“The king is dead.”

The words rang throughout Nuada’s stolen castle. The dwarves and Seelie Fae who found shelter in the ancient walls watched with wide eyes.

They had arrived two weeks ago. Broken, bleeding, and dragging Sorcha as she screamed and fought their hold. Once calm, she told the others to still their tongues. She would tell their people once the words no longer stuck in her throat.

She hadn’t known it would take this long. Madness danced at the edges of her vision for longer than she cared to admit. Sorcha had not thought herself so weak.

Bran’s words danced in her mind. Find something else to fill her time, to give her purpose, to force her life in another direction. She had survived without him before. She could do again.

But she hadn’t thought losing him a second time would destroy her.

Now, she stood before the crowds of people with a clear mind. She had a purpose, and it was to provide a home for every faerie that sought shelter from the bitter storms of Fionn’s wrath.

Sorcha said it again, forcing herself and them to realize the truth. “The king is dead. Fionn plunged the Spear of Lugh through his chest, the only weapon that could kill our crystal king.”

“Where is his body?” A dwarf called out.

“Fionn kept him as a symbol of what would happen to all those who defy him.”

Murmurs lifted into the air. The faeries’ minds grew troubled, wondering what would happen next. They had defied the king. Living in this castle, following Sorcha and Eamonn’s people, all decisions that went against the king’s orders.

“We will prevail,” Sorcha called out. “This place is our home. The people next to you are your family, by blood and by choice. Our lives remain as he would have wished them to. Free.”

She buried her hands in the folds of her dress. Tears pricked the edges of her vision, but she couldn’t let them fall. How many tears could a single person have?

“We will stay in this castle. We will continue to build our people.”

“Will we go to war?” A peat faerie shouted.

“No,” Sorcha shook her head. All her energy drained and her posture sagged. “I have no intention of leading our people to war. I make these decisions based on what he would have wanted. You were more important to him than his own life. We could not have known what Fionn planned, but we do know Eamonn’s intention. We will not fight until we are forced to.”

She left the great hall as the murmur of the faeries lifted into the air. They could think what they wished, but she was done fighting.

Her hands shook as she pushed the door open. Her stomach tensed as she walked down the hall. Her knees quaked until she pushed into one of the rooms and slammed the door shut behind her.

He is gone.

A sob shook her shoulders, rocking her body back and forth. He is gone.

What was she supposed to do when her ribs were cracking open, exposing her heart to the frigid expanse of her soul? She had lost everything, over and over again. And now she was alone.

She slid to her knees and pressed her forehead against the door. Their people needed her to lead them, to guide them forward and all she could do was fall into thousands of pieces.

Eamonn had never failed them. Even the loss of their love had driven him forward. His own family hung him, and still he found the strength to lead the people on Hy-brasil, the courage to return home and look them in the eye.

She couldn’t even stand.

Hands pulled at her shoulders, ghostly hands that chilled her skin.

“Sorcha,” they whispered. “Let us comfort you.”

“I do not want comfort. I want to feel the pain.”

“You should not have to bear this weight alone.”

“He shouldered my burdens. He comforted my worries and lifted my soul. Who am I without him?”

“You are Sorcha of Ui Neill.”

“No longer. I left that life behind when I abandoned my family.”

“You are the Druid Queen of the Seelie Fae.”

“What is a queen without a king?” She licked her lips and turned into the green mist of her ancestors.

“A dark, powerful creature with no man to temper her steel. You shall wield a sword as your crown, a whip as your jewels, and armor as your gown.”

“I have no more wish to fight.”

The mist stirred and parted. Dark hair and billowing clothing covered Ethniu’s graceful body, but her feet were bare. She had cloven hooves, tiny goat-like feet that tapped against the stone floor.

“Granddaughter,” she said and opened her arms wide. “My girl, I am so sorry.”

Sorcha scrambled to her feet, launching herself into the waiting embrace. Ethniu smelled like a rose garden. She breathed in her grandmother’s sweet scent and sobbed into her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Let us help you, child. You are not alone.”

“I am. I have no family, no lover, no one but people who expect me to lead them when all I wish to do is curl up in bed.”

“You have us,” Ethniu said with a smile.

A deep voice echoed the words. “You have always had us.”

Sorcha turned her face against Ethniu’s shoulder and stared at her grandfather. Balor, Torin, the unnamed druid who had helped her through so much. “What can you do? Can you bring a man back from the dead?”

“I warned you,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “Without the sword, the story changed. Sacrifices have to be made, and that is not always easy.”

“I didn’t know I would lose him. I didn't know that was what I traded.”

“Your heart is so big. If I had known it would hurt you thusly, I would have prevented you from throwing it away.”

Ethniu squeezed her. “All is not yet lost. You have found your people, and they deserve a leader like you. One who is kind, good, honest; who cares for them.”

“He did,” she replied. “He cared for them as no one else ever did. He understood them in ways I never will be able to.”

Balor and Ethniu shared a troubled glance over her head. Ethniu guided Sorcha deeper into the mist. “My sweet girl, let me tell you a story.”

