by Ann Hunter
Ciatlllait’s hands hovered over Sulwen’s body and trembled. Her eyes searched the queen wildly as her smile grew. She pried the stone mask from the queen and gazed into the face of death.
“I win.”
Ciatlllait began to chuckle. She turned her face upward toward the orange glow of a torch. She focused on Sulwen and slapped the soft pile of furs the queen’s body lay upon. “Do you hear me, you bag of bones? I. Win.”
She rose quickly and paced in a circle. Her fingers rubbed her chin eagerly. She thought of the king and turned back to Sulwen. “Do you know what I shall do now? Aodhagáin will want to ease his sorrow in time. Guess who shall be there. Guess.” She leaned over Sulwen and whispered in her ear with giddy. “You’ll never guess.” Ciatlllait straightened and pressed her fingers together. “Well it certainly isn’t going to be you, is it?” She tipped her head back and laughed. She paced again and then paused. She gazed upwards as though the stars in the heavens swirled around them. “Mine, Sulwen. All mine.” She looked over her shoulder with ice in her eyes. “Your throne. Your husband. Your crown. Mine.”
She clasped her hands behind her back and paced. Her swan-like neck bent. She tsked softly. “Oh, but those children. What shall I ever do with those seven pesky brats? I suppose I could bed your eldest and succor your youngest. They are nineteen and five, are they not? No, that won’t do.” She glanced at the dead queen. “I have bigger plans.” She pivoted and held Sulwen’s mask. She raised it to her own face, gazing at the back of it. “And do you know what,” she glanced at Sulwen, “Your Majesty?” She knelt beside the queen, her fingers moving over the burial shroud like spiders. She leaned in close, her unnaturally perfect teeth glistening under a wide grin. “There’s not a thing you can do about it.” Ciatlllait’s laughter filled the chamber as she replaced the queen’s mask. She rounded so quickly that the rush of air from her cloak snuffed out the torchlight. Ciatlllait’s cackling and the rustle of her black rune cloak filled the darkness.
***
Aowyn watched the fire die away in her father’s eyes. Ciatlllait hung around him like a moth to a flame. She bore his wine and mead cup. She mantled him with furs when he shivered. Whenever Aodhagáin needed something, Ciatlllait got there before anyone else. Aowyn seethed. It wasn’t just with Aodhagáin, however. It was with Aowyn’s brothers as well. Ciatlllait was all honey, with sweet words that dripped from her silver tongue to all those who would eagerly lap it up. While her eyes dwelled upon Aodhagáin, the rest of her teased at Choróin and Caoin Croí, playing their ill-placed affections one against the other.
Aowyn’s stomach cramped with a sickness as she watched Ciatlllait leave Choróin’s room. Choróin leaned in the doorway to his quarters, half-dressed. His head tilted, eyes fixed on Ciatlllait’s backside swaying down the hall. Aowyn’s glare was daggers on her eldest brother.
“What are you doing with her, Choróin?” Aowyn growled.
Choróin’s stupid grin faded when he met her glower. “What concern is it of yours?”
Aowyn stepped forward. “I worry for you. She’s up to no good. She’s not worthy of you.”
Choróin straightened. “I am the Crown Prince. I can do as I wish. Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Wyn.”
“Stop being so arrogant, Choróin. That woman is poison. Can you not see it? You are the Crown Prince. You should do what is right. Father is unwell since mother left us. Instead of stepping up and ruling like you should, you and Caoin Croí strut about like young bucks.”
“You sound like our mother.”
“Good. You could use a sound rebuke from her.”
“Gods, Wynnie. I had a mother. You are not her. Our mother is dead.” Choróin’s jaw set. He shut the door firmly behind him.
Aowyn kicked his door. “I wish you would listen to me, Choróin!”
Choróin’s voice was muffled on the other side. “I wish you would shut up. Go away, Aowyn.”
Aowyn headed to the training yard outside where her brothers practiced their fighting skills. She paused by the garden. It overlooked the vast, green countryside, lush with rolling hills, farms, and rivers. Ciatlllait cozied up to Caoin Croí on a marble bench. The prince strummed away on his lute, oblivious to his sister’s presence. Ciatlllait gave Aowyn her best twisted smirk. She leaned in on Caoin Croí and nibbled his earlobe and twirled one of his red curls. Caoin Croí laughed softly. Aowyn’s hands fisted. Caoin Croí lifted his voice in love songs and poetry to his “lady fair.”
