by Lisa Bain
Awen’s head was spinning. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and plopped down in her chair, hands on her face in disbelief. “No. You have no idea what you’re asking. Again, her husband just died. And you don’t know Libby. She’s not that kind of woman. There is no way this is going to work.”
“Well, we’re just going to have to figure out a way to make it work. As for not being that kind of woman, there is nothing wrong with finding pleasure in life. Without it, one is incomplete.” Maggie disappeared before Awen could retort.
“Sweet Goddess, what am I going to do?” Awen prayed.
Chapter
Breaks and Bards
After weeks of training, they could all see Libby needed a break. She was regaining her physical and mental strength, but that didn’t stop the grief from taking its toll. It was Scarlett who demanded the day off. She knew Libby would never ask, but she needed it. She also knew Libby would deny needing one, so said she herself needed it, that this Grandma was out of practice and if they were going to head out in the next few weeks, a break would do them all good.
Using the unexpected day off from training and pre-departure logistics as an excuse, Libby quietly saddled up Hoss and headed out to the countryside. She welcomed the quiet and the solitude. She hadn’t had a moment alone since Dale was injured. Hoss was eager to stretch his legs but kept a steady pace since he knew his rider wasn’t up for it yet. Forty minutes into their ride they came around a bend into a valley. Next to a small thicket of birch trees was a hunting lodge. A stream ran nearby, and purple and yellow irises bloomed along the banks. It was idyllic, the kind of place a poet might retire. She smiled for the first time in days and with a “C’mon boy,” urged Hoss to pick up the pace, although he needed no encouragement to open up to a quick trot. By the time she reached the front door, Fintan was waiting for her with a big bear hug.
“Hi, Finn, I’ve missed you,” she breathed into his chest as she let his arms envelope her.
“Oh Girl, I’m so sorry. I’ve missed you, too.”
He’d been at the royal funeral, but in her weakened condition he wasn’t able to see her that night. Although he’d written and read the tale of King Dalen at the banquet following the funeral, the Queen had been noticeably absent. He’d visited her privately a few times, but eventually he pulled back from that too.
The unlikely pair had met years earlier in an Irish pub on one of her outside adventures in the south of Ireland. That chance meeting began a twenty-year friendship. She’d decided to visit today because she was feeling the pressure of the task ahead and fighting her grief, and really wanted to see her friend. Plus, she felt like she should say good-bye.
Fintan ushered her in and grabbed a bottle of her favorite whiskey and two glasses and sat down on the leather couch in front of the fireplace. He was always cold, so the fireplace burned almost year-round. Tall and lanky, she noticed his favorite red sweater was getting a bit loose. Since his wife had died a few years ago, his healthy eating had gone downhill. Now, he ate whatever was at hand, if at all. Libby sat down, although her feet didn’t quite touch the floor. She wasn’t cold but tucked her feet under her. Normally she wouldn’t have presumed to be so rude as to put her feet on someone else’s furniture, but Fintan was an old friend. She knew he didn’t care.
“How are you?” he asked without making eye contact. He felt so bad for her, but the King dying had brought up a lot of old grief over losing his wife. It was one of the reasons he’d kept his distance. It was just too hard. It was so hard that at the time, he’d packed up and finally taken Libby up on her offer to move into the Kingdom. He’d needed a fresh start without all the reminders of his beloved. He still crossed the barrier regularly to see his grandchildren, thanks to a special portal the queen had located for him but that was it. He’d left his old life behind him.
“I’d be better if you looked me in the eye, Fintan O’Toole,” she snapped.
He winced but looked down into her eyes. He was painfully shy, and it had been a running joke between them that he needed to look her in the eye or she’d think he was lying. She was one of the few people who understood how someone who had been a world-class performer and could sing in front of thousands or read his award-winning poetry to auditoriums, could still be so shy. It was something they had in common. With a lifetime of training she’d learned to cover it well, but hated being in the public eye. But that role came with her ascension to the throne. She’d learned to deal with it, just as he had when he was still performing.
