The Lord of Dreams

by C. J. Brightley

  She wished to see him again.

  Her mirror shifted, and through it she saw Tuathal in his study.

  Cool sunlight streamed through the windows lining the wall; Claire thought it looked like early morning. Tuathal sat on a window seat that Claire had not previously noticed, one sock-clad foot propped up against the opposite wall of the alcove. His head rested against the dark wood, and his eyes were half-closed as if he were either falling asleep or just waking up.

  She let out a soft, relieved breath, knowing she could open the mirror at will.

  Her father glanced at her. “Do you see something?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Without waiting for his answer, she stepped through.

  “Have you been awake all night?” she said softly.

  Tuathal’s head snapped toward her, and he stood suddenly, his eyes searching her face. “You came back,” he said in an odd voice.

  “Yes.” Claire swallowed the lump in her throat. The light caught the sharp lines of his face and silvered the ends of his wild hair. He looked stronger, not quite himself yet but no longer near death. He was thin and hard, entirely self-possessed and dignified but for the strange, burning look in his eyes. “Didn’t you sleep at all?” she asked.

  He gave a startled half-laugh, and murmured, “It’s been two weeks here, Claire. I’d assumed you thought better of your generous impulse to grace Faerie, and me, with your continued presence.”

  “Two weeks!” She stepped closer, and he remained motionless, as if afraid to startle her. Carefully, tentatively, she raised her hand to trace the faint line of strain beside his mouth with her thumb, her fingers feathering over the line of his jaw.

  He closed his eyes. “Please don’t taunt me, Claire.” His voice was almost inaudible, his breath soft upon her wrist as he turned toward her touch. “You know I’ve already given you my heart. What more can I do you to make your decision easier?”

  “I’ve already decided.” She threaded her fingers through his hair and lifted up on her toes to press her lips against his, and then, finally, he believed her.

  Epilogue

  Sunlight flooded the room, glinting on golden sconces and illuminating the subtle patterns in the thick blue rugs. An elegant chaise lounge sat by the windows, while two chairs sat close by the fireplace. An open doorway led to what appeared to be a bright, spacious bedroom; Claire could see a delicate wooden nightstand beside a bed canopied in gauzy white silk near another door she thought might lead to a dressing room.

  “Do you like it?” Tuathal asked. “I’d hoped you might… that we might…” He frowned and cleared his throat. “I hope it suffices.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Claire glanced up at him. He seemed slightly ill-at-ease, and she wondered why. “What were you going to say?”

  His eyes flicked over her face, lingering on her lips, then back up to meet her gaze. He cleared his throat again. “It is customary for a husband and wife to share a suite, but I didn’t want to frighten you.”

  Heat suffused Claire’s cheeks, and she looked down for a moment. In truth, she had not considered what might come after the wedding; she imagined only the wedding itself, Tuathal’s brilliant smile and laughing eyes, and a general air of triumphant joy.

  The thought of sharing rooms with him wasn’t entirely unpleasant, though. She glanced up at him. “You don’t frighten me.”

  “Oh?” He raised one eyebrow. “That’s… good? I think?” His teasing smile made her heart beat faster.

  She threaded her fingers through his and felt him relax almost imperceptibly.

  “Can we sit down?” she asked.

  He led her to the chairs and, with a wave of his hand, started a fire in the fireplace.

  Tuathal smiled pensively, his eyes resting on her face. “You don’t look happy, Claire. Do you wish to reconsider?”

  “No. I just have so many questions.”

  He inclined his head, inviting her to ask.

  “I thought I understood why the knife burned you and the kelpie and evaporated the oighear—because iron is incompatible with magic. But human blood is red because of the hemoglobin, which has iron in it, right? And your blood is blue because it has no hemoglobin and no iron, right?

  “So if stainless steel has iron in it, why didn’t my blood burn you?” Claire’s frown deepened. “No, that’s not my question. My question is why the iron in my blood did burn the Unseelie when it hadn’t burned you.”

