She stretched languorously as she watched the sunlight shimmer through the mist of the waterfall, feeling as if she were inside one of her own sidhe. The gentle roar of the falls helped soothe her stressed nerves. Perhaps she would bring Eden here later.
Today was Eden’s seventh birthday, and Cedar had planned a surprise party for later in the afternoon, complete with balloons and cakes and Eden’s favorite foods. She had invited all their friends and family here in Tír na nÓg. She knew it wouldn’t be as much fun for Eden as celebrating with a room full of little girls, but she hoped the party would help her feel at home. There was just one thing Cedar couldn’t duplicate: Eden’s grandmother had always been a big part of the festivities each year. Cedar hoped Eden’s memory of her gran’s death wouldn’t ruin her special day.
Cedar’s thoughts lingered on Maeve, as they so often did when she was alone. The tears for her adoptive mother had finally come in this sacred and quiet glade, where she didn’t have to be strong, or make decisions, or solve problems—where she could just be. She wondered what Maeve would think of what she had done and who she had become. Would she be proud of her? Or would she be angry with Cedar for embracing her true identity and moving with Eden to Tír na nÓg? Cedar would never know, but she chose to believe that she and Maeve had reached an understanding before she died. If Maeve could have only seen beyond her broken heart, beyond her obsession with Brogan, she would have realized that the Tuatha Dé Danann are a wonderful, noble people. Flawed, yes, but no more so than any other race.
As Cedar thought about Maeve, her mind inevitably turned toward Halifax and her old life there. She missed it more than she’d expected. She actually missed her work as a graphic designer, and felt nostalgic for the simple, small things like her morning walk to work along the harbor, casual office banter, and Friday work lunches at the local pub, which often lingered well into the afternoon. She missed the smell of warm concrete, the rustic beauty of a maritime autumn, and the sound of seagulls’ cries over the water. And she missed her apartment, which had been a total write-off after Liam and his fellow druids had destroyed it in a fire. As she lay on the grass, staring up at the blue sky, she found herself craving a strong coffee and sesame seed bagel. Something familiar…something like home. Just one more time.
Her stomach fluttered nervously at the thought, but why not? It wouldn’t be her first trip back to Earth since becoming queen. After her first chaotic week on the throne, she, Finn, and Eden had spent a few days at Brighid’s island retreat. It had been strange at first, spending time with the woman whom she’d once deemed a rival for Finn’s affection. But by the end she’d been reluctant to leave behind Brighid’s huge personality and wild tales, not to mention her in-depth knowledge about the world that Cedar now ruled. Cedar had asked Brighid to come back to Tír na nÓg for a while, but the Elder goddess had only laughed and politely declined, saying that she’d be happy for them to visit her anytime.
Cedar had also paid a stealth visit to Maeve’s grave in Chester to rip out the rose bush Liam had planted and set it on fire. Maeve had never asked for his affection, and Cedar hadn’t wanted his token to despoil her mother’s grave any longer. Finn had been angry that she had gone—and gone alone. But what he hadn’t understood was that she’d needed to do it by herself. Even though the druid was dead, his betrayal still burned like an open wound. She had hoped that ripping out the rose bush would give her some sort of closure. It hadn’t.
Finn would have called her reckless for even considering another trip to Earth. And maybe it was true—she did feel a little reckless. But she had lived there for her entire life; why shouldn’t she go back and visit as long as she was discreet? It’s not like she was going to open a sidh in the middle of a crowded street. Leaving the waterfall behind, she walked slowly back into the scorched poppy field. She knew she did have to be discreet, particularly when opening a sidh to Earth. She wasn’t the only one who wanted to go there, after all. Now that she and Eden both had the gift to create the sidhe, there had been a clamoring of requests to reopen the passageways between Tír na nÓg and the land the Danann called Ériu. So far, Cedar had adamantly refused. There were still those who believed humans were a blight to be snuffed out, and she didn’t dare give them access to Earth. Still, it was safe for her to open a sidh from her home, which could be accessed by no one but her immediate family. None of the others Danann need ever know.