“I’m sorry, that was bitchy. I feel like shit but that’s no excuse for poor behavior.”
“It’s okay, Aisling. You’ve got a lot on your mind. But really, how are you?” He almost always used her given name. He felt it suited her better than Libby, and it made his old Irish poet’s heart happy to hear it aloud. Queen Aisling, the Dreamer. And she was a dreamer. Unlike him. For a poet, he was unusually pessimistic. She had nicknamed him Cranky Bear years ago, and it suited him.
She sighed and took a big swallow from her whiskey glass. “How am I? Well, it hurts to breathe. It causes me physical pain. It hurts to be alive. I’m exhausted. I can’t think straight. Trying to keep the force field up on my own is killing me. But if I don’t, my people will die. I’m supposed to fight a dragon or my people will die. If I fail, two worlds will die. I love my people, but I want to die. I’m surrounded by people but have never felt lonelier in my life. I’m doing fucking fantastic.”
“Do you think you can do it?” he asked softly. He was one of the few people who would ask the hard questions, and always seemed to be able to get her to answer.
“I have no choice.” At this she started crying quietly into her whiskey.
He hated crying. It reminded him too much of a time in his life he wanted to forget, but he scooched over on the couch, put his arm around her, and let her cry it out. When she was done, he kissed her on the top of her head and told her, “I’ve known you for a long time, Aisling. If anyone can do it, you can.”
She wiped her face on her sleeve and started laughing. “Oh Jaysus, now I know we’re all going to die. You just said something positive.”
“Fuck off, your highness, it does happen sometimes.” But he started laughing too.
“Sing for me?”
“You know I don’t sing anymore.”
“Don’t make me order you.”
“You know I don’t give a fuck if you try.”
“Fine. I’m asking you. Please sing for me. It might be the last time. It always cheers me up. Plus, the wizards say the healing music is good for me. So, do it for your country?” She laughed until the laughter turned into a coughing fit. Just like Dale had aspirated at the very end, she was always under water. Drowning. For a split second she was reminded of the dream she’d had before Dale died, the one where she was drowning. She shook it off and smiled at Fintan.
He sighed but went behind the bar and took the mandolin off the wall. He came back and sat beside her, quietly strumming a tune. Then he started singing her favorite song. It was the first song he’d ever sung for her, in Irish, “The Irish Phoenix.” She was always a sucker for the mandolin and those blue eyes. That song had new meaning for her now. She would either be burned up in the fire or become the phoenix rising.
She closed her eyes and listened, but her mind drifted back in time to when they first met.
It was a sunny spring day in the south of Ireland, and she was a bit hungover from the night before. Oh my God, it’s way too bright out here, she thought to herself as she meandered up and down the cobbled streets of Killarney. She needed a break and a drink, so she ducked into the first whiskey pub she could find. She wanted someplace quiet and managed to locate the back side of Murphy’s Whiskey Bar. Perfect! It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. She wasn’t even sure it was open since there was no one there. Most patrons went to the front part of the bar during the day.
She asked the bartender, “Are you open?”
He snarked back, “They don’t pay me to be here if we aren’t.”
She laughed, took a seat at a corner booth, and ordered her favorite Irish whiskey. “Wow, what a cranky bastard. Maybe he’s hungover too,” she mused.
“That’s a fancy whiskey. Where are you visiting from?” came a voice from a few tables over.
She hadn’t noticed the other customer when she’d come in. Damned hangover was putting her observation at risk. Pull it together, Libby! she barked at herself. “What makes you think I’m visiting?” she asked as her eyes found the blue eyes hiding in the shadows.
“No one around here pays that much for anything. Let me guess, American?”
She laughed, and confirmed, “Yes. And rule number one is life is short, so enjoy the good stuff while you can.”
“Rules about life? How very American. And cliché,” he snorted.