  A slow, bemused smile had crept across Tuathal’s face.

  “What?” Claire asked.

  “Of all the things you might have asked me, you chose that? You never cease to surprise me, Claire.” His gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips, then to her pendant, and down her arm to their clasped hands, their fingers woven together.

  He took a breath and said, “It wasn’t the iron in your blood but the steel in your will that burned them. The blood alone would have done nothing. Humans have been killed by oighear weapons before, and some creatures have even eaten humans, as I believe you have heard. No one but you suspected the iron in your blood was responsible… if they even know human blood contains iron, which I doubt. It is bound up chemically and amounts to just a trace—not concentrated enough to be dangerous. You willed—wished, if you prefer—the axe to stop. Your will was clear, pure, and focused. The will of a hero is a powerful force. The iron in your blood was not much to work with, and your skill in clearly forming commands is… problematic, but the circumstances helped you have a very clear vision in that moment. Obviously it was sufficient for the spell, and it used what it had.”

  Claire looked surprised, and Tuathal smiled. “Yes. That was you casting your first real magical spell. Remarkably timely it was, and strong, as well. The foinse cumhachta helped a bit. Your second was flinging the blood on the Guard. That one…” He frowned as he thought. “That was brilliant, actually. Even with the foinse cumhachta, I would not have expected your blood to burn so effectively. Did you?”

  “Not at all. I was just hoping the iron in my blood would do something.”

  The silence between them felt like the breathless hush before a crack of lightning, and then Tuathal chuckled softly, the sound as gentle as his hand on hers. “Perhaps you did not know the strength of your will. You may not have had any idea what would happen, so normally such a spell would have failed to do much of anything. But you were helped by the fact that all of the guard, especially those closest to you, thought something would happen, and they were supplying some quite vivid mental pictures of what it might be. Evidently at least one of them believed the blood would burn, which tied in quite well with your vague hopes about iron. His vision gave form to your wish, and as soon as he began to burn, the others’ visions aligned with what they saw actually happening. Though they didn’t stop there; by the time they reached the healers, some had sparks flying from their wounds and setting bystanders on fire! I wouldn’t be surprised to hear of some other embellishments.

  “They credit you with all of that. I expect that for the next millennia I will be seeing tapestries of you shooting fire from your fingertips and routing armies.”

  Claire snorted softly. “As if I meant for that to happen!”

  “Did you not?” Tuathal raised his eyebrows. “I could not have devised a more complete victory if I’d had weeks to plan it.”

  “I was bluffing.” Claire smiled, remembering the fierce, joyous relief of seeing the Unseelie forces disappear.

  “Are you sure?”

  Claire blinked. “Um… yes? I remembered what worked with the naiad. I tried to look confident. I figured that creatures that live a thousand years don’t live so long if they’re reckless. You don’t live that long by taking risks you don’t understand. I thought I’d make him decide that caution was the best part of valor.”

  Tuathal smiled. “And you’re sure you were bluffing? Perhaps you only thought you were. Your courage is even more magnificent, if you did not believe you could win. But I think you
were mistaken and only believed yourself to be bluffing.” At her confused look, he said, “You did rout the entire Unseelie army by the power of your blood and the strength of your will, though we had been at war for half a century. Even my father’s magic could not drive back the Unseelie so thoroughly. I believe Taibhseach was right to fear you.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What would I have done?”

  Tuathal grinned. “How could I possibly guess? But I certainly believed you when you threatened him.”

  “You did?” Her voice rose in surprise.

  “It felt, through the foinse cumhachta, like the truest thing you’ve ever said.” His eyes shone with pride. “I believe you could have followed through on your threat, but neither Taibhseach nor I can imagine what it might look like.”

  She laughed. “So I’m unpredictable? I thought you knew exactly what I was going to do.”

  “Not at all. Only we Fae are predictable. My kind does not change as you do, hour by hour becoming someone new.”

