Faery Tales: Six Novellas of Magic and Adventure (Faery Worlds Book 3)

by Phaedra Weldon

  “Why are you telling me this now, Dagda?” I asked, my voice coming out raspier than I had meant it to.

  “Because,” he said, “I never thought I would see that level of sacrifice again, not until Meghan showed up on my doorstep the night of the Beltaine Eve party, a bloody mess with your cold body in tow. I meant what I said earlier. You are incredibly lucky, and you did take a ridiculously long time to come to your senses with regards to that young woman of yours.”

  “And you brought up the incident with Drustan o’Ceallaigh because?” I continued, unable to let it go.

  The Dagda beamed, instantly shedding the melancholy shadow that had overwhelmed his usually placid demeanor, and said, “Oh, I just love to see you react like a jealous lover. Proves to me you have a heart, after all.”

  I glared at him. “You have a sick sense of humor sometimes, Dagda.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “Nope. I just enjoy my fair share of drama from time to time.”

  Leaning back against the couch, he cast me a fatherly look. “But I am very happy for you, Caedehn, you and Meghan. And I am very proud of everything you have accomplished and overcome. I know she will bring you that happiness you have always sought, and I know you will be a good husband to her.”

  Before I could muster up an appropriate response to that, the door to the study squeaked open and Meghan, her hair damp from her bath, peeked in.

  “Ah!” the Dagda barked, jumping up from the couch. “We were just talking about you!”

  Meghan furrowed her brow. “Good things, I hope,” she said, with a faint smile.

  “Of course,” the Dagda insisted. “Are you hungry, my girl?”

  “Starved.”

  “Good! Let’s relocate to the kitchen and see what the chef can throw together for us. We shall feast and make merry until the break of dawn!”

  Meghan dropped her face into her hands and groaned.

  The Dagda shot her a perturbed look. “Does a party not sound appealing to you?”

  I chuckled as I rose from my chair, moving to join Meghan at the door. “We’ve just come from celebrating in the Weald. I think Meghan might be a little worn out.”

  “Nonsense!” the Dagda roared.

  He brushed past Meghan and me, heading for the long hallway. The giant Tuatha De paused long enough to cast over his shoulder in a jovial voice, “One can never enjoy too many parties!”

  Meghan gave a sigh of defeat, leaning into me as we followed after my foster father. He had the nerve to whistle cheerfully, practically skipping down the hallway, clearly in anticipation of the upcoming festivities.

  “Don’t worry,” I assured Meghan, wrapping my arm around her and giving her shoulder an affectionate rub. “It won’t be so bad. It’s already growing dark, so he won’t have time to invite the entirety of his realm.”

  She tilted her head and made a face at me.

  I only laughed, hugging her closer, thinking back to my conversation with the Dagda. He may have been right about Meghan all along; that we were meant for each other, and that I had been a fool to deny it for so long. But then again, many of life’s little miracles are meant to happen precisely when they do, no sooner, no later. I could have told Meghan I loved her before that awful night I took on my mother’s glamour-infused Cumorrig, or perhaps I could have told her the day we visited the standing stones, when I had made myself invisible using my glamour before kissing her. But, it wasn’t just me who needed time to iron out his insecurities and get control of his demons. Meghan needed the time to adjust to her new identity as well. Too many things in life are rushed, often producing a disappointing end result. I hadn’t wanted that to happen to my relationship with Meghan, so I had bided my time.

  “I think I can survive one more night of frivolity,” Meghan finally said, breaking me away from my thoughts. “So long as I get to sleep in for a week when we get back to Luathara.”

  Laughing, I promised her we could sleep in for the next year if she wanted to. After all, we had earned it.

  MEGHAN

  Cade and I learned that first evening at the Dagda’s that Danua had sent out a missive calling all the Tuatha De into Erintara for a meeting about the state of Eile. That news came as a surprise, so I cast Cade a questioning look. He only shrugged.

  “I know nothing of it.”

  “I wonder why she didn’t tell me in her response to my letter about our impending visit,” I groused, as the two of us got ready for bed that evening.

  The grand celebration the Dagda threatened us with ended up being nothing more than a gathering of all his live-in staff and the women who seemed to keep a semi-permanent residence. We had talked and shared our news with everyone. Mead, ale and wine had been passed around, and a few of the more musically talented of the group played a few songs while we crowded into the kitchen surrounding a table of food. Two hours after the start of the meal, Cade and I complained of our exhaustion, and after suffering the Dagda’s grumbling about foster sons not visiting nearly often or long enough, he let us escape into our borrowed room upstairs.

  Now, as I paced around the chamber, recalling the last time Cade and I had stayed here with a small smile, I thought back to the conversation the Celtic god and I had shared.

  “So, you are heading to Erintara after this? Do you mind if I join you with some of my guard? Danua has called us to a meeting, and we are expected to be at the castle no later than a week from tomorrow. I wouldn’t mind arriving early and spending some more time with you and Cade.”

  He had let out a long breath, his eyes simply shining with what I’d suspected was his powerful glamour. “I’ve not seen much of either of you since the battle with the Morrigan. Luathara Castle must be keeping you quite busy. I know I’ve been rather preoccupied here. Any incidents of faelah lately?”