Aowyn was powerless.
She picked up a wooden waster sword in the training yard and turned it over in her hands. Her chest and shoulders heaved. She ground her teeth. A practice dummy stood before her, stuffed fat with straw and padding. His puffy head drooped over the string that formed his neck. The stake in the ground ran up through him, and a cross-stake formed two arms. A target was painted on his belly. Aowyn roared and struck him in the shoulder. She spun and drove the sword point into his chest. Another swing flogged his side. She bashed the pommel into the dummy’s head.
“You got him.”
Aowyn turned quickly.
Eagnaí jumped back as the sword nearly struck him. He held his hands up defensively. “Easy, Wyn.”
Aowyn caught her breath. Every muscle in her was tense.
Eagnaí nodded at the dummy. “I think he’s dead.”
Aowyn shook her hair out of her face and gave the dummy a resounding smack with the sword for good measure.
Eagnaí gingerly took the practice sword from his sister. “What’s wrong?”
Aowyn’s hand fisted. Her fingers rubbed against one another irritably.
“You haven’t been the same since Mother died.”
Aowyn looked away.
“Come on, Wynnie. I’m your best brother. You can tell me anything.”
When she refused to speak, Eagnaí picked up a rebated steel sword and tossed it to her. “Come on, then, let’s have a talk. Better for you to beat up something with a face than something defenseless.”
Aowyn angled the sword. The early spring sunlight glinted off the edge of the blade.
Eagnaí got in fighting position and tapped his blade against Aowyn’s. “Let’s go.”
Aowyn gave him a listless smile.
Eagnaí sighed and crossed to her. He prodded her into fighting stance and returned to his place. “Let me have it.”
Aowyn huffed and clanked her blade against his half-heartedly. Eagnaí parried with more force. “Come on, Aowyn. Hit me!”
Aowyn chewed her lip.
Eagnaí lowered his sword with a growl. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll just—”
Aowyn struck Eagnaí’s blade so hard it fell from his hand. Eagnaí bent to retrieve it, training his sight on his sister. He smirked. Eagnaí crouched and waved his fingers at Aowyn, beckoning her to hit him again. Aowyn squinted and lunged at him. Eagnaí hopped sideways. He swung his blade back and made contact with Aowyn’s. Steel scraped against steel. Aowyn rammed her shoulder into Eagnaí. Eagnaí grunted and pushed back.
“What’s eating you, Wyn?”
Aowyn kicked his ankle and banged into his shoulder again.
Eagnaí stumbled. “In ainm Crom,” he swore. Eagnaí deflected a blow to his head just in time.
Aowyn’s cheeks flushed. She pressed the attack. Eagnaí scurried. The swords clashed together. Aowyn kept hitting harder and harder until she cried out.
“Ciatlllait!”
Eagnaí winced at the force of the hit. “Ciatlllait what?”
Aowyn slashed. She yelled when she missed. She raised the sword over her head and hacked at Eagnaí.
Eagnaí ducked. “Ciatlllait what?”
Aowyn’s eyes watered angrily. “She’s everywhere.”
Eagnaí grimaced. “So is your focus. Bring it to me.”
Aowyn yelled and landed another blow. “That is for Father.” Another. “That is for Choróin and Caoin Croí.”
Eagnaí buffeted her.
Aowyn got close enough to pummel the ricasso of Eagnaí’s blade. Eagnaí grabbed her wrist and disarmed her. Aowyn fought against him. She beat her fists on his chest as her eyes welled over. “She poisons.”
Eagnaí’s hands were firm on her. When she stopped flailing, he pulled her to him and held her close. Aowyn wept into his neck. “She poisons.”
Eagnaí stroked her hair. “I know you don’t trust her, nor do I.”
Aowyn leaned back and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Why can Choróin and Caoin Croí not see as we do?”
“They think she is worthy of them, but we both know she is not.”
“I worry it will come back to haunt them. She will find a way to harm.”
Eagnaí nodded.
As they regarded each other, Rógaire and Lorgaire ran past the curtain wall, laughing.
Aowyn and Eagnaí broke apart. Their older brothers were covered in straw. Lorgaire lobbed a pack of mud at Rógaire. They jogged up to Aowyn and Eagnaí breathlessly. “You should have seen the look on Ciatlllait’s face.”
Aowyn faced them. “What have you been up to?”
Rógaire snorted and looked at Lorgaire who giggled like a girl.