“I have no need for a story, grandmother. I have need of a miracle.”

“Stories can be that.” A bench materialized before them. Ethniu sank onto it, skirts puffed around her. “You know that Nuada and I were married?”

“It is a legend I know well.”

“The human stories never do it justice. Nuada and my father had battled for centuries. They ravaged this land, and all who lived in it. The Fomorians did not want to give up the Otherworld, and the Tuatha dé Danann refused to allow them to remain.

“The easy solution was to unite our people through marriage. I had seen Nuada before. He was handsome and powerful and everything I had ever desired in a man. Even to the Fomorians, the Tuatha dé Danann are beautiful creatures. I desired him like no other, and it blinded me to all his faults.

“I married him on a cold spring day. He pleased me for a time, and I gave him many sons. There were other women far more beautiful than me. Not cursed with animal features, but gifted with beauty that only the Tuatha dé Danann have.”

Sorcha swallowed. “Are you saying his attentions wandered?”

“Wandered is the kind way to say it. I might use such a term if it were but a handful of women. He found pleasure in the arms of many before I discovered his infidelity.”

“Why are you telling me this story?”

“You cannot trust the Tuatha dé Danann. They are a strange lot who see themselves as lords above all. You have seen it with your lover, how he refused to see reason even when his people were fighting to the death.”

“He explained that to me. It was their choice.”

“The fires of war can be fanned with the slightest of breaths.”

Sorcha stood and shook her head. “No. I will not think ill of him. He was a kind man, he wanted the best for his people, and though I did not always agree with his decisions, the motives behind them were pure.”

“No one can know the intentions of a faerie.”

“I will not let you twist my mind!” she shouted. “I love him!”

Ethniu reared back. “We’re not try to twist your mind, Sorcha. We’re trying to ground you.”

“By insulting him?”

“By telling you his lineage. Even the greatest of them all had his faults. That is why I left Nuada. That is how you were created. There are a great many things in this world you do not know.”

“I know that I trusted him and he was far more capable than any other to rule his people.”

“Would he have been alone?” Balor asked. “Or was he great because you stood at this side?”

“Both. The answer you seek is that we were both better when we were together.”

The two Fomorians shared a glance and Ethniu smiled. “She sounds so much like me.”

“She is more than you were, more than you are.”

“She believes in him, where I did not believe in Nuada.”

“Then we will help you.” Balor turned to Sorcha. “Your lover is not a man easily liked, nor do I respect his family line. But I do respect you. If he has earned your trust, then he has earned mine as well.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I did not know I was trying to win your approval with the haunting memories of my dead husband.”

“You weren’t. We came here because your soul cried out for help, and you must forgive us for blaming him. We have not had good experiences with those of Fae blood.”

She slowly sank back onto the bench. “It seems that not many have. Even their own people are distrustful of each other.”

“With full right. Fionn the Wise sits upon a throne he has built from lies and rivers of blood. His twin would have helped for a small amount of time before he too turned towards the wickedness existing in his soul.”

Sorcha recognized the words of a prophet. Balor could see the future, or perhaps he knew one who could. Her mind whirled, and she said, “That is what the Unseelie Queen saw in my future.”

“Your path has always dripped blood.”

“What would have happened if I hadn’t thrown away the sword?” The Fomorians did not even blink at her question. “Balor, what would have happened?”

He hesitated for a brief moment before relenting. “What dripped blood would become a river. A war unlike any other would spread across Tir na nOg. The Unseelie would join the battle after fifty years when the refugees spilled into their lands.”

“And Eamonn?”

“He would be known as the Bloody King. His armies would win the war after you died of old age.”

Sorcha’s mouth went dry. “The Unseelie Queen was right. The fate of the Fae rested upon my decisions.”

“It always has.”

“What now? Nothing has changed. Eamonn is dead, Fionn sits upon the throne, and the Seelie Fae have seen no positive change.”

Ethniu leaned forward and grasped her hands. “They have seen change. They have seen you.”

“I am not Fae.”

“The Fae do not need a faerie leader. They need someone who will guide them through this difficult time, who will right the wrongs, and fight on their behalf.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Sometimes that is not a choice,” Ethniu said. “We must do what is right for our people. And your people are still spread across Tir na nOg with no one to bring them together.”

Sorcha’s hands shook. She did not want to be the person who did this. Eamonn’s dream was to lead his people. Hers was to be a healer, not a queen.

“I am not ready to lead the Fae.”

“We will help.”

She couldn’t help but feel suspicious of the druid souls swarming around her. “Why would you want to help? All your lives you have tried to control the Fae. I wonder if you are just trying to fulfill that desire.”

Balor scoffed. “We are dead. Even if we control the Fae through you, what good will it do? We want to see one of our lineage repair the rift between our species. A single person has a difficult time healing old wounds throughout all the Fae. But a queen? A queen could convince all the Fae that Druids are worthy to return.”

“I ask again, grandfather. How many Druids still breathe?”

