If only she could explain her thoughts to Aaron. She wanted him to understand what her spirit senses revealed to her. Her voice had been silent for over a century, yet she missed it as though the injury were new. She was impatient to learn his language. She appreciated Cen, but there were some things she wished to communicate to Aaron privately. Even more than that, she longed for independence. A short time ago, freedom would have been an impossible dream, a hope she shunned, lest the fantasy of a future she dared not aspire to destroy her. In a few short days, everything had changed. Her hopes quietly expanded, not quite to the infinite, but beyond food and survival.
Cen spoke to one of the stewards in the Caledonian courtyard. “Lady Joy and Cen of the Druid Hall. We’ve brought Lady Druid Lisle’s grandson, at Prince Griogair’s request,” he said.
“Of course,” the faerie said.
Joy held her head high, even though she could feel the faerie staring at her. Her heart beat faster every time she met someone new, but now she was a lady. She steeled herself, determined to make Aaron proud of having chosen her. Slaves cowered, not ladies, and she was bonded to a druid lord now. Thanks to him, she had the sort of status she'd never dreamed of before.
After a few moments, Lisle approached. Joy recognised her aura, able to detect a person’s presence even through nearby walls. The human woman spoke in Aaron’s language, and Cen translated into the fae tongue. “Thank you for bringing him. I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Of course not,” Joy signed. “He’s a remarkable boy.”
Lisle gave a small laugh. “Come along, Jago. I’ll take you to visit the princess. Mind your manners while we’re here, and remember what I said. Maiya and her mama need our help, but we have to be gentle because she’s sad about her papa.”
“Joy has to come too,” he said.
“Lady Joy has other things to do,” Lisle said, as though weary of the boy’s constant arguments.
He stood firm, his aura rippling with his stubbornness. Joy saw a brief image of a tree, sinking its roots firmly into the earth. “Princess Maiya wants to meet her.”
Lisle sighed, her own aura wavering. “Prince Griogair probably won’t allow it. He is in charge while Queen Eilidh is sick, and he’s very protective of Maiya.”
Joy signed to Lisle, “I will help if needed, but I don’t know what I can do.” She turned toward Jago and tried to smile, sad that her mangled face must frighten the child. “I will meet the princess another day, if she wants.”
Lisle hesitated. “Come inside, at least. I’ll ask Prince Griogair.” Then she added, “If you really don’t mind.”
Joy shook her head. Lisle seemed to be a good grandmother, if daunted by the challenging and strong boy she and her granddaughter Demi were raising. “I don’t mind.”
At Joy’s request, Cen described the Hall as they followed Lisle up a tall staircase. He held Joy by the arm, his touch respectful but firmly guiding. She felt a sense of loss when he released her as they reached the landing. In her lifetime, she’d rarely been touched with respect or affection. After only a few days in her new life, she treasured both.
Her situation, being both blind and mute, made life awkward. After a fashion, she could see people, but not inanimate objects, walls, or stairs. So when she detected a person’s aura and walked toward them without difficulty, she well might fall off a cliff, if one lay between her and her goal. At the same time, she needed her hands to communicate. So she couldn’t be guided and talk simultaneously. Cen typically led her with a light touch on an arm, leaving her fingers free. Aaron, on the other hand, tended to grasp her hands often. A sweet gesture that rendered her unable to communicate.
They wound through the enormous Hall. The further they went, the more vulnerable Joy felt in the unfamiliar environment.
They approached four faeries. When they stopped, Lisle said, “Please wait here while I speak to Prince Griogair.” She took Jago and left Joy and Cen with the others. Their auras were strong but rigid, and Joy suspected they were Watchers. It demanded all her willpower not to cringe or cling to Cen. Instead, she reminded herself she was a lady and they wouldn’t hurt her. Still, she felt their stares.
Cen put a light hand on her arm. He must have sensed her growing tension. The gesture was small, but she appreciated his kindness. With some effort, Joy forced herself to relax and smile. “Thank you,” she signed.
“Of course, my lady,” he said softly.
Lisle and Jago were gone a long time. Joy turned, gazing with her mind’s eye in the direction they’d come. Between her and the Hall’s entrance were dozens of faeries. Some were Watchers, some had the distinct presence of servants, some whose role she didn’t know. More than a century of hiding and running had her looking for an escape.
The Watchers around them stiffened as footfalls approached from the corridor ahead. A man, Joy thought. He walked firmly, almost like a soldier. His presence rang with absolute authority. The prince-consort.
When he stopped nearby, she bowed her head respectfully in his direction. She sensed his attention on her, studying her. “Welcome to the Caledonian Hall,” he said in the fae tongue. “I am Prince Griogair, Queen Eilidh’s first mate.”
“I am called Joy,” she signed. When Aaron suggested the name, she was delighted because it described the way he viewed her and how she desperately wanted to be. “This is my interpreter, Cen.”