  The second half of that statement had been aimed at Cade, and as my husband-to-be went into the details of running Luathara, I’d thought about why Danua would want to call all the Tuatha De into the capitol city.

  Now that Cade and I were alone, I was ready to hear his ideas as well.

  “Perhaps she didn’t want to worry you,” Cade said, responding to my earlier question about Danua keeping us in the dark. “We are not the Tuatha De, and Luathara doesn’t technically fall under any of their jurisdiction.”

  I watched him as he shrugged off his shirt, displaying a golden torso decorated with Celtic tattoos and scars from old battles. I sighed, partly at the sight of him and partly at my now piqued curiosity. Despite the fact that the goddess of war, and my arch nemesis, was definitely destroyed, I couldn’t help but think some part of her lived on in the world somewhere. We still had our small skirmishes and run-ins with renegade faelah, but they were easy enough to kill. Just like dealing with an influx of aphids in the garden. More of an annoyance than anything else. Still, I could never quite shake the feeling this was the calm before the storm, the regrouping before the next fight. And now, my mother was gathering her troops again. It had only been a few measly months. If Eile was about to become the victim once again of some nefarious villain’s dark plans, then I might just chuck it all and move back to the mortal world.

  I didn’t even notice Cade until he was standing right in front of me.

  “Meghan?” he said quietly.

  Blinking, I trailed my gaze up his naked torso until it met eyes dark with concern. I felt the side of my mouth quirk in a half smile, and I reached out, running my hands up his warm skin. He hissed in a small breath and reached forward, pushing his fingers into my hair and guiding my head to rest against his broad chest. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent, immediately feeling the swirling dark cloud building in my heart dissipate.

  “I’m okay,” I promised, before my worry could transfer over onto him. “I’m just hoping Danua isn’t calling everyone to Erintara to discuss new battle plans.”

  Cade chuckled and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. “I’m sure it’s nothing. She’s probably just trying to
be thorough and keep on top of things. My guess is she’s been calling the Tuatha De to meet every month. The Dagda was complaining about it while you were playing a round of cards with Alannah and the others.”

  I pulled away from him just enough to ask, “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

  Cade shrugged, his fingers still carding my hair. “I thought nothing of it at the time. And there is nothing strange about the high queen checking up with the lesser sovereigns of her kingdom after a war. I’m sure this is just another routine exchange of news and updates about faelah sightings and the like.”

  He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, moving his mouth to my ear in a gentle caress as he whispered, “The Morrigan is gone, Meghan. We don’t have to fear her anymore.”

  Although I knew it would still take time for that anxiety to wear off completely, I shoved my worries aside and melted into Cade’s embrace. After that, it was easy to forget about everything unpleasant in my life. In fact, for the next few glorious hours, I forgot unpleasant things even existed in the world.

  * * *

  We didn’t leave for my mother’s castle the next day. Instead, we spent time lazing about the Dagda’s territory, watching the clouds shed rain and exploring the local landscape whenever there was a break in the weather. Each steep hill surrounding the Dagda’s underground home hid some building or house of sorts. One of the larger hills served as the stables for the horses, and a few others acted as the smithy, brewery and store house for grains and other victuals. The gently rolling fields that stretched beyond the edge of the community of hills were dark and freshly turned, some of the furrows already dusted green with young crops.

  “The land surrounding Carnogh is very rich and perfect for crops and the grazing of cattle, goats and sheep,” the Dagda had boasted on one of our lengthier tours.

  I arched a brow and glanced around Cade who was walking between us. “Carnogh?”

  “Aye, that’s what I call my abode and the immediate area surrounding it. Did I not tell you the name before?”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Nope. Carnogh. I like the sound of it.”

  “Means ‘little mountain’.”

  “An appropriate name, then.”

  The Dagda beamed and gave me a wink. “That it is.”

  We didn’t wander far beyond the last hill, although Fergus and Meridian, the ever curious spirit guides, insisted on exploring much farther out.

  You know where to find us, I sent to my merlin.

  Yes! she responded distractedly. Return soon. Creek ahead. Lots of snacks!

  I watched her, a small white dot against the dark clouds, as she and Fergus made their way northeast and toward a ribbon of silvery green willows and sycamores following a curving crease in the land.

  Cade tilted his head back and studied the clouds. “I think we might have a reprieve for a while longer. Shall we circle the perimeter of the hills and then head back in?”

  The Dagda nodded his approval.

  “Meghan?” Cade asked. “Are you warm enough? Should we head back instead?”

  If I was being honest, I would admit I was a little chilly, despite the wool scarf and coat one of the women had let me borrow. Instead, I shook my head and cuddled up next to Cade.

  “I’ll be fine if I can walk close to you,” I said, batting my eyelashes.

  The Dagda snorted then let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head as he led us away. As we circled Carnogh, Cade and his foster father took turns pointing out little bits and pieces of the landscape or wildlife to me. Some of the animals living here differed greatly from those at Luathara, and I delighted in seeing all of them, especially the birds busy bringing insects back to their nests. Besides birds, there were foxes, rabbits, deer and some other little creatures that looked like a cross between a weasel and a cat.

