We camped that night beside a deep corrie lake, with steep valley walls carved long ago when the Ice Giants changed the shape of the earth. I remembered the Ice Giants, that’s how long I’ve been here. The Tuatha de Danann moved out of their slow path and then returned to our island homeland when the frozen rivers melted. For centuries, there were massive blocks of ice left behind. One faery even chiseled himself a castle made out of ice. We laughed as it melted a little bit every year, growing smaller and smaller until finally, it disappeared one day, in a morning fog.

Still, it had been beautiful, while it lasted. Glittering in the morning sun like something made in a different world.

This was the faery way. Taking something tragic and turning it into something beautiful. This was where our magic drew its strength.

When we used it to transform, it blossomed.

When we used it to destroy, well, then that’s when we were destroyed ourselves.

“I’m sorry, sister,” Caer said as she knelt beside me.

The sun still graced us with yellow light, but the shadows would fall soon. My children and hers swam together in the lake, their laughter rising and echoing across the valley.

I took Caer’s hand in mine.

“The apology is mine,” I told her. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to marry him.”

She laughed, longer and louder than I’d heard in a long time. “No one could have stopped Faelan. Not Da, not one of our uncles, not even me. You know the Old Ways will always rule in our Clan. He kidnapped me during one of our festivals and not one of our menfolk would say it was wrong. A moon later, when we returned, we were married. There’s no ceremony needed.”

“I will come when you call,” I said, remembering the simple oath my husband and I had made.

“Yes.” She laid back with a sigh and stared up at the blue skies, this piece of heaven that belonged to the invaders now. “Haven’t you ever wished you were a Duine? I envy them their simple life. They marry for love, you know.”

“Not always. Their kings marry the same way we do.”

“But the peasants live as they please.” Caer gave me a sly look. “I remember how you favored Heremon before Fethur came along. Haven’t you ever imagined what it would have been like, night after night in his arms?”

I tugged one of my sister’s long dark braids and she pretended that it hurt.

“Heremon married well. I’m sure he was happy.” Then sorrow swept through me and I couldn’t stop the ache in my heart. He had fallen at our last battle, not long after my husband. I’d held Heremon in my arms and sang him into the everlasting sleep. ‘Twas the hardest part of the war.

“Ah, I meant to cheer you, dear one, not stir up memories of sorrow.”

I lifted my chin and forced a smile. Faelan was watching us from the other side of the camp, a suspicious look on his face, as if he thought we were plotting against him.

“‘Tis time to gather our leanaí from the lake, before the Ice Giants return and freeze them in place,” I said.

Caer laughed. She was younger than me and had grown up listening to my tales of how the frozen rivers had once covered the earth. Before I married Fethur and became queen, I was known as Seanchaí. I was the storyteller in our Clan. When we gathered around night fires, it was my voice that rose to tell the old lore. Others took my tales and crafted them into poems. These poems were then shared with other Clans and, eventually, even the Duine came to know them.

That was why the mortals loved me.

Not because I was their queen.

It was because I was the one who told the stories of our beginning, of the Before Time. Back before the Duine learned how to write, they learned my tales.

Seanchaí was what they called me most often. Not Eire or queen.

My husband had always hated it when they called me by a common title, rather than acknowledging my royal blood. On the other hand, my sister’s husband, Faelan hated it when the mortals combined my titles, calling me Queen Seanchaí. Even deposed and exiled, I still had my loyal Duine followers. Enough to raise another army, if I wished it.

After my children climbed out of the lake, they ran about, exploring the many caves in the surrounding hills. We still had time before the evening meal, so I called my favored manservant to my side.

“Greagoir, spar with me, lest I grow weak in my exile,” I said, loud enough for all in the camp to hear.

It was a warning to Faelan to never strike my sister again. He needed to remember that there was bite to my commands.

A cheering crowd gathered around me, as I battled against Greagoir, sword to singing sword, blade striking blade, each clash ringing out like a bell. The sounds echoed throughout the valley and it sounded like a true battle. Wagers were put down, though few of them were against me.

No blade had ever cut my skin.

I was the only invincible warrior in my Clan.