The prince must have given some sort of silent order, because without warning, the Watchers saluted, loudly slamming their fists to their chests before marching away. “The Caledonian elders assure me Princess Maiya has indeed asked to see you,” Griogair said, his tone wary. “Can you think how she would know you? Have you communicated with her nurses?”
“I came to the Halls of Mist only a few days ago,” Joy signed. “I had never heard of Princess Maiya until recently.” Her face warmed, but she continued. “The azuri people in Zalia are not well-informed of events outside our small community.”
The prince’s aura fascinated her. She saw sparks of curiosity, but no animosity or revulsion. “You met my son, Tràth, I believe?”
Of course. How could she be so stupid? She’d been occupied with other concerns and hadn’t given much thought to the prince she’d first met in Tafgul. She nodded once. “Yes.”
“He did not discuss Princess Maiya?”
“We spoke only of our immediate situation,” she signed. “We had no time for pleasantries or talk of family background.” She made an effort to smile, aware, as always, of her grotesque appearance. “I only spoke to him for a few minutes. Even when he came to the portal tonight, he did not address me.”
“I hope you’ll forgive him if he was rude,” Griogair said.
Joy grinned, this time with genuine mirth. Rudeness was not something she concerned herself with. It would have been a pleasant change if all she had to worry about was lapses in politeness. “He was not,” she signed. “If I may inquire, how did the princess ask for me? Does she call me Joy? Lord Druid Aaron only recently gave me the name.”
“She didn’t speak directly with me,” he said. “Astral elders are communicating with her. I confess I don’t understand their methods, but I’m merely a stone faerie.” He paused. “She asked for the red mother.”
Joy tilted her head. “She sees me?”
Griogair hesitated before answering. “It would seem so, yes. Or someone told her about you.”
“Jago?” Joy asked.
“He hasn’t visited the Hall since Maiya’s arrival. However, he often claims to hear the princess speaking to him.”
“His aura is one of the strongest I have encountered, and his magic has deep layers. If he claims this, I believe him.” She noticed Cen added the honorific “Your Highness” to her statement, and she turned briefly in his direction. He shifted uncomfortably, so she knew he’d understood her unspoken warning. Although she should be using titles, she didn’t like the idea Cen was mistranslating her, even to cover for a mistake.
A part of her wanted to deny it, but she nodded. “That is my sphere.” An old fear trickled down her spine, and out of habit she touched the brand on her forehead. Cen did not translate the gesture, but she suspected the prince recognised it. How could he not, with the mark warning all she might encounter. Of course, since she’d bonded with Aaron, she also sensed the four earth spheres. Unfamiliar flows wove around her, but she didn’t dare touch them.
“Are you aware of what happened to my mate?” he asked, his tone softer.
She nodded once. “Her bonded druid perished, and her spirit became…” She stopped signing and turned toward the portal. Reaching out, she gripped Cen’s arm.
“What is it?” Cen asked her, the concern in his voice echoed in the ripples through his aura.
“Did the druid fall near the portal?” Joy asked.
“Yes,” Griogair said. “Why do you ask?”
Uncertainty gripped her. She didn’t have the experience to understand what it meant. “I need to visit the portal again to be certain, but I sensed something. A spirit presence. Forgive me. My talents are untrained. It may be an echo.”
“Echo?” Griogair asked.
Joy frowned. She didn’t know how to explain. “Grant me pardon. I didn’t intend to cause distress.”
“Not at all,” he said, but she recognised a change in his aura. He’d gone from a position of command to revealing his personal heartbreak. He clearly loved his mate. She’d experienced so little love in her life that the rawness of the prince’s emotion made Joy want to weep. “Will you come see my mate’s daughter?” he asked, then stammered as though realising what he’d said to a blind person. “I mean meet my mate’s daughter.”
Joy smiled and nodded. Even though she would never have been offended by the turn of phrase, these small considerations pleased her.
Cen put a hand on Joy’s arm. He guided her to follow the prince, but she could have followed his thrumming presence without assistance.
As they walked, Joy sensed something familiar. She turned her head and saw a weak aura nearby. Without a doubt, Joy recognised that presence. Considering if she should say something, her contemplation was interrupted by their arrival. Despite the presence of many people, Joy was drawn to only one. She waved off Cen’s guiding arm and stepped toward the princess’ immense aura. It dwarfed even Jago’s remarkable presence. Joy had never seen anything so beautiful or complex. Reaching for its centre, a small hand gripped her fingers. A voice entered her mind. Red mother.
Joy nodded, a silent laugh building inside her. She couldn’t understand how anyone in this child’s presence would not recognise her immense power. Then, something hard thumped against Joy’s fingers. She touched the smooth, ring-shaped object and heard Maiya shake it. A pulse went out from the magical artefact. Who would give such a powerful object to a child? The little girl gurgled.
Joy turned toward Prince Griogair’s aura. The curiosity had returned to his demeanour.
“She seems to want you to hold it, my lady,” Cen said.
Joy tried her best to sign with one hand, because Maiya held the other. “