by A. E. Lowan
Winter’s hand went to the sudden agony under her sternum. “This morning. Midir murdered him.” She swallowed back the tears, but what came tumbling out were words. "The last things I said to him were horrible, angry things. But the worst part is… I'm still so angry. I'll never get to see my father again, but right now I'm not sorry for what I said. And I don't know what sort of person that makes me."
Ceallach crossed the room and took her lightly by her shoulders. “We share the same pain, Winter Mulcahy. The last things I said to Ciaran were in anger and I am forced to live with the knowledge that I did not love my son as I should have. As my wife did. But the fact was he was not easy to love, unlike our younger son. He did horrible things, even by our standards.” He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze and Winter nearly began to cry. “Do not fear that you are a bad person, little healer. I would not let a bad person this close to my Deirdre.”
Winter sniffed back her tears. “Thank you, your majesty. You are very kind.”
Ceallach chuckled. “Don’t tell anyone out there that. This can be our secret.”
With thoughts of her father came thoughts of her mother, and Winter’s curiosity flared. “Your majesty, may I ask a question for myself?”
Ceallach nodded. “I will grant it to you, though you may not like the answer.”
She was prepared for that. “My mother was a sidhe mix of some sort and disappeared when I was four. We think she returned to Faerie. Her name was Tersa and she had eyes and hair like flame.” She hesitated. “Have you heard of her?”
Ceallach shook his head. “I am sorry, but I have not. I know many fae in many courts and I have never encountered one such as she. But I’m sure you must have her look about you. You have all the grace and light of one of our own women.”
She wiped her eyes on her sweater cuff and smiled, trying to sort out her disappointment… and then tipped her head further to one side as the angle revealed a tiny hoof poking out from behind the bulk of a large embroidery basket. She crossed the room with slow, careful strides so as to not startle the queen and retrieved the small, elegant horse from beneath.
Ceallach cast a broad smile on her like a benediction. “Well done, little healer. Well done.” He took the offered toy and knelt before his queen. “Deirdre, my love,” he said in soothing tones. “The healer has found the blood bay stallion. Do you want to see it?”
Deirdre’s eyelids slowly opened as if from a long sleep, revealing beautiful eyes of cornflower blue with gold flecks. She remained unfocused for several long moments until finally settling on the toy horse. She reached her hand out and folded her long fingers about the horse, bringing it to her breast… and then brushed her fingers across the back of Ceallach’s hand as her eyes closed again.
Ceallach’s eyes teared and he stood, crossing the room away from the three women to gather himself. Winter waited patiently, and after several long minutes he returned, his dark eyes a bit red. “I miss her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“How long has she been like this?”
Ceallach looked at his wife. “This is the worst she’s ever been and this has lasted since our older son’s death. But Deirdre has always been frail. She led a tragic life before I met her, when she earned the name Deirdre of the Sorrows, and I am not her first love. I am simply the one she has not lost. But losing one son and then the other, combined with my brother Midir’s cruelty, were the hammer blows that truly drove her to madness.”
Winter nodded. “I believe that your queen is suffering from several different maladies.” An entire alphabet soup of them, but she did not think that Ceallach would understand the list moving through her mind. “It’s not unusual, considering her history. I won’t use the word ‘cure’ but I do think I can alleviate some of her symptoms and make the illness easier for her to deal with.”
“Why can’t you cure her?”
Winter steepled her fingers and pressed them to her lower lip for a moment as she gathered her words. “Mental health is very complicated and even I can’t make a potion that will simply fix it. It involves dealing with past trauma, with stabilizing her brain chemistry – what’s going on with her mind – so she can develop resilience again and be able to interact with others somewhat normally, so she can overcome her melancholy, and her anxiety, and so she can get restful sleep.”
Ceallach listened and nodded. “So what can you do for her, then?”
