The winter frost came, bringing a dusting of snow that covered us. The skin of my sons grew as cold as ice and I worried that I would lose them, that even if I survived this curse, they would not. I couldn’t open my eyes or speak, but I could feel the swift passing of the sun as it spilled long beams into the cavern each day.

Then, one day, I felt a warm, soft fur pelt covering the three of us.

“We come to serve you, my true queen,” a man’s voice said. He sounded old, and I imagined he had deep wrinkles and a long white beard. The moment he placed the furs upon us, I silently blessed him and his house.

A gentle hand parted my lips.

Drops of blood fell into my mouth.

The sweet fragrance of roses came next.

“The women in my house shall tend to your garments, for they will fade and tear in time,” he said. “I promise that no man will violate you, no blade shall harm you or your boys. No Milesian silver will ever cross the threshold of this cave. We will be your guardians, from now until the end of time.”

If I could have wept at his words, I would have. All I could do was call down a blessing upon him.

And then he was gone.

The sun and the moon were my constant companions, though they seemed to only flicker for a moment in the long passing years. My guardians came and fed both my leanaí and me. Just as the first man had promised, from time to time a woman would enter the cave, speaking gentle words as she changed our worn-out garments with fresh clothing.

Their many sacrifices warmed me and gave me hope.

“Live and prosper,” I spoke silently to each and every one of them. “I shall never forget you, though I don’t know your house or your name.”

Sometimes they spoke back to me, as if my words rang out in their mind.

“Thank you, Seanchaí. We are honored to serve you.”

Snow changed to spring rain, sunlight melted into moonbeams, and the days faded into years until I lost count. At times, loneliness would overwhelm me and I would curse Faelan for what he had done and then one of my Guardians would appear, as if they had heard my despair.

They were my angels in this darkness.

Mortal creatures, with but seventy years or so, they cared for me, the immortal one. During this time, I realized that I loved the Duine even more than my own Fair Folk. I dreamed and I hoped that there would be peace in my country when I finally awoke. Maybe I wouldn’t have to flee. Maybe I could stay here and just be Seanchaí to my beloved Duine.

This dream was born when one of my Guardians became my friend.

He kept his true identity a secret, calling himself merely Cara Maith—a good friend. His voice was rich and deep, and as melodic as a song. He told me stories as he tended to me and my boys. I learned what clans were in power and which had fallen, I found out that the Milesians had never been defeated. Instead, they married the Duine who lived in this island kingdom and now the Milesians’ had descendants everywhere.

Every clan but a few had taken the knee to these rulers. Cara Maith’s house refused and, as a result, they lived hidden in these mountains, hoping for their faery queen to return.

“You will waken soon, Seanchaí. My daughter and I pray for it every night,” he confessed one day after feeding me. His voice carried an unexpected sorrow. “I hope I live to see sunlight glisten in your eyes and the breeze stirring your long, golden hair. But this will be my last visit. ‘Tis time for my younger cousin to care for you. Be well. Be safe, my queen.”

A great, heavy cloak of sadness fell upon me when he left, his boots scuffing against rock, the fragrance of roses stirring in his wake. Benen lay snuggled in my left arm and he let out a soft moan, which Ambros echoed on my right.

All three of us mourned the absence of our friend, Cara Maith.

If ever I longed to awaken, it was that moment.

I wanted to see his face. I wanted to thank him.

I wanted to live like a Duine woman and fall in love.

But I didn’t have the power to break this enchantment.

It seemed a long time before our next Guardian visited us and when he did, his words came in great gasps and he carried a sense of danger.

“Faelan has sent warriors to kill you, Seanchaí!” the young man whispered in my ear. I could hear the clang of his sword and caught the earthy smell of battle on his clothing—dirt, oil, metal.

And blood.

There was too much blood. The small cave filled with its coppery scent and, again, for the second time in centuries, my son Benen shifted in my arms, letting out a soft moan.

Then our young Guardian took a shallow breath—perhaps glancing over his shoulder and staring out the cave entrance—before he spoke again.

“Faelan learned how your sister helped you and he knows our house has been tending to you,” the young man continued, a death-rattle in his lungs. “You must wake up, now! There are only a few Guardians left and I barely made it here, for I took two enemy arrows while climbing the mountain. Faelan’s soldiers are prowling every trail and pass, searching for this cave. Caer’s magic won’t hide you much longer. I will feed you one last time, my queen. Then you must rise, take your children, and flee!”

He fed me then, his blood flowing into my mouth in a rushing, steady stream. I worried that he may have plunged his knife into his neck, for the blood didn’t stop. He never spoke to me again.

‘Twas his own lifeblood flowing out to bring me back.

It was time to wake.