  She glanced at him, half-expecting to see mockery in his gaze, but he smiled back at her, his expression showing only gentle admiration. The setting sun lit the room with a warm pink-gold glow.

  “I do have other questions,” she said at last. With a wave of his hand, Tuathal lit the sconces along the wall and brightened the fire so that light and shadows danced over the walls.

  At her hesitation, the king glanced at her with an enquiring look.

  “How exactly did you get captured, anyway? Your palace isn’t near the border. I had to walk for ages, and then I fell in a river and a water woman—the naiad—almost ate me, and when I surfaced I was somewhere else far distant.”

  The king chuckled softly. “Réidh? Oh, she must have liked you, if she let you go.”

  “I’m not so sure. I think she thought I looked tasty.”

  “Indeed. She’s one of my more dangerous subjects, but she’s hardly evil. She hasn’t eaten a human since my grandfather was young. Of course, I don’t know that she’s come across a human since then, either.”

  Claire studied his face in the dim light. “Did you mean to sidestep my question, or are you always so difficult to pin down?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “If you must know, I walked.”

  “What? Did you let yourself be captured?” I knew it! she thought. “Why?”

  He licked his lips and glanced away. “I was buying time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “For you.”

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at him, trying to see past the elegant planes of his face and the distracting lightning flash in his eyes, the slippery words and ever-present amusement that curved his lips in a sardonic smile.

  “I’m serious, Tuathal. I want to know. How did you get captured?” Something inside her felt like it was burning, digging, twisting her heart into a knot, knowing she was about to hear something she could not bear. She didn’t want to know, not at all.

  “I made a bet, Claire.” His voice was soft and clear, threading through her veins like molten gold. “Taibhseach wanted the foinse cumhachta, and it could not, it must not, fall into his hands. He would have used it not only to conquer the Seelie, but perhaps even to break the barrier between the human world and Faerie. He has no authority to enter your world; the right to enter the human world belongs to the Seelie crown and is inherent in the foinse cumhachta wielded by Seelie monarchs. If he captured it, not only all of Seelie but all of the human world would suffer.

  “But we were losing the war. We could hold the border no longer, and I had no partner to wield the foinse cumhachta to its full potential.

  “I gave you your part of the foinse cumhachta when you helped me defeat the rats, the Unseelie vanguard. But I did not endow it with all the power it might hold; you were not yet ready, and I needed the power for other conflicts.

  “I left it with you because it would help protect you, and it seemed to affect you in a way that is difficult to explain. It helped you become more you, the you that you were always meant to be. The bright, shining Iron Queen.

  “When you came to my infirmary, the war had reached a critical moment, and all appeared to be lost. And yet you appeared, pulled through the veil between worlds by the power of your own will and by the protection of the foinse cumhachta, which knew that of all places in all worlds, my infirmary was the very safest place for you to go.

  “And so, seeing the opportunity to hide the rest of my power, including the right and authority to enter the human world, where Tiabhseach would never find it, I put it all into the foinse cumhachta, and I hid it from all who sought it, even from myself, though I kept the memory that you had possessed it. Then I sent you back with it to your world, where Taibhseach could not reach.

  “Later, for a brief time, I thought we had an opportunity to make headway in the war. I was weary beyond words, and I thought, for a short time, that we might be able to end the war, if only I had the power that I had stored in the foinse cumhachta. You refused to give it back.” He frowned thoughtfully. “No, that’s not right. You did not remember you had it, and could not give it back. It was hidden even from you. This was, I think a good thing, though at the time I nearly despaired. I suspect now that the appearance of opportunity was a trick, a trap to draw me out with the foinse cumhacha. And you were not yet ready—the foinse cumhachta itself helped you grow and protected you.”

  “Is it sentient? You speak of it as if it has thoughts and opinions.”

  “Not exactly. But sometimes it acts as if it were sentient. It seems to like certain people more than others and approves some plans more than others. Perhaps this is the subconscious of the one or two who wield it, or perhaps it is also others who have in the past or will in the future wield it. After all, time—well, actually everything—is a bit complicated when it comes to magic.