Now came the hard part. “I’m going to have to ask you to trust me. I’ll need a small vial of her blood every month – and to do that you’ll need to tie your realm more firmly to the Mortal Realm, so our time syncs up. I’ll use her blood to make a powerful potion that she must take every day to be effective.” Winter glanced at the queen. “A missed day once in a while is okay, but more than that and it simply won’t build up in her system. After a week or two of compliance you should start seeing some improvement and it will become more marked as time goes on and the potion builds up in her body.”
“All this in exchange for my help,” Ceallach said, his tone turned sardonic.
Winter blinked and shook her head. She’d forgotten all about that. “No, that was Lana. I would never leave anyone like this if I could help them. I’m a surgeon, not a therapist, but I’ll do my best by your wife.”
Ceallach’s expression softened and his gaze found his queen. “If you can offer my Deirdre hope, I will gladly ride into battle for you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Cian couldn’t get Winter’s smile out of his head. The way her mouth curved just so and the way her gentle eyes warmed at his touch filled him with a desire to return to the gazebo at Mulcahy House and cover her with kisses.
Etienne touched his shoulder. “Hey, try to focus before we get lost.”
Cian flushed. Speaking of someone he wanted to cover with kisses…
Etienne glanced back. “I’m thinking of her, too. But concentrate on Anluan’s court and finding her an army. We need to succeed because there isn’t a chance that Unseelie will help us.”
Cian nodded, trying to do as he was told, but he couldn’t help but wonder… were the Unseelie really so bad? If Winter was one of them, he doubted it. How could someone like her be evil? And Lana might be a little odd, but she wasn’t so bad, really. Prickly and contrary, maybe, but not evil like Etienne seemed to think she was.
Fortunately for the two of them, only one person was needed to navigate the paths of Faerie. Soon enough the light got bright beneath the trees and they crested a hill, coming in view of a glittering, glorious palace sitting atop a rise like a jewel in the forested setting. Cian’s lips parted and he let out a soft breath.
They were home.
He turned to say as much to Etienne and stopped. Emotions danced across the faerie knight’s normally stoic face, some Cian recognized and some he didn’t. Anger. Pain. Longing. His tanned cheeks were flushed, making his spell scars stand out in stark relief. In all their years of travelling together, Cian had never seen his companion – his protector – in such a state of distress.
Was returning such a good idea, after all?
Cian reached out and slid his fingers down the shorter man’s wrist, slipping his hand into his, offering comfort and touch.
Etienne took a deep breath and gave Cian’s hand a squeeze. “I’m… fine. I… Dammit, now I sound like Winter.” His expression turned sardonic for a moment and then he sighed, his gray eyes open and honest in their pain. “No, I’m not fine but I’ll be okay. We need to do this for her.” He let go of Cian’s hand and they began walking again.
They made the short trip in silence, passing farms where lesser fae labored to bring in the summer wheat. King Anluan and Queen Niamh tolerated no chill kiss of winter’s cold in their realm. Here it was eternal summer, eternal daylight.
Four guards stood at the closed gates. No more were needed. The great king knew all who passed through his realm and could warn his soldiers in times of invasion. The guards were whispering among th
emselves and one word carried.
Agmundr.
“Great,” Etienne muttered. “This should be fun.”
Two of the guards crossed their spears as Cian and Etienne approached. A third stepped forward and bowed. The leaves embossed into her armor shifted with her movements as if alive. “Etienne Queen’s Son, greetings,” she said, her words at opposition with the rest of the guards’ body language. “May I ask the reason for your return from exile?” None of the guards gave Cian a second glance. Had it really been so long?
Etienne’s jaw tightened enough that the scars on his cheek moved and Cian had traveled with the faerie knight long enough to know the next words to fall from his lips would be, “None of your fucking business.” But instead he released a breath of tension and nodded in the courtliest fashion Cian had ever seen from him. “I have come to visit with my mother and her husband. Long have I wandered and I wish to look again upon their shining faces.” He even managed to keep a straight face. Etienne’s gaze fell on the crossed spears. “May we pass?”
“The last time you passed through these gates death followed in your wake.” The fourth guard looked out from behind the spears, one hand flexing on the hilt of his sword.