It was still early morning, and Jane’s new apartment, two floors below the one that had gone up in flames, would be a safe place for her to pass through. Leaving her sidh to the waterfall glade open for Finn or Eden to close, she created a new one to Jane’s apartment. She plucked a poppy that had somehow managed to survive her fire mishap and tossed it through the shimmering air as a way of announcing her arrival, remembering the time she had walked in on Jane and Felix getting to know each other better in the living room. She tiptoed through. It was dark when she entered, which meant Jane was probably still asleep in her bedroom. Sinking down onto her old sofa, Cedar released a drawn-out sigh. All of Jane’s belongings had been destroyed in the druids’ fire, so Cedar had given her friend her own furniture, which she’d put into storage before the move to Tír na nÓg. Jane had graciously accepted the modern pieces, and then set about scouring flea markets for decor that was more “her thing.” It felt strange, sitting in this new place with her old belongings. A metaphor for her life, she mused.
Maybe I should wake Jane? Her friend didn’t hide the fact that she wanted to see her more often. Cedar felt the same way. Before moving, she hadn’t realized how much she relied on Jane for advice…and sanity. Still, she didn’t want to disturb her friend’s rest. She switched on a lamp and then went into the kitchen and reached for the jar on top of the fridge, where she knew Jane kept an emergency stash of money. She slipped a bill out and wrote her friend a note—I owe you $10. Was craving a bagel. Will come for a real visit soon! xo - Cedar
That done, she headed down the stairs, luxuriating in the thrill of anticipation she felt at such a simple thing. Sleeping in on Saturday mornings was a foreign concept for Eden, so Cedar had made a habit of bringing her to the bagel shop down the street for breakfast. Cedar would sip coffee and have a sesame bagel with plain cream cheese and read the newspaper, while Eden would munch on a chocolate chip bagel with strawberry cream cheese, her nose stuck in a book. It had been calm and peaceful—two things that didn’t play a big part in Cedar’s current life.
Mike, the shop owner, was just opening the doors when she arrived. “Well, now, look who’s come back!” he exclaimed at the sight of Cedar. “We’ve not seen you in here for ages! I thought you must have moved away. Where’s your little one? The chocolate chip bagels are fresh out of the oven!”
Cedar laughed nervously. “We did move, actually,” she said, trying to think up an alibi on the fly. “We’re just here to visit some friends. But I’ll take a chocolate chip bagel for Eden. And I’ll have my usual.” She smiled as she imagined how Eden would react to her favorite treat.
“Did you really?” he asked, handing her a cup of coffee and putting her bagel in the toaster. “Where you living now, then?”
“Uh, Montreal,” she improvised, starting to think this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. What if one of her old colleagues from work walked in? She’d left Ellison with virtually no notice, and Jane had told her about the rumors that were still swirling around the office. She just wanted a bagel, not an inquisition. “Can I get that to go?” she asked as she watched him slather on the cream cheese.
“Sure you can,” Mike said. “I suppose you’ve got lots of people to visit while you’re back?”
She nodded, then handed him the ten-dollar bill and said, “Keep the change. Nice to see you again!”
“Happy Thanksgiving!” he called, but she was already out the door.
She’d forgotten—it was Thanksgiving weekend here in Canada, not that such holidays were celebrated in Tír na nÓg. She thought about heading
back to Jane’s apartment, but it was a gorgeous fall day, warm for this time of year, and the cry of the seagulls and the smell of the ocean were too intoxicating to leave behind. She pulled her bagel out of the bag and took a bite, letting the taste and smell and feel of the warm bread assault her senses in the most wonderful way. The food in Tír na nÓg was exceptional, but this, this tasted like home. She found a bench close to the waterfront and sat down, watching as a lone sailboat drifted past. Maybe we could come back for weekends, she thought idly. Just so we can spend our Saturday mornings here.
A sudden movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She whirled around, but there was nothing there. Still, she felt unsettled. It was risky coming back to Earth, and she knew it…Enemy druids could be anywhere. She stood up and looked around, but the only other person in sight was a solitary jogger running in the opposite direction. If she had her way, she would bring every single druid on Earth in for questioning, but that task seemed impossible. There was no central registry of druids, and even the druids themselves did not know where all the others were.