  Along with the annual crops dominating most of the freshly turned fields, there were also orchards, the trees adorned in brilliant white, pink and butter colored blossoms.

  “Apples, of course,” the Dagda answered when I asked about them, “as well as walnuts, almonds, pears, peaches, cherries, plums and apricots.”

  I closed my eyes as he ticked off the names, imagining what it must be like in this part of Eile in the fall months when all of these wonderful fruits would be ripe.

  “We’re going to have to come back in the autumn, Cade,” I stated when we reached the Dagda’s abode once again.

  “Oh?” he asked, helping me out of the coat and scarf.

  I nodded. “I want to try all the fruit they’ll be harvesting.”

  “A wonderful idea!” the Dagda crowed. “We can make soul cakes!”

  “Soul cakes?” I repeated.

  For some reason, an image of the Morrigan sacrificing a young woman and fusing her soul with a birthday cake slathered in pink frosting popped into my head. I shuddered. Perhaps I shouldn’t have added so much sugar to my oatmeal this morning.

  “They are a traditional cake made from the leftover dried fruit and nuts after the harvest,” Cade explained, for my benefit. “And on Samhain and the Winter Solstice, it is customary to leave some out for the souls that have not yet crossed over into the afterlife.”

  So, my bizarre hallucination wasn’t so far-fetched after all.

  “But,” I argued, “the Faelorehn are immortal.” At Cade’s confounded look, I waved my hand around and said, “I mean, I know they can die. You don’t have to tell me that, but I would think that would put a pretty sizeable cap on the death rate around here.”

  “Maybe now, in more modern times, but a thousand years ago, we were still a pretty violent people. Just look at the tales and sagas the mortals of your world recorded. Many of their ancient wars and conflicts were a direct result of our interfering with their world. We may be immortal, but like you said, we can still die.”

  “So, what time were you thinking of leaving tomorrow, Dagda?” Cade asked, moving the conversation along and onto a less gruesome subject.

  “I’d like to be on the road by midday, but no sooner,” the Dagda conceded. “I don’t like to rise too early.”

  I had to laugh at that. The Dagda was definitely a night owl.

  For the rest of the afternoon, we lounged around in the room adjoining the grand entrance hall. It was the same apartment the Dagda often used as the indoor gathering place for his famous parties, but today it was empty of people. A few skylights, round windows set high into the hillside, wept grey light upon us as we perused old books or battled it out in board and card games. The rain continued to pummel the world outside, but inside the hill we had warm blankets, a roaring fire and an endless supply of hot tea and honey. None of the women were around, and I wondered if maybe they had retreated to the other hills nearby, or if they were simply off in some of the many rooms of the Dagda’s house, giving us our time together.

  Dinner that evening was a less grand affair than the night before, and it was not followed by music and dancing. It turns out, even the fun-loving Dagda needed a break from the constant revelry every now and again. Instead, we returned to the great room, and Cade’s foster father entertained us with tales from his foster son’s youth.

  “I remember on one occasion, when Cade was no older than ten or eleven, he insisted on having a wolf for a pet.”

  So far, the tales had been accounts of Cade doing silly things like playing in mud puddles or rolling down the Dagda’s hill and scratching up his arms and legs. By the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes, however, I could tell this particular story would be far more interesting than the others.

  “So, what did you say to that?” I pressed when the Dagda failed to continue with his recollection. “Did you tell him wolves didn’t make good pets?”

  “Oh, no! I told him what any sensible Faelorehn foster father would.”

  I blinked, then darted my eyes between him and Cade. The latter, who was seated across from me in a large stuffed chair, looked as relaxed as a lion. He had his arms crossed loosely
over his chest, and he was stretched out like a throw blanket cast carelessly aside. If not for the firelight reflecting off of his eyes, I might have thought him asleep.

  “I told him,” the Dagda continued, gesturing animatedly with his massive arms, “that if he wanted a wolf for a pet, he’d have to get it himself.”

  My mouth dropped open. I tried to imagine Bradley or Logan whining to Mom or Dad about getting an entirely inappropriate pet. Mom would sit them down, give them her no-nonsense look, and explain, in great detail, why whatever it was they wanted would not be joining the Elam family. They would then shuffle away and sulk until they got distracted by something else. If it had been Dad they appealed to, they would have been greeted with a stern and final ‘NO’. Never, in a million years, would my parents tell my brothers that if they wanted a pet, they could have it if they went out and got it themselves. First of all, that was highly dangerous, considering the types of things Logan and Bradley found cute and cuddly, and secondly, they might actually succeed in securing whatever poisonous, vicious animal they hoped to bring home.

  Shaking my head to dispel my mind of those thoughts, I said, “Sorry? You told him what?”

  The Dagda gave me a look as if I might be daft. “If he wanted a wolf, he would have to go out into the wild and get it himself.”

  “Are you crazy?!”

  “You’re just wondering about that now?” Cade asked, his voice low but tainted with amusement.

  I crossed my arms and shot him a terse look. He only grinned at me.