And that was when Etienne’s patience wore out. He looked from the guard’s hand to his face. “I remember the sidhe lord in question. Thought he’d duel me and kill me for Anluan. Thing is… I don’t duel.” Etienne held the guard’s gaze. “Friend of yours?”
Cian stepped away, giving Etienne room to fight, and his hand moved to his own sword, for all the good it would do him. After his fight – if he could call it that – with the black-haired sidhe lord, he knew he was severely outclassed.
The first guard noticed him move and held out her hand. “Who are you?”
Etienne shook his head and Cian hesitated… and then spoke. “I am Cian, son of Eoin and Edaine-"
“He is Prince Cian, the Glorious Dawn! My beloved nephew, returned to me from the dead.” Framed by the open gates stood King Anluan, golden and glorious as his palace. He stood with arms spread wide, his leonine mane of shining hair held off his face by his crown, this one a simple twist of leaves and small flowers in shaped silvery gold sidhe steel which set off his brilliant blue tunic and summer sky eyes.
Anluan’s guards each dropped to one knee on their king’s arrival, opening the way between him and Cian. The king strode forward and took Cian into a tight embrace. “My boy… my shining boy of spring… how I mourned you.”
Cian’s lip quivered with emotion. Etienne had always said he couldn’t return, but here they were, being welcomed with open arms. Etienne had been wrong; his uncle wasn’t some horrible monster. He was a king. “I missed you, too, Uncle.” He pulled back as he remembered why they were here. “I have news…”
Anluan kept an arm around Cian’s shoulders and guided him through the gates. “Of course, of course. Come inside and we shall feast your return!”
“King Anluan, it is urgent that we beg audience,” Etienne said from behind them. But Anluan did not so much as twitch in his direction. Instead he pulled Cian along with him through the brightly lit hallways, past kneeling guards and bowing courtiers who whispered after they were gone, until finally they reached his great dining hall with its graceful, curling staircases and glittering chandeliers lit by faerie fire.
Cian devoured everything with his eyes, remembering the lavish feasts and dazzling balls of the past. He had not seen this, any of this, since he was half grown, a boy just entering manhood. Living in the wilderness with Etienne, he had forgotten how beautiful his uncle’s court was. A trio of pixies flew from the table, bearing a goblet of wine for Cian. It was just as sweet and delicious as he remembered.
“All right, we’re here.” Etienne still stood behind them, fighting a battle against the irritated expression on his face and losing badly. There was no wine goblet in his hand. “My lord, will you hear me? I bear-”
“What’s this?” Anluan bumped against the sword on Cian’s hip and frowned.
“It’s my sword,” Cian replied, not sure why his uncle would be displeased. “I’m still learning, though. Etienne is teaching me.”
Anluan motioned for a page to approach. It was a beautiful human boy on the cusp of puberty with bright yellow hair. “Here, take this. There is no need for it here.”
The page reached for Cian’s belt and he gently pushed the boy’s hands away. “No, thank you, my lord. I would prefer to keep it.” He looked around as he spoke. Other pages and servants wandered the hall in Anluan and Niahm’s livery, serving the gathered sidhe lords, but all of them were human or lesser fae. No sidhe served at table.
How had he missed that, before?
“My lord, we beg an audience with you.”
Anluan continued to studiously ignore Etienne. Why? They were trying to tell him about Senán. Finally, he could no longer stand it. “Uncle. My lord. We bear news of Prince Senán.”
Anluan graced Cian with a magnanimous smile. “You have my attention.”
Cian let out a breath of relief.
The king accepted a lute from another liveried servant and handed it to Cian. “But play for me as we walk and talk. As you used to do to please me.”
Cian felt his own jaw beginning to tighten and a growing desire to smack Anluan with the lute. Why wouldn’t he just listen? This was about his son! His only son, returned from the dead! But instead he ran his fingers over the strings and began to play one of the king’s old favorites. “We found him, my lord. We found Senán. Prince Midir has taken him and keeps him in a tower in the Mortal Realm.” Cian hesitated. “Midir has performed unknown magic on him, though, and driven him mad. He doesn’t know who he is. He doesn’t even know he’s sidhe.”