She kept her head down as she walked back to the apartment, hoping she wouldn’t bump into anyone she knew. Time to be responsible, she supposed. Jane still hadn’t emerged from her room, so she stepped back through the sidh into the poppy field. There she found Finn, standing with his hands on his hips, his eyes dark as he eyed the half-eaten bagel in her hands.
“We do have food here, you know,” he said stiffly, waving a hand at both the sidh to Jane’s apartment and the one leading to the green glen, causing the shimmering air to return to normal.
“I needed some comfort food,” she muttered. “I can do the sidhe just fine, but the fire is still giving me trouble. Obviously.” She looked ruefully at the blackened field around them, and then wiped a bit of cream cheese off the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Cedar, you can’t keep doing that,” he said. “It’s not safe.”
“I was careful,” she said, not quite looking at him. “No one saw me.”
Finn looked like he wanted to argue some more, but instead he asked, “You miss it, don’t you?”
“I do,” she admitted. “But I also love it here. It’s just…a lot to adjust to, that’s all.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “I know. It’s a bit different than when we were first dating, isn’t it?”
She smiled, remembering those carefree days. She had never stopped loving Finn while he was away, but she knew that they’d both changed. It was a peculiar place to be in—sometimes she felt like they had never been apart, and other times she wondered who this strange man was lying next to her, playing father to her child.
“It means so much to me that you’re here,” he said, his voice muffled by her hair.
She rested her head on his chest, taking comfort in the steady beating of his heart. These first few weeks in Tír na nÓg had been so busy for both of them, and she wanted more than anything to just spend a lazy day with him and Eden. “It means so much to me that you’re here,” she said. “Who else would regrow a poppy field for me—again?”
He laughed. “Nevan’s outside waiting to walk to the Council meeting with you,” he said. “Eden’s still sleeping; I’ll tell her you said happy birthday when she gets up.”
“Okay,” Cedar said, feeling a twinge of disappointment as she handed Finn the paper bag in her hands. “Here, I got her a bagel; it’s her favorite kind. Maybe bring her by to see me after the meeting?”
“I don’t think we’ll be back in time,” Finn said. “I’m taking her into the mountains this morning. There’s a secret network of pools near the top of one of the peaks that my mum used to bring me to when we were hiding out from Lorcan. I thought she’d like to see it. We’ll just get home in time for her party.” He grinned in anticipation. Finn had been like a child on Christmas morning ever since their return to Tír na nÓg. He spent almost every day exploring his lost homeland, discovering what had changed since his childhood and introducing their daughter to his favorite places.
“Of course,” she said, forcing a smile. Instead of joining them on their adventure, she would be spending her morning trying to sort through the politics of a world she didn’t quite understand. “Well, we’ll have fun together at her party,” she said, giving him a hug before disappearing into her wardrobe, which had expanded considerably now that she was queen. Thankfully, she could get into most of her dresses without assistance—only the most ornate ones required Finn or Riona’s help. Today she chose a pale yellow dress with short ruffled sleeves, something that wouldn’t have been entirely out of place at a summer wedding on Earth. She fastened her hair up with a shell-shaped comb and slipped her feet into a pair of delicate sandals studded with yellow sapphires. Finn had already left the charred poppy field when she walked back through it, leaving through the door that led to the circular courtyard lined with willow trees. As queen, she could have chosen to relocate to the opulent accommodations in the Hall with her family, but Cedar loved the home Finn had made for them, and she knew how attached Eden had become to her tree-house bedroom—and her new grandparents.
Riona was sitting on a bench under one of the willow trees, watching the waterfall that spilled into a pool in the center of the room. She stood up when she saw Cedar and curtseyed slightly. Cedar rolled her eyes. “Will you please stop doing that? We’re family, and it’s extremely weird when you bow to me.”
Riona laughed but made no promises. “It comes with the title, my dear, so you’d best get used to it. You look lovely,” she added. “I hope all goes well with the Council today.”