He pondered her question for a few moments as though he were reaching out to the remaining souls that still flared bright with life. “Many. Although most do not know they are Druid.”

“Where are they?”

“Spread across the lands, handling magic as much as they can without humans growing suspicious.”

A plan laid out in her mind. She wanted to help Eamonn’s people, but she desired her own as well. “If I do this, if I lead these people, you think they will become more tolerant towards druids?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to guide me. To help me in every choice I make because I desire to bring our people together. Both druid and Fae.”

“That will take a long time.”

“Then I suggest you bring me more water from Dagda’s Cauldron.”

Resolve settled into her soul like a sword sliding free of its scabbard. She had a purpose again. A reason for living. Even if Eamonn was gone, she could continue his work.

Balor shifted. “You wish to become immortal? Even though your lover is gone?”

“I will not share my body with another, and I trust no one other than my own line to continue my destiny. Bring me the waters, Balor, and I will devote my life to bringing home our kind. I will see these halls filled with Druids once more.”

Ethniu lifted her hand and souls tangled around them. Sorcha saw their faces in the green hued smoke. Men, women, even children staring at her with approval or fear.

Her grandmother smiled. “Then we will whisper in your ear and guide your hand as you lead your people. But first, you must gather your armies. Spread word that though Eamonn is dead, you remain.

* * *

The crowd teemed with faeries. Dwarves, pixies, will-o'-the-wisps, and countless others who feared for their lives. They did not know whether they should stay when the king had disappeared.

A month had passed, then another. One entire year since Eamonn had lost his life, and they became leaderless. Their queen remained in the castle, her wails carrying on the wind. They mourned with her, shrouding their bodies and homes in black. But the time for mourning had ended.

The queen called for them.

Sorcha stood on the ramparts. The wind whipped her hair, creating a swirling mass of red like a cloud of blood. She waited for them to quiet. Their jostling ceased, their whispers ended, and they all stared up at the woman they knew to be sweet, kind, and giving.

“The king is dead.” Her voice lashed across the crowd, carried by magic and souls of Druids who repeated her words to the far reaches of the crowd. “But his work is unfinished. A usurper sits upon the throne of the Seelie Fae while his people toil and die. We will not stand for this.”

She felt the excitement of the crowd like an electric current. They stared up at her with hope in their eyes, and she finally understood what Eamonn felt when he walked into battle. This was a heady feeling, one which could run away with her senses.

“We have spent one month in mourning. A full moon of regret, sadness, and fear. No more! Now is the time for action, and we will not let this attack upon our people go without response.”

A few will-o’-the-wisps trilled, dwarven hums joining their approving song.

“Let it be known, I call for war.”

Her people began to shout. They lifted their hands into the air, some brandishing swords already. They desired revenge just as much as she.

Sorcha curled her hands into fists and the druid magic grew stronger as they lifted her voice even louder.

“I call for blood. I call for vengeance. Fionn the Wise shall know our names and feel the ground tremble beneath his feet as our armies march towards his city. We will destroy the nobility and replace them with our own!”

They screamed unlike anything she had ever heard before. The resounding shout of a people who’d suffered their entire lives.

Sorcha understood their desire; she felt it boiling in her own breast. She needed them to feel it too, and then she needed them to understand the truth of their situation.

“But we will make smart, calculated decisions in every step we take. I will not lose a single one of you to men and women who do not care we exist.” She stared at all her people and sighed. “You follow a druid. I know many of you personally, and some I do not. I say to you now, I am not human.”

Ethniu had suggested a show of power, and Sorcha had not been pleased with the idea of it. The faeries needed to trust her, not be frightened. In the end, all the druids had agreed. Sorcha was not one of them, and they would fear only what they did not know.

The crowd silenced again, staring up at her in expectation of something great.

She breathed in and pulled on the threads she could see connecting them all. It was the slightest of tugs, the kind they wouldn’t even feel. And then she tied all their threads to herself.

Sorcha argued this was the gravest of insults. She took all their names, all their memories, all their dreams and threaded them through herself. Weaving them into her very soul, knotting the tapestries of time. All without their knowledge.

Now, she saw that it wasn’t harming them at all. The warm glow from her own soul, the part that still wanted to heal, spread throughout the crowd. It lifted their hearts, eased the torment and fear, breathing life into faeries who were very much afraid of the future.

They felt it. The crowd stirred, spines straightening, faces lifting to look at the woman who stood apart from them. The same place she had judged Fionn for taking.

“I cannot do this alone,” she said. “I am a midwife from the human world who has no experience in war or battle. Ordering you without such knowledge would lead to devastation. I ask two things of this crowd.

“First, any of your leaders who wish to join my council are welcome in my great hall. For the rest of this moon I shall plan our attack upon Fionn and his castle. All who come to advise will be heard, fed, and housed.

“Second, all others must spread the word. Our army is already great, but I wish for it to be a thunderous wave crashing down upon the golden army. We will snuff out every inch of the Castle of Light and fill it with our magic. Tell others there is a haven for them here. The wounded and the weak shall be healed. The old shall find a safe place to rest their heads. All others will train for war.”