Rather than be offended, she laughed. It had been awhile since anyone had flipped her shit for no reason and this was entertaining.
That’s how Libby McGregor and Fintan O’Toole struck up a conversation. He was a local, and well-known in the area for being a bit of a curmudgeon. His wife, on the other hand, was charming and well-liked. Proof that opposites attract, is how people wrote off the unlikely pairing. Most people left him alone, which was exactly how he liked it, and why he was hiding out in the back of Murphy’s that day, He eventually moved to Libby’s booth when other customers showed up. They didn’t have much in common in the way of life experiences, but both loved music, poetry and art. She learned about his family and that he was a poet and musician before he retired. He learned that she had a lot of responsibilities at home, so when she traveled, she unleashed her inner wild child. They learned that sometimes the universe brings people together who need each other. They found that rare friendship that instantly sparks with recognition that you were meant to know each other. One day, in the future, he’d describe their friendship as two sides of a magnet, with Libby the positive and him the negative.
The bar staff were amazed since he rarely spoke to anyone. They kept coming as close to their booth as possible to try to assess what was going on. Here was grumpy Fintan O’Toole, chatting up the American. A woman! A much younger woman at that. And he was smiling and laughing. So was she. It was almost like he was being charming. They couldn’t believe what they were witnessing. This was going to be hot news in their small town. When the first regular showed up, it became a full-fledged gossip fest until Libby and Fintan decided to part ways with promises to stay in touch.
“I hope your wife isn’t the jealous type. I’m pretty sure you’re going to be front page news tomorrow.”
Fintan looked around the bar and everyone’s eyes quickly turned elsewhere. “Who gives a fuck what these small-town losers think?” But he was secretly pleased. “No, Sheila’s not jealous. In fact, she’d love you. You should come for dinner some time.”
“I’d love that.” Libby smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, laughing at the expression on their waiter’s face.
At some point she’d dozed off. Now, she woke up covered with a light blanket and with the realization they’d missed lunch. Fintan had moved to the easy chair on the other side of the room and was reading when he realized she was awake and looking at him.
“Thanks. I needed that.” She smiled. “I haven’t slept that peacefully in a long time.”
“I know. Although I must confess, I was a bit annoyed. I’m not used to putting people to sleep. Once upon a time, women found me interesting.”
Libby laughed. “Trust me, it’s not the first time, and you’re not that interesting. Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”
She dodged the pillow he threw at her and got up to make them some lunch.
He sang and played for her while she prepared a late afternoon meal.
The sun was on its descent when they said their good-byes, possibly for the last time. Libby and Hoss set out on the return path. She slowed at the edge of the thicket and announced to no one, “Thank you. Thank you for not stopping me. Thank you for coming with me.”
“You’re welcome,” a tiny voice replied. The black horse silently left the shadows, its petite rider almost invisible to those who didn’t know who they were looking for. Dark hair, dark eyes, and stealth made the faery woman almost impossible to track. Libby hadn’t told her where she was going but knew that she would follow her. “Shall we? It’s getting dark.”
“Yes, Larra, let’s go home.”
Chapter
The “Quest” Begins
You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life.
See that girl, watch that scene, digging the Dancing Queen.
~Abba, “Dancing Queen”
Since Corrine was in charge of morale, she’d made the decision that a traditional pre-quest banquet was in order. Libby groaned when she was told about it but knew Corrine was right. Everyone needed a morale boost, so a few days before they departed, anyone who could made their way to the palace for a party worthy of the old Viking tales with revelry, music, tales of valor and victory, and food and drink. Lots and lots of drink, which inevitably led to dancing.
Long tables and benches had been set up in the open field adjacent to the palace, fanning out from the stage and providing a clear view to all in attendance. Strings of lights hung overhead from posts set into the ground, although the full moon was bright enough to light the party. Libby and her family were seated at the table closest to the center of the stage. She looked around and was grateful her knights and Ladies were letting their hair down and having a good time.