“So do I,” Cedar said. “I’ll see you at the party later.”
When she reached the outer door of their home, Nevan was waiting for her, just as Finn had said, along with three tall guardsmen dressed in the dark green and silver uniforms that marked them as part of the Royal Guard. “Good morning,” she said. They nodded back but made no verbal reply.
Nevan curtseyed. “Good morning, Your Majesty,” she said. Cedar smiled at her friend, who looked more like a fairy than any of them with her platinum-blonde pixie cut and glittering white dress. Together they started walking toward the Hall, with one of the guards in front of them and the other two behind. Cedar could have used a sidh, of course, but she enjoyed these morning walks with Nevan, who was bubbly and talkative and had assigned herself the role of Cedar’s—and Eden’s—tutor in the ways of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Each morning as they walked to the Hall together, she told Cedar more about the history of her people and would quiz her on the previous day’s lesson. They met at other times for more in-depth lessons, but Cedar had discovered that Nevan was quite politically astute, and she always felt more informed—and better equipped to make decisions—after their walks. It was the ideal way to head into a Council meeting.
“Tell me about your parents, Nevan,” Cedar said. “You mentioned the other day that they’re Elders. The only Elder I know is Brighid—are they like her? Can you still speak with them even though they’ve gone back to the Four Cities?”
Nevan laughed, a tinkling sound that always brought a smile to Cedar’s face. “I’m afraid Brighid is quite unique,” she said. “She has the most outrageous qualities of both the Elders and the humans, which distinguishes her from both races. But all the Elders, my parents included, are different from us. They’re a step more…godlike, I suppose. They’re more powerful and dominant than we are. You’d probably consider them melodramatic. They each seem to exist in their own self-contained world, whereas those of us who are their descendants are more interconnected, both with each other and with humanity—or at least we were back when we visited Ériu more.”
“Wasn’t it hard for you when they left?” Cedar asked. She couldn’t imagine voluntarily leaving Eden behind, knowing she would never see her again.
“Not really,” Nevan answered with a shrug. “I wasn’t a child anymore, and they weren’t the kin
d of parents that you’re thinking about. I wonder about them occasionally, but we didn’t have a close relationship like you and Eden do…or even Finn and his parents. As awful as it sounds, it wouldn’t really bother me if I never saw them again. And who knows? Maybe I will. They left us for the Four Cities, but that doesn’t mean they’ll never return.”
Cedar thought about her own birth parents, Brogan and Kier, and wondered what her childhood would have been like if she’d been born and raised in Tír na nÓg. Would they have loved her like Maeve had loved her? Kier had sacrificed the last bit of her power to give Cedar the gift of humanity in the hopes of shielding her from Lorcan. That had to mean something, she thought.
They walked in silence for several minutes; Nevan was apparently waiting for another question, but Cedar was distracted, her attention drawn to the beauty that surrounded them. She couldn’t believe how quickly the land had rejuvenated in the past few weeks. The grass beneath her feet was no longer dry and coarse; it was as soft and tender as the flowers that dotted the fields and filled the air with a gentle fragrance. The trees, which had been dead and barren, now hung with heavy blossoms. Some were even beginning to bear fruit. Cedar had been delighted to discover that the queen had her own orchard, a maze of trees and bushes that were now bursting with life.
In its natural state, Tír na nÓg was always in the height of spring. There was no fall or winter here, at least nothing that lasted more than a day or two. The plants would bloom, bear fruit, and when the fruit had all fallen or been picked, they would bloom again, a never-ending cycle of growth and beauty without the darkness of death and winter. This cycle would repeat until the end of time—or, she supposed, until a new calamity struck Tír na nÓg.
Cedar was lost in thought when she heard a voice call her name from behind them. The guards stopped first, and then stepped aside when they saw Rohan approaching. “Good morning, Your Majesty,” Rohan said as he dipped his head toward her. “Good morning, Nevan.”
Beyond the Pale: A Thin Veil Novella (The Thin Veil Book 3) Page 8