Exhaustion sank nails into her bones. She stood strong and regal on the ramparts as her soul crumbled even further.

Eamonn would have loved to see this. The crowd screaming out as their champion spoke for them. As they took steps towards reclaiming what was theirs.

She had led him wrong. These creatures didn’t want political talks. They wanted blood, gore, and death.

Sorcha felt more distant from them than she ever had before.

Turning from the crowd, she descended the stairs and made her way towards the great hall. She would remain there for as long as it took.

Oona and Cian waited for her. Their faces wrinkled with worry, for they knew what this meant.

The pixie held out a cup of tea. “Here, dearie. For your nerves.”

“Thank you,” Sorcha took the offered drink and drank it in one fell gulp. It burned her tongue and the roof of her mouth, but the pain was welcome. “Will they come?”

“I believe so. They desire retribution from the king who took Eamonn’s life.”

“Have I made a grave mistake? I do not wish for them to think me weak, but I cannot do this without them.”

“They will decide upon your character once they have met in your war council. If you appear weak there, then they will believe you weak. If you do not, then they will support your decisions.”

“Wonderful,” Sorcha sank onto a table. “There is little I can do to control that outcome. If their suggestions are overly cruel, I will not support them.”

“And if you do not support them, then they will fight without you.”

“There are many factions of Fae,” Sorcha said with a sigh. “They do not all fight together very well.”

“No, they do not.” Oona agreed.

Cian stepped up onto the bench seat and then onto the table. He sank down beside her, short legs dangling. “It’s the first step towards doing anything at all. They are likely to be feral. And will want to test you.”

“I expect that.”

“Do not give in to all of their whims. They are good people at their core, but they wish for their people to be safe.”

“Did I agree to another century-long war?” she asked.

“I do not know. You won’t last for more than a century, so for your sake I hope you are not an old woman fighting a battle that may never be won.”

Sorcha reached into her pocket and palmed the small vial of liquid the druids had left at her bedside. She had never thought she would drink it. It could heal thousands.

Drawing it out, she lifted it to the light and watched the rainbow reflections of the milky moon. “What if I didn’t have to worry about age?”

“Is that–?” Oona gasped.

Cian gaped at the bottle. “Where did you get that?”

“Does it matter?”

“The relics of the Tuatha dé Danann disappeared before we even had the second generation of kings. When the first generation disappeared, they took their relics with them. Dagda was very careful where he hid that cauldron.”

“The druids have it. I suspect they always have.”

“Why?” Cian shook his head forcefully. “Why would he give it to the druids?”

“Maybe he trusted them. They’ve kept it secret for all these years, and no one knew they had it.”

“Now they give it to you? For what purpose?”

Sorcha palmed the bottle, squeezing gently. “The first time they gave it to me, it was to cure the blood beetle plague. They told me it would heal thousands, or make one person immortal.”

“Immortal?” Cian blinked rapidly. “You could become long lived? Like us?”

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Why would Dagda give that to the druids? Foolish faerie, they would only use that against us! They would become all powerful!”

“They didn’t.” Sorcha breathed out a long sigh. “They didn’t use it all. Only in gifts to those who would alter the future in a positive way. There is so much mending needed between our people."

She stared into the glass for a moment, popped the cork, and drank deeply. Like the first time in the druid hallucination, it bubbled in her throat and settled cold in her belly. She didn't feel any different. The world looked the same through her eyes.

But she wasn't the same anymore.

Cian cleared his throat. “My apologies, m’lady. I don’t mean to speak ill of you or your people.”

“I will help in whatever way I can to restore this world to its original purpose. Kindness, honor, respect. All the laws that Seelie Fae live by have been twisted to suit Fionn’s vision. I want to see it go back to the way it was originally intended.”

A new voice joined them, booming and deep. “Bravo. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Sorcha leapt to her feet. The newcomer was handsome, tall for a dwarf although still not quite to her shoulder. Beads decorated his fashionably short beard. A golden crown sat atop his head.

She nodded. “Master dwarf, it is a pleasure to meet you. Have you come to join the war council?”

“Indeed I have. If you are to lead my people into battle, then I would have a say.”

“Your people?” She glanced at the crown. “You are the dwarven king?”

“I am. But you, pretty thing, may call me Angus.”

“And you may call me Sorcha.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve never met a human who so willingly gives her name to a faerie. You know that might cause trouble in the wrong hands.”

She tugged on his thread, enough that he lurched forward in surprise. “I have my own tricks up my sleeve.”

“Weaver,” he breathed. “I thought all of your kind were dead.”

“Many thought the same. It is not so.”

“And glad I am of it. My father had many friends among your kind. We were frightened of them, but always pleased when they fought on our side.”

She inclined her head and gestured towards the tables. “Shall we?”

“Are the others here yet?”

“I was unaware there were others.” She tucked her hands behind her back as they made their way towards the makeshift war council. “Has there already been talk?”