Corrine did well, as usual. After everyone had been served, Fintan took the stage for an epic tale about Libby’s bravery and her many accomplishments. She hated being the center of attention, so was relieved when the band took the stage and tables were cleared away to make room for dancing.
Libby was exhausted, as usual, but when Fynnigan pulled her out on the dance floor she couldn’t resist. She loved dancing and he’d always been a great dancer. And it made everyone laugh to see her let loose. She watched him shaking his groove thing, with that shaggy blonde hair falling over brilliant blue eyes and couldn’t help but see the little boy she’d once known. He’d grown into a fine young man, a skilled warrior, and was as brilliant as he was beautiful. He had her twirling all over the dance floor until she was so winded, she just couldn’t do it anymore. He escorted her, laughing, back to her chair and kissed her hand with flourish and a bow. “Thank you for the dance, M’lady.”
She laughed and waved him off to the attentions of all the single ladies. “Get out there to your fan club, Fynn.” He flashed her a naughty grin and made his way back to the dance floor. When no one was paying attention, Libby discreetly headed back to the palace to get some rest.
Corrine was happy. She loved it when people enjoyed the events she coordinated. Since she never left Kingdom with her sister, she hadn’t seen Libby out on the dance floor since she and Dale were courting. It felt good to see it again. She hoped it wasn’t the last time. She knew the strain her sister was under, even if she kept it hidden. A little joy wasn’t too much to ask for, and tonight she’d seen Libby’s face relax and laugh like the old times.
The last of the stragglers were leaving at dawn, but the field was littered with sleeping people. The kitchen crew was busy preparing vats of coffee and a greasy breakfast to help people make their way home.
Technology existed in the Kingdom alongside magic, but some things must be done the old-fashioned way for tradition’s sake. That included setting out on a quest on horseback, despite the modern Kevlar tactical gear and body armor, night vision goggles, and guns alongside swords.
The day before they set out, Libby was shocked into silence to see Fintan arrive at the palace, with his pack and mandolin. Even more shocking was what he was wearing. He was dressed for official travel.
“What are you doing here, Finn?” she finally stuttered, confused.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m going with you,” he snarked, rolling his eyes. “All good quests need a bard along to preserve the heroic deeds in song and verse. And as Poet Laureate, it’s my duty. I don’t trust anyone else to do it properly.”
“Are you kidding me?” she asked with a smile that took over her whole face.
He smiled back. “I’m sure I’ll regret it, but I can’t let you go without me.”
“You know it requires horseback?” she asked.
“Yes, and I’ll complain the whole way, but I’m going. Plus, you’ll need a musician to aid in your healing, and you know there is no one better than me.”
“And no one more modest.” She chuckled as she watched Fintan head to the stables to pick out a horse, his sky-blue cloak trailing behind him. She’d given him that cloak when he first moved to the Kingdom and accepted the role of Poet Laureate. It matched his blue eyes and seemed fitting for a prize-winning poet, although he was embarrassed and found it pretentious. He hated expensive things, and since he couldn’t wear it in the Normal world, it seemed excessive. She’d designed a crest for him, an Irish yew with a quill and mandolin, embroidered in silver thread on the back, and the edges embroidered with ash trees, her crest. She hadn’t seen him wear it in years. For the second time since Dale had died, the Queen felt something that reminded her of happiness and hope, and a big grin appeared on her face.
The morning finally dawned when the questers departed on their journey. Libby still fought the urge to curl up and hide from the world, but she had a responsibility to her people, and two realms to save. Sophia and Krystal remained behind to do their best to protect the force field and assist the Regents.
It was an impressive group that set out on horseback. The knights rode white horses out of tradition. LIWs could choose the color of their horses, although all chose black for an aesthetic contrast to the knights’ white steeds. Libby set out on Hoss, the only red horse in the bunch. Leaving him behind after his heartbreak over losing Dale would have killed him. Together, he and Libby found distraction from their grief and loneliness in the mission at hand. They found purpose.