With my husband gone, I feared for the lives of our young twin sons. They were now the rightful heirs to the throne, but there was treachery afoot, within our faery camp and without. I could feel it brewing in whispers and cautious glances, in the way some people gathered behind warriors who had done well in our last battle. It was no coincidence that the Milesians had attacked us in a part of the country where we had no Standing Stones. We might have been able to withstand the Druid’s sorcery—if only we could have drawn away to a stone ciorcal in small groups and strengthened ourselves.

‘Twas the work of spies, sure enough. Some of our people must have made maps and given directions to the invaders.

We had but a few days left to make it to the shore, where our longboats waited, all stocked with supplies, enough to last us when we made it across the Muir Éireann—the narrow span of ocean that separated us from Albion. I’d wanted to go to Alba, the northern part of our neighboring isle, for we had friends there. But the Milesians barred that exit.

They didn’t want us to band together with our friends. They only allowed us to flee into the arms of our enemies.

So, the road of escape went on forever, wending through forests and hills, over mountains and rivers. We marched past fields and through villages. Sometimes the Duine came out to weep at our banishment, tossing flowers in our path. Sometimes they hid behind trees and threw rocks.

We never knew what the next village would hold.

One morning—just after thick storm clouds parted—we passed through a small, muddy village. Tiny huts lined a narrow road and an old woman ran toward us. “My queen, my queen,” she called out. Her white hair blew in the breeze, catching the sunlight, and making it look as if she wore a halo. With head bowed, she lifted a fresh loaf of bread, wrapped neatly in a clean apron, and she handed it to me. The fragrance of yeast and rosemary made my mouth water.

“I been hopin’ ya would pass this way, Seanchaí,” she said, never raising her eyes to look at my face.

“Thank you for your kindness. A blessing of good harvest on you,” I said to her, my right hand resting on her shoulder. The Milesians had chased us out, but we still had our magic. I gave it to the Duine freely as I passed through the large cities and the small villages.

For a moment, her entire body glowed. The woman gave me a toothless grin.

I took a bite of the warm bread and swallowed, proving there was no poison or Druid silver. Every day, another tale circulated through our camp of how our own Duine had turned against us. We feared the bits of Milesian silver that had been hidden throughout our land, charms hanging from signposts, silver nails pounded into the roads, necklaces draped from oak branches.

But this bread was pure and wholesome and given by someone with a good heart. I broke the rest of the loaf into two halves and gave it to my sons. The pair of them rode beside me, together atop a small white horse. My children devoured the loaf like little, hungry wolves.

Faelan rode his massive black horse past mine, not bothering to look at me. “There could have been silver in that bread,” he said, his words like a curse. “You could have killed your own sons.” He used this opportunity and many others to drive a wedge between me and my faithful followers, both faery and Duine.

Ten days ago, I was a queen. At that time, no one in my House would have dared to criticize me. Now everything had changed.

My sister’s husband, Faelan, had quickly taken charge of our army. At first, I welcomed this, for I was bone-weary from the battle and I’d had to sing many of my sweet faery warriors to death with my banshee voice. After the battle, the rest of the Tuatha de Danann feared Faelan, for they saw how he drew supernatural strength from drinking the blood of his enemies. When he rode atop his horse, the pair of them looked like one magical creature. A nuckelavee, perhaps—a half-horse/half-man demon. Instead of skin, he had thick, short coarse fur, black as his horse, and his eyes were pure gold. His ears curved up and back—much like Mares’ ears—while his teeth were long and came to sharp points.

I’d seen him eat live goats without using a knife, breaking off legs and crunching bones as easily as I ate a carrot.

It didn’t take long for him to take charge of my remaining army. They still protected me, but I could sense something in the air whenever Faelan was near.

I should have been more careful.

I should have taken my sons and my sister, and together we should have slipped away at night. We could have taken the swiftest horses. We could have made it to the shore and taken the first longboat. We would still be together to this day.

As it is, I fear I will never see my sister, Caer, again.

She is lost to me.

I mourn her as I mourn my husband.

Because of this, there is an ache in my heart that I fear will never be healed.