Eagnaí crossed his arms.
Rógaire composed himself. “We knew Choróin was going out patrolling the borders today. So while the stable boy was readying his horse, we hid in the straw. We were going to wish him off.”
Aowyn squinted. “You mean spook his horse.”
“Well, alright, yes,” Rógaire admitted.
“But we weren’t expecting Ciatlllait to show up,” Lorgaire interjected.
“So Choróin grabs her,” Rógaire continued, “and they start disrobing in our straw pile.”
“Rógaire and I were sitting there in utter disbelief.”
Rógaire jabbed Lorgaire in the ribs. “You couldn’t believe it. My brain was steaming with new ideas while you were transfixed.”
“Fine,” Lorgaire huffed.
Rógaire spread out his hands before him in a grand manner. “There we were, stuck in the throes of passion.”
“You wish,” Lorgaire said aside.
Rógaire glanced at him and rolled his eyes. “Do you wish to tell the story?”
Lorgaire scuffed his boot against the ground.
“That’s what I thought,” said Rógaire. He turned back to Aowyn and Eagnaí. “At first it was great fun to poke at random wobbly bits that bumped into us, but then I had a better idea.”
Eagnaí groaned in embarrassment.
“Do I want to hear this?” Aowyn asked.
Lorgaire nodded enthusiastically.
Rógaire went on. “Ciatlllait’s clothes lay within our reach, so I whisper to Lorgaire that he should put them on.”
Aowyn and Eagnaí glared at them.
Lorgaire grinned.
“And he did,” laughed Rógaire.
Lorgaire pulled straw from his hair. “I don’t know why she was screaming. I did a dance for her and everything.”
“Tell them what happened next.”
Aowyn sighed.
Lorgaire held up a finger to signal that she should wait before passing judgment. “She made us turn around while she dressed. Choróin threatened to kill us,” he chortled. “They pulled themselves together. Choróin put Ciatlllait on his horse. And then….” Lorgaire glanced at Rógaire. “Rógaire hurled manure at the horse. Hit him right in the eye. He reared up and took off with Ciatlllait.”
Rógaire beamed.
“The both of you are perverted.” Aowyn frowned.
Rógaire bowed. “Thank you. Thank you. Please hold your applause.”
Lorgaire clapped anyway.
Rógaire held up his hand. “Enough. I feel your love.”
Eagnaí exhaled a long breath. “Do I dare ask where Caoin Croí is?”
Rógaire and Lorgaire shook their heads. “He’s composing gushy songs.”
“We try to make suggestions,” Rógaire said.
“But he gives us foul looks,” Lorgaire added.
“Allow me to guess.” Eagnaí murmured, “Something about barghest and ban sídhes, or worse.”
“Worse!” Rógaire chimed.
“Much worse,” Lorgaire simpered.
Aowyn bit her lip. “I cannot believe the gall of the both of you. Where is Stór?”
Rógaire and Lorgaire glanced at each other.
Aowyn drummed her fingers on her folded arm. “You were supposed to be watching him. What if Ciatlllait–”
“What if Ciatlllait… what, Wyn? The horse took off with her. You need to stop letting her get under your skin,” said Rógaire.
“Yes, Aowyn. You’re going to give yourself the collywobbles if you keep worrying about her,” added Lorgaire.
Aowyn blew a breath as she looked at Eagnaí. Eagnaí scowled at his older brothers. Rógaire and Lorgaire grinned innocently and darted off. Eagnaí readied to chase them, but Aowyn tugged at his shirt. “Leave them.”
Eagnaí glared at Aowyn.
Aowyn sighed. “It will only be a goose chase, and you will be the one who gets goosed.”
Eagnaí huffed. “I am inclined to rename them.”
“Dare I ask?”
Eagnaí folded his arms. “Bràthair Dúr Haon and Bràthair Dúr Dó.”
“Stupid Brother One and Two is not very nice, Eagnaí.”
“The truth isn’t always nice, Aowyn.”
“They are clever boys.” Aowyn’s sight trained on her older brothers in the distance.
“Clever is as clever does,” Eagnaí grimaced.
“Aowyn!”
Aowyn and Eagnaí turned. Stór ran toward them with Maeb in tow.
Aowyn smiled. “There is my Stór.” She crouched and opened her arms to him. Stór raced to her and clambered inside her embrace. Aowyn stood, relieved that he was safe.
Maeb dabbed at her flushed face. “I found him in the kitchen stealing boiled cream treats.”
Stór grinned at Aowyn impishly.
Aowyn tilted her head. “Stór. You will ruin your supper.”
Stór leaned his head back with a groan. “But they are so good, Wynnie!”
Aowyn pressed her cheek to his. “I know. I hide them in my room,” she whispered.
Stór giggled and squirmed to be put down. Aowyn lowered him and ruffled his hair. “Stay out of the kitchen or the ban sídhes might get you, Aonwys a Stór.”
Stór looked at her wide-eyed and gasped. He scampered off and clung to Maeb’s apron.
Eagnaí smirked and inclined his head to his sister. “And you said I was mean.”
Aowyn looked back at him. The two broke into laughter. It was the first time since Sulwen’s passing.
But laughter remained scarce.
Every day Aowyn could see Ciatlllait growing hungrier. The noises she made for Choróin were not moans of lust but groans for power. Aowyn saw it in the woman’s visage. The way she treated those below her and the way she carried herself showed that she wanted nothing more than majesty and dominion over all things. Yet Aowyn knew Ciatlllait had heard the girl warning her brothers. Her honeyed words sounded sweet to the men, but her gaze on Aowyn stung. Aowyn would not give ground to the woman. She clutched to what bravery she had and stung back. If Aodhagáin would not show fire, Aowyn must. Animosity grew between Ciatlllait and Aowyn like a canker. Neither would share the king or the princes.
The moon had not appeared in many nights. Aowyn could not help remember her mother’s last words, “My love is like the moon—shining and eternal. And as long as it rises in the sky, you shall never be alone.”
I am alone! Aowyn thought as she wept in the darkness one night. How could she protect her father and brothers if they did not listen to her? Aowyn dashed away her tears with the back of her wrist. Foolish boys! How could they not see what she saw so clearly?
A clatter sounded down the hall. Aowyn lifted her head. It grew quiet. Another crash-bang erupted. Aowyn ran into the hall. The noise came from
Choróin’s room. Choróin yelled and groaned, not unlike the other nights Ciatlllait came to visit him. Aowyn moved toward her brother’s room and pressed her ear to the door. There was grunting and cries followed by a very animalistic Honk!
Aowyn rapped on the door. Ciatlllait opened it. Her hair disheveled, she blocked the view into the room. Aowyn tried to push past her. “Where is Áodhán an Choróin?”
Ciatlllait smoothed her gown and took a deep breath. Her gaze bore through Aowyn.
Aowyn’s jaw set. “I’ll not ask again, she-witch. Where is my brother?”
Another honk came from the room. Choróin’s silver plate with the family sun crest toppled from the shelf behind Ciatlllait. Aowyn rammed her shoulder into the woman. Ciatlllait tumbled backwards. Aowyn stood in the middle of Choróin’s room staring at the open window as black feathers floated down around it. Ciatlllait laughed. Aowyn rounded on her. “What have you done with Choróin?”
Ciatlllait’s laughter grew maniacal.
Before Aowyn could stop herself, the back of her hand left its mark on Ciatlllait’s cheek. Aowyn’s chest heaved.
Ciatlllait raised her hand to her offended cheek and glared up at the girl. She screamed.
Aowyn backed toward the door. Eagnaí was the first to the scene. He seemed just as startled as Aowyn. A shock of blue light shot forth from Ciatlllait’s hand. Eagnaí crumpled to the floor, writhing. Aowyn faced Ciatlllait. The woman’s nostrils flared and her eyes flashed, filled with crazed intensity.
“What have you done?” Aowyn cried.
Stór emerged in the hall rubbing his eyes sleepily. “What’s going on?”
Another bolt of blue burst from Ciatlllait’s hand.
Stór fell to the floor.
“Stór!” Aowyn yelled. She glanced back to Eagnaí who began to change. He howled as his arm twisted behind him. White feathers sprouted from his skin. Ciatlllait cackled. Stór squeaked weakly from the floor. Aowyn turned and watched in horror. Stór shrank as he wept in pain. Soft gray down covered his body. Aowyn ran and scooped up his limp, fuzzy body. His neck twisted and lengthened. His face contorted. All humanity left him as a small beak protruded. Aowyn turned to Eagnaí who lay still on the floor. Ciatlllait towered over him. Eagnaí had grown wings and a similar beak. Ciatlllait chanted under her breath. “Twist the neck and break the back… twist the neck and break the back.”
