuatha Dé Dannan.”
“Ogma Mac Elatha?” Lugh scowled when Cian nodded. “He was killed in the Second Battle of Mag Tuired.”
“Did he say Elatha?” I asked Arach
in a whisper. “That means-”
“Ogma was Elatha's son,” Lugh answered woodenly, his attention fixed on his father. “Bres' half-brother.”
“Damn, those two races sure did get intimate a lot for people who supposedly hate each other,” I noted.
“Hate can be very passionate,” Arach observed.
“My relationship with Ethniu wasn't as sordid as it may sound,” Cian's breath started coming in angry bursts as he tried to control himself. “It was openly blessed, even by Ogma himself. All approved of our union except for Fand, who couldn't comprehend why I'd choose a goddess when I could have any faerie I wanted.”
“Well, surely not any faerie?” I muttered to Arach, and he gave me a look that said otherwise.
“He's the High King,” Arach whispered. “Any faerie.”
“Hold on,” I said as it finally occurred to me what Cian was implying. “You think that Fand deceived everyone into believing that you wouldn't want your own son?”
“Was it Fand who brought you to the Tuatha?” Cian asked Lugh as he held a hand up to indicate that he'd heard me, but wasn't certain enough to answer me yet.
“Yes,” Lugh's face was falling. “But...” he swallowed hard, “she wouldn't.”
“She wouldn't what?” I asked.
“Tell Ethniu that she was bringing me my son to be raised as the High Prince, when in fact she took the baby to the Tuatha, and raised him as her own,” Cian said in a deadly tone. “My son. That traitor raised my son!”
“Oh,” I said in a small voice.
Rian chose that highly inappropriate moment to giggle, and I hushed him. He shot me a pout, but I was too distracted by the pain infusing Lugh's features. Cian's golden stare was molten hot while Lugh's was dulling to depths of emotion he wasn't ready to face. He'd just learned that the people who raised him had betrayed him. But at least he'd had the comfort of believing they'd done so out of love. Now he was hearing that the woman who had been a mother to him, the only mother he had ever known, had not only instigated the lie of his life, but had orchestrated his separation from both of his parents out of petty jealousy. Fand had stolen Cian's son.