Silver's Lure
Page 39
“I guess I don’t know it has to be my destiny.” Cwynn heaved a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t you see that?”
“What if there were a way to guarantee you wouldn’t fall into Faerie, that the sidhe couldn’t come and take you?”
“Like what?”
“Well, I don’t know, but what if there were? What then?”
He opened his mouth, but before he could answer her, a shout rang out from the top of the path. “Supper!” cried Ariene. Catrione looked up to see a jagged crimson outline with a gleaming pink child on each hip. Behind her stood Bran, waving happily.
“How can you think I’d want to leave?” He took her hands and brought them to his lips. “Is that Bran? It is? You can both stay, then, as long as you like.”
“I can’t stay here, Cwynn—I’ve work to do, soon a child to raise—” She broke off. “Your child, yes. Do you know how precious this child is? Do you have any idea what this child could mean to Brynhyvar? This child unites the blood of Mochmorna and Allovale—”
“Then maybe you should stay and let me care for it. Ariene will come around.”
“No, she won’t.” Catrione stared at him, incredulous he could even suggest such a thing. Nothing about Ariene suggested to Catrione her presence was welcome for any longer than absolutely necessary. “No, she won’t. You can’t stay here. You’re the king, Cwynn, the rightful heir to Meeve. The Hag herself made you whole. Don’t you understand? You owe her. She’s coming back for you, whether you will it or not. How could you think otherwise?”
He glanced up at the house. “You know, I caught the fish myself this morning.”
“You can’t ignore this. It’s not going away any more than the child is.” A sudden harsh gust whipped her hair around her face, and with his new hand, he gently brushed it away once more, tucking it tenderly behind her ear, a gesture that inexplicably made her throat thicken.
As she brushed it away with an impatient sniff, he said, “Remember the old woman who came to the forge?”
“How could I forget her?”
“When she thanked me, she asked me something. I thought it was strange. She asked me if I ever wanted to be a king.”
“And what did you say?”
“Never once. That’s when she chuckled and gave me the disk.” For a long moment, he was quiet. Then he heaved a great sigh, and took her by the shoulders, and even though she couldn’t see him, she could see the colors in his eyes, blue and green and gold, all swirling in a shimmering cloud of shifting light. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re right, and I can’t stay here forever. Maybe you’re right, and I do owe the Hag something. Maybe I have to be king someday. But for right now—well, it’s supper time and there’s a fat fish frying and new bread and butter churned, and brambleberries my lads and I picked just this afternoon. And I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”
Catrione stared out, in the direction of the coming night. The sun was setting, the night air was turning heavy and cold. She could hear the sea boiling over the rocks along the shore. The smell of the food, rich and tempting, made her mouth water as it drifted on the breeze from the houses up above. There would be time to argue more tomorrow. She tightened her fingers on her staff, and took the arm he offered her. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”
AFTERWARDS
In the halls of the Goblin Queen, nothing stirred. The goblins lay in charred heaps, incinerated in the blaze of the new kind of light the sidhe unleashed upon them. The firepits smoked, the skulls of mortals tumbled from their high piles and rotted with their captors. But behind the throne, an enormous egg incubated, one of several hundreds kept alive by the smoldering corpses. Within the egg, the Goblin King opened his eyes, grew strong and began to dream.
Author’s Note—A tale told of events occurring a thousand years before may differ from other versions. Some say the Silver Caul was created for other reasons, or even, by other hands. This was the account that made the most sense.
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
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Published in Great Britain 2006
MIRA Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR
© Anne Kelleher 2006
ISBN 9781408976333