“I profess, I do not know. It is my assumption that many will wish to have their hands in such a declaration of war. We have been waiting for a very long time to take on Fionn.”

“Strange, I heard you did not wish to send your troops.”

“Not to Eamonn.” He cleared his throat. “My apologies, m’lady. I understand you were close. However, I fought next to him on the battlefield and I know how he fights. The man was reckless, without care for his own life. It served him well, but I had no wish to pledge my people to one who cared little for their lives.”

“He changed. Eamonn was focused far more on the lives of his people than his own in the end. It’s why he took the risk to visit Fionn.”

“Ah,” Angus nodded. “Then sorry I am to have judged him wrongly. What is your plan?”

“There are many, and I would have the opinion of my war council before I decide.”

“I think you’ll find there are many opinions.”

The dwarf sat himself down, braced his elbows on the table, and looked her in the eye. “Shall we begin?”

* * *

Though she appreciated their candor, Sorcha would never have anticipated the faerie leaders to be so vocal.

She held her head in her hands and stared at the worn wood of the table while the men and women shouted over each other. A headache pounded between her eyes, racing down the long column of her neck with every heartbeat.

They couldn’t agree on anything. Each leader had their own opinion on how to attack, what to do with the armies, where to come from, what day to fight.

And there were more leaders every day. Sorcha hadn’t expected the swarm of faeries who rushed to the castle. The cooks grew overwhelmed, the fields wilted, fights broke out in the bars nearly every night.

She tried to tie them all to her, but there were too many to keep track of. Every time she broke free from the war council to wander the streets, she would find yet another who she hadn’t attached to her expanding web of faeries.

She breathed out a slow, controlled sigh. Every moment was another second to remind herself that she had asked for them. These people were here on her request, and she owed them respect.

They had led their people for a very long time. They knew these lands as she could not. Yet, she still wondered just how much they actually knew.

Druids voices whispered in her ear.

“We could have made these decisions hours ago.”

“Let us guide you, Sorcha. The Fae are only slowing down the process.”

“It takes longer as more arrive. Make your choices now and tell the others they were too late.”

She squeezed her temples. “I cannot do that. They deserve to have a choice in their future.”

“This will only end poorly, Sorcha. You must control them.”

“I will not use my powers to sway their opinions.”

“Then you will be long dead before they agree!”

“So be it!” Sorcha stood and slammed her fists down on the table. The faerie leaders fell silent, staring at her in surprise. “We have argued enough.”

“We still have not decided,” the brownie hissed.

“Then I urge you to decide soon, or I decide for us all.”

“You have no right,” the pixie grumbled. “You are not a faerie, merely the catalyst for a war which has been in the making for centuries.”

Sorcha rolled her eyes.

One of the peat faeries clawed at the table. “I did not agree to follow the whims of a Druid!”

“You agreed to that the moment you walked through those doors and sat down at my war council!”

“How dare you!”

The shouts started again. Some argued that Sorcha was the only reason they were there. Others agreed that she had no right to be their leader.

Sitting back down with a hard thump, she watched the proceedings and wondered where she had gone wrong. Was she not supposed to assume these creatures were capable of rational thought?

“They aren’t,” a druid angrily said in her ear. “Why do you think they banished us all those years ago?”

She ached for Eamonn. He would have known what to do. Worse, they never would have become unruly when he was here. They would fear for their lives and what torture he would force them to live through.

“M’lady!” Oona’s shout echoed through the outside halls before the doors burst open. “I tried to stop her, but she would not listen!”

“Who?” Sorcha stood and placed her palm on the knife at her hip.

The woman who entered the room was so painfully beautiful that she was difficult to look at. Hair, so golden it rivaled the sun, spilled down her shoulders to her waist. Sunlight blossomed from her skin, making her glow with an otherworldly light.

Sorcha glanced down at the woman’s fingertips, pleased to see the stains had turned gray. Elva had shaken the addiction, so it seemed. Or at least had not partaken in such activities while she traveled.

“Royal consort,” Sorcha greeted her. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“I ask for a private audience.”

The faeries stared at her, and Angus chuckled loudly. “Sorry, we’re not able to afford you that. Not when we asked for the same and you killed our king.”

“I did not kill him, and I request you respect my station, dwarf.”

“What station? That of a sheath for our bastard of a king?”

A pink blush spread across Elva’s cheekbones, and Sorcha knew it wasn’t from embarrassment. There was a certain sense of panic radiating around the faerie. She was here without permission, Sorcha guessed.

“Go,” she said to the faeries. “Leave us.”

“M’lady, I cannot agree to such folly.”

“Out, Angus. All of you, get out.”

She half expected them to refuse. But they stood as one, reluctantly filing out of the room. Angus was the only one to remain.

“You too,” Sorcha ordered.

“With all due respect, m’lady, I intend to stay. Someone should remain as your guard.”

“Oona will stay.”

“A pixie?”

“They are surprisingly capable of protecting those they love. Please, inquire with the pixie leader and see if she disagrees.”

He grumbled, but left the room. She caught the way he hesitated to close the door. He watched them for as long as he could before the doors boomed shut.