Anluan’s golden brows rose with shock and he stopped walking beneath the grand staircase. “What are you saying?”
From the top of the stairs carried a voice like honey. “My son bleats for your attention like a goat, but it is your catamite nephew who catches your ear.”
Catamite?
Queen Niahm made her slow way down, watching the men below her with calculating gray eyes. Her auburn hair was piled high upon her head, a dainty pixie perched atop it like an ornament to keep it in place.
Etienne froze, as if waiting for something. “Mother.”
Niahm raked him over with her gaze. “Etienne. I see you have returned to us from your self-imposed exile.”
His eyes hardened with anger. “You know why I left.”
“Indeed.” She just as quickly dismissed him, turning to her husband and Cian without a second glance. “And now you have your young nephew back, Anluan. Joy must be bursting from your heart.” Her words were pretty but her tone was venomous. She held out her hand and a goblet of wine was placed in it.
“Niahm, stifle your barbed tongue and listen to the boy.” Anluan did not look amused. “And who are you to speak of catamites when you stand before me with your human minstrel’s get?”
Etienne ground his teeth but remained silent.
Niahm peered at her husband from over the brim of her goblet. “Chretien was able to accomplish what you were not. It’s not my fault you-”
Anluan bellowed with rage and dashed a flower arrangement to the ground, scattering petals and pixies into the air. One pixie lay on the marble floor in the ruins of the vase, whimpering in pain, and her fellows gathered her up before she could be trampled. “I sired a son! I sired Senán! You cannot deny me that!”
Niahm threw down her goblet, chipping the floor and destroying the vessel. “Senán is dead, and it’s your fault. You sent him riding with your catamite and brigands fell upon them.” She pointed an elegant hand at Anluan. “You killed my son.”
“Dammit, Niahm, listen to me! Cian comes bearing news of Senán. He is not dead. Midir took him and holds him prisoner in the Mortal Realm.”
Niahm was taken aback. Then she slapped Cian across the mouth. “You liar! You shall be foresworn; I will see to it my
self.”
Etienne stepped forward, putting himself between Cian and his mother, his face flushed with rage. Guards all around reached for their weapons but Etienne did not give them so much as a glance. “And we’re done. We’ve brought you truthful news. You know where your precious son is and hopefully Ceallach’s thirst for vengeance is greater than your desire for petty squabbling. Midir is planning to invade the Mortal Realm tomorrow night, in the city of Seahaven, if you care to make an appearance.” He dropped his volume, his voice for their small company alone. “I don’t care how you felt about Edaine, I don’t care how jealous you were, but I will not allow you to abuse Cian. Ever. We’re finished, here.” He turned and walked away, pulling Cian along behind him.
Anluan followed. “Cian, wait, don’t go.”
Cian turned back, disturbed by what he had seen, his mouth still stinging from Niahm’s slap. “My lord, I must go.”
“But why? You only just arrived.”
Cian looked at Anluan in his golden crown and only felt disappointment. “Because my honor demands that I help my kinsman. I hope you remember your own sense of honor before it is too late.” He turned on his heel and followed Etienne, leaving Anluan to stare after him with an open mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
At Mulcahy House, Jessie had barely brought the last of the chairs to the dining room table when the first fight broke out.
“You’re in my seat.”
Jessie looked up to see Basil the deer harem master standing over Brooks the bachelor deer buck with his arms crossed. Jessie liked Brooks. When the harem masters threw out young bucks at puberty he was the one who took them in and saved them from the streets. Brooks was strong enough to be a harem master in his own right, but instead he was raising the abandoned sons of other bucks. Brooks gestured at the other places at the table. “Seriously? There are a lot of seats.”
Basil sneered. “But these are for leaders.”
Brooks flushed in anger beneath his short beard. “Then why do you want one?”