  Claire eyed his sharp features, the clever way he had not exactly answered her question. It was all very clear and concise, and yet… not entirely informative.

  “But how did you come to be captured, Tuathal?” she said softly.

  “I told you. I walked.” His grin was sharp and almost, but not quite, bitter. “I walked out into Unseelie lands and shouted for Taibhseach by name until all his many spies slithered and flew to whisper in his ear that the mad king of the Seelie was screaming to be captured.” His eyes glinted. “I like to think I was a bit more dignified than they reported, but I did want to make an impression.”

  “But why?! Why, Tuathal?” Claire’s voice cracked. “Didn’t you know what he would do?”

  Tuathal’s frost-colored eyebrows raised. “Not exactly, of course, but I had the general idea. I was buying time, as I said. If he crossed the border by force, he’d capture me on my land, and then it would be only a very short time until he captured all Seelie lands. He would know that we were weak and that we could not defend the border. If I walked into his domain, shouting my defiance to the skies, he would wonder what treachery I planned, and he would be cautious. Especially since I did not have the foinse cumhachta! He would wonder where it was, and when it might appear as part of a cunning trap. The war had already lasted for a human lifetime, and he could be patient a little longer for the sake of caution.

  “I knew he would search me. Unseelie magic is deep and dark and cold. I knew it would ooze like poison through my veins, invading the deepest parts of my mind and searching my memories for the foinse cumhachta. So when you would not give it to me, I knew I would face him. It was a gamble, to be sure, but I was desperate and I could think of nothing else. So I hid the foinse cumhachta from all who might look, and I hid my mind within the foinse cumhachta within you. I left myself only the tiniest whisper of sanity, just enough to remember the next step of the plan, to walk into Unseelie land. I erased the memory of the foinse cumhachta from my own mind—what it was, what it looked like, and where I hid it. So when Taibhseach sent his magic coursing through me, there was nothing for him to find.” Tuathal’s voice hardened. “An
d thus I bought time.”

  The air was not enough to fill Claire’s lungs, and she gasped at the terrible brilliance and audacity of Tuathal’s plan. “So it was a bluff,” she whispered. “You pretended the Seelie were stronger than they were to make him hesitate.”

  He looked faintly pleased. “Indeed. You, my Iron Queen, did something rather similar, if I understand correctly.”

  “But you… but…” Claire closed her eyes, and the stinking hole in which she had found Tuathal rose in her mind, dark and hopeless. “How did you hope to get out? You said you didn’t think I’d come.”

  He smiled and bent to kiss her fingers, one by one. “I hoped you would come.”

  “But you said you didn’t think I would.”

  “I didn’t think you would come. But I hoped you would.” He glanced at her, and, seeing her bafflement, said softly, “My hope in who you might become was stronger than my fear of Taibhseach.”

  Claire could not look away from his eyes, bright as lightning across the night sky.

  “Besides, it isn’t as if I had many other choices.” Tuathal smiled, pressing his cheek against their entwined fingers. “If I gave you enough time, and the foinse cumhachta enough time to work in you, perhaps you would become the hero we needed.”

  “You believed in me.” The immensity of his faith in her made her heart swell.

  “I still do.”

  “Why did you play the role of villain?”

  “I had to work within the framework you gave me. You wished to be the hero and defeat the villain. I played the villain to protect you. You faced me, and defeated me, rather than facing Taibhseach—at least at first, before you had become your true, heroic self.”

  Claire shuddered at the thought of facing Taibhseach as the child she had been. “You let me hate you.”

  “I had to. Only a human could slip through Taibhseach’s magical defenses to rescue Fintan, even with Faolan’s help. I distracted Taibhseach as well, and when you and Fintan escaped the prison, I doubled back and retrieved Faolan and Riagan.” At her questioning look, he said, “Riagan, the little green fairy.”