Oona shook in the corner, her body locked tight as she stared at the woman she had helped raise. Sorcha caught her gaze and nodded.

The pixie launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around Elva’s waist. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and her lavender wings beat so hard the wind knocked a cup off the table.

“Oh dearie! I never thought I’d see your face again!”

“Hello again,” Elva hesitantly said. Her hand hesitantly pressed against Oona’s back. “It is good to see you.”

“I am so sorry. I should have kept you. I should have run away with you and never looked back. But that mother of yours was so certain you would become queen! She didn’t let you be a child, and she certainly didn’t want me around you too much. I should have tried harder!”

“Oona, there was nothing you could do to alter my future.” Elva gently set the pixie aside, grimacing at the tears streaking Oona’s cheeks. “I dislike being touched.”

Sorcha watched from her seat at the head of the table, elbows propped up and her chin on a fist. “Yours is a story I would very much like to hear. But not now.”

“No, there is little time for reliving the past,” Elva agreed. “Thank you for offering a private audience.”

“As private as one might get in such times. Please, have a seat. I would offer you food and drink, but I suspect you would not take it.”

Elva sank into the chair across from Sorcha, arranging her skirts neatly. “The others did not?”

“Many choose not to eat until they have become invested in the cause. Once they realize we are talking about war, they are more likely to gorge themselves on my gardens.”

“I did not realize midwives were capable of such greatness.”

Sorcha’s grin was feral. “I did not realize consorts traveled without permission.”

“I see your tongue is quicker than I remember.” Elva ducked her head. “It is true, Fionn does not know I am here.”

“How long will it take him to realize where you have gone?”

“I imagine he already knows I have left, but he will never suspect I came here.”

“Why not?”

“He still believes I love him.”

Sorcha leaned forward, steepled her fingers, and pressed them against her lips. “Did you ever?”

“Love him? No.”

It was a shame. Sorcha had seen how attached Fionn was to the beautiful faerie. Though it hadn’t seemed possible, he was gentle with his consort. Almost kind.

Elva saw the emotions flicker across Sorcha’s face. “It is true, he loves me.”

“How is that possible?”

“Did you think him incapable of it? He is just a man, like the others.”

“He admitted his guilt to me before he killed Eamonn.”

Elva nodded. “He has nightmares about that night. He dreams of the blade plunging between his own shoulders and everything being taken from him while Eamonn watches.”

“That was his plan.”

“I suspected it was. They gave each other no choice.”

“They could not see past their own differences.”

“Both were set in their ways.”

Sorcha felt a kindred spirit in the Tuatha dé Danann before her. They both knew the dangers of meeting, but both understood why the events had unfolded the way they had. They both mourned for the pain the twins had inflicted upon each other.

“Why have you come?” Sorcha asked.

“To offer my aid.”

“You wish to go against the king? To help build an army which will defeat him?”

“I wish for my freedom,” Elva corrected. “I wish to make decisions for myself, which I have never done before.”

Freedom. It was a concept they all fought to possess. Sorcha wanted nothing more than her own freedom as well, yet she was now queen of a people who were not her own. At the very least, she could help Elva.

“Then you are welcome within my walls. I’m certain you will understand my hesitation at having you here, and that I will assign a personal guard.”

“Understood.”

Sorcha leaned back in her chair. “All right Angus, you can come back in.”

The doors immediately burst open, and the dwarf sauntered into the room. “I knew you’d have need of me, m’lady.”

“You were listening at the door. I don’t take kindly to those who do not know when they are needed and when they are not.”

“I wanted to be sure you would not be harmed. The queen needs a protector.”

Sorcha forced her eyes to remain still. “This queen does not. You will assign a personal guard to attend to Elva. Please, remind the others she is here as a guest, not as a prisoner.”

“It will be my pleasure.”

“Take care of her and keep her safe.”

Elva stood, brushed her hands down her skirt, and hesitated.

“Yes?” Sorcha asked. “Is there more?”

“I thought you would like to know. He keeps Eamonn next to the throne, a crystal figured twisted in pain and anguish.”

“As a reminder to his people what happens when they go against the King.”

“No.” Elva shook her head. “I think it is a reminder for himself.”

“Of what?” Sorcha asked.

“I do not know.”

The thought was unsettling, and the last piece of information Sorcha needed to hear. She wished that Fionn was one of the evil characters of old. The man who wanted nothing more than to maim and torture, who needed to be put down.

He simply followed the old ways and trusted that they were the right decision for his people. Blind and foolish, he made decisions he might not agree with because they should be the right ones. Fionn was a complicated man.

Almost as complicated as his brother.

Sorcha nodded. “Angus, please show her to one of the guest rooms. Send Oona to attend to her and post two guards outside her door. She is to have whatever she wishes. Tomorrow morning, bring her to the war council.”

“Understood.”

The door closed behind them with a final bang that eased the tension from her neck. She lifted her hands and massaged the muscles, sighing as the headache faded away.

Balor appeared in one of the seats, leaning forward to grab a goblet of wine. “You did well today.”

“Did I? I cannot say anything was accomplished.”

“No, but you’re earning their trust.”

“By letting them scream and shout?”

“They need to get out their frustrations. The future is tenuous, and that makes people nervous.”

Sorcha nodded. “And nervous faeries seem to have knee jerk reactions.”

“That they do.”

She leaned back and watched as he inhaled the sweet scent. She had yet to see him or Ethniu eat, and suspected they couldn’t, but he still enjoyed smelling the food and drink.

“What would you do?” she asked him.

“I would have gone to war long ago.”

“How many people would die?”

“Thousands. The land would be decimated, crops ruined, ground burned, grass trampled underneath the feet of my armies. We’d have cut down all the trees for lumber, killed all the animals for food, destroyed the mines so the other army couldn’t get more resources.”

“So, you would have killed Tir na nOg along with Fionn?”

Balor nodded. “The old ways were cruel.”

“Are they the only ways?”

“That is up to you, my dear. These people deserve at least one battle. See how you like that first and then make your judgment.”

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. It was a large decision to make and one she did not anticipate would end well.

* * *

Free from the war council for a few hours, Sorcha stood on the edge of the cliff where Eamonn had recited poetry. Her soul ached. It was a bruise she did not know how to heal.

“There are so many people here,” she said to the wind, hoping it would carry her words to his soul. “Dozens of leaders, hundreds of clans, thousands of warriors all ready to stand in your name. I wish you were here to see it, my husband.”

He would have been proud. He would have stood at the top of the mountain with her and stared down at the sea. Likely made a joke about how they could still run away and leave this place.

She smiled. He would have trailed a hand down her head and tangled curls around his fingers. He had always loved her hair.

Stones crunched from the crack in the wall behind her. It was almost completely fixed when she asked them to let it remain cracked. Though it was a weakness should an army climb the cliffs, she couldn’t let them take this place away from her.

“Oona,” she sighed. “I asked to left alone.”

“Then it is a good thing I am not Oona.” The deep voice sounded like the stamp of hooves. The fresh scent of grass drifted to her nose.

Sorcha stiffened. “Macha.”

“Yes.”

“You have not spoken to me in a very long time.”

Why did the faerie come now? Of all times, why did the Tuatha dé Danann arrive just as the battle was about to begin?

Stones shifted back on her heels. Macha stood beside her, staring out over the crashing waves with her hands clasped behind her back. Their red hair tangled together until Sorcha could no longer tell whose curls were whose.

“You have done well,” Macha said. “Far better than I expected from a human girl.”

“Druid.”

“As you wish. Druid.”

Sorcha licked her lips, refusing to glance up at Macha. “I did not uphold our deal. Have you come to collect my debt?”

“No. You have exceeded my expectations and done the impossible. While Eamonn was not returned to my children, the outcome was exactly what I hoped.”

Sorcha looked at her then, eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You wished Eamonn to start a war?”

“That was the intent of bringing him home. I expected he would fight my children for a time, but then he would agree that returning to Tir na nOg was the only way to save his people. I did not anticipate he would fall in love with you and wish to take back the throne on his own.”

“He didn’t really want the throne,” Sorcha hesitated, “he wanted a home.”

“Yet, he found that with you.”

“I believe he realized that too late.” She looked back out to sea. “And because of that, he paid dearly.”

“It is always sad when we lose one of our own. I am sorry you must bear the weight of his loss.”

“I bear more than that,” Sorcha whispered.

“An army waits outside these walls for your orders. It is strange how time changes. I remember when we ran the druids out of the Otherworld for fear they would destroy us. Now, we all wait with bated breath as a druid determines whether or not she will catapult us into a time of blood and fear.”

“You gave me this power.”

“No,” Macha shook her head. “I would love to take that credit, but you took this power all on your own.”

Sorcha supposed she was right. If she had gone to Hy-brasil and done what she was told, then she would likely be back home with her father and sisters.

She sighed. “Did your children ever have the cure?”

“No.”

“Did they know of it?”

“They knew ways to prevent a person from contracting the beetle plague, but not any way to cure those who were already ill. They also knew the druids had it, but with no way to contact them, they would not have told you.”

“Could they have killed the beetles?”

“No.”

Sorcha nodded. “Then you and your children misled me.”

“We needed you to get Eamonn, and I knew he would follow you.”

“Why?”

“He always had a weakness for pretty girls. Even more so for humans. I remember when he was a child, he used to watch your people through that mirror of his. He was fascinated by the choices you made, the stories you told, and the world you had built.”

She could believe it. Eamonn had been too comfortable with her, too easily swayed when the others still did not trust her. They respected her, but they would not allow her to stay in their homes.

“Why did you lie about the cure?” Sorcha asked.

“It was not a lie. We would have given you whatever we could and then told you that there was no true cure. Only bandages to wrap around a gushing wound.”

“You were wrong.”

Macha curled her hands into fists. “I could not have known the druids hid a relic.”

“They didn’t hide it. They kept it safe for all these years because your brother asked them to.”

“My brother has much to answer for, but that is not why I am here.”

Sorcha spun, her feet confident and sure on the edge of the cliff. “Then why are you here? The great Macha, one of the trinity which makes up the Morrighan, stands upon a cliff side with a midwife. What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“That I am proud of you.”

“I do not want your pride!” she screamed. “You and your people took everything from me. My life is in ruins, and you say you are proud? Do not be proud that I have discarded all sense of self.”

“I have watched you grow from a child, to a woman, to a queen.” Macha reached out, her hand hovering in front of Sorcha and then closing into a fist. “You are more than the midwife I found in a glen with honey on her hands and rosemary in her hair. Look at you!”

Sorcha hated it that the Tuatha dé Danann was right. She wasn’t the same person she had been at the beginning of this journey. She had changed so much that she barely recognized herself.

And she expected that. Who wouldn’t? Making a deal with a faerie was bound to affect the way she saw the world. The way she saw herself.

She could never have seen this future for herself. If she was being truthful, she had dreamed of a quiet cabin on the edge of the forest. A family who loved her, a tiny baby that bounced on her husband’s knee.

Macha looked at her with pity. “You wanted a family.”

“I wanted a life.”

“Is being queen not a life?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It is living a life for others. And while I do not resent them, I wish to be selfish, to live by my own choices without affecting so many others.”

“There is no such life.”

“Yes, you are right,” Sorcha said with a sigh. “I didn't think I would walk this path alone.”

“Are you alone? There are hundreds of souls standing around you, even now.”

“The support of the dead is not the same as a loving touch, nor can they warm my bed at night.”

She missed him with every breath she took. Though he would have been proud to see her accomplishments, Eamonn could not.

And now he stood as a trophy at his brother’s throne. She wanted to bury him. To plant roses on his grave and tend to them every day. Sorcha would gently guide them into blooming all year, through snow and sun. She could do the impossible for him.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she cleared her throat. “It does not matter now. I have no choice.”

“I cannot gift you a relic of the Tuatha dé Danann,” Macha said. “I cannot even fight beside you on the battlefield as I am not supposed to alter faerie lives. But, if you will accept my final gift, I would give you all the knowledge I have.”

“How is that possible?”

“I have watched thousands of battles, killed more men and women than those that walk this earth. It is my penance and my desire to see you win.”

It could only help, although she did not want more screams of the dying in her head. She sighed. “It is another choice I make for others. Yes, Macha, I accept your gift.”

The red haired woman reached out, tapped a finger to Sorcha’s forehead, and all her battle knowledge flowed between Sorcha's eyes.

She understood the formations which worked and those that didn’t. She saw through the eyes of the dying and the victors. Blades formed as red hot hammers struck them. Shields dented before her great strength, and blood flowed like a waterfall from her palms.

Sorcha landed on her knees with her hands outstretched. “Take it back,” she cried out. “Take it back, I do not want it!”

“You will need it to protect yourself and your people. No matter how hard it is to bear.”

She hated it. She hated the screams, the guilt, the wonder if the warriors had families. Macha didn’t feel this worry. She saw the cold, hard truth of war and filtered it away.

How did the Tuatha dé Danann carry all this within her?

Macha knelt and took Sorcha’s hands. “You must not let it overwhelm you. War is dark and dangerous, there are many who fall prey to its nightmares. But you will not let it devour you. That is not your destiny.”

“I do not want to know all this.”

“You must know it and use the knowledge well. You will carry your people into battle and you will fight by their side as a leader should.”

“I will only slow them down.”

“Not with this knowledge. You will wield a sword, you will fight with a shield that will drip with blood, and you will make your next decisions knowing you have done it their way.”

Sorcha heard the hidden words in Macha’s speech. She looked up through eyes ringed red with tears. “You do not want us to go to war.”

“I have seen the outcomes of countless battles. I have seen what the Fae are capable of. I believe you need to see it too.”

“Are the memories not enough?”

“You may share my memories, but you still have not experienced it for yourself. War tears at the strongest of creatures and breaks them into raw materials. You will only find your true self once you are in the heat of battle.”

Sorcha searched her gaze for an answer. “And if I don’t like what I find?”

“No one likes what they find at the end of a blade. But it will help you decide for yourself what the future of the Seelie Fae must be.”

Macha stood, dusted her skirts, and held out a hand for Sorcha to take.

She wanted no more of the faerie’s help, but realized she was being petty. Sighing, she reached out and let Macha lift her to her feet.

The scent of grass was overwhelming this close. It smelled of home, of kind things, of summer days that never ended. These were not memories Sorcha had the time to dwell upon.

“Are you ready, child?” Macha asked.

“No.”

“But you will be.”

“Yes.”

“When will you give your army the answer they wait for?”

Sorcha looked up at the sky and saw the sun was already dipping below the horizon. “Tonight, at the feast they have prepared. They will expect such news to be announced then.”

Macha nodded and released her. “And so the Druid Queen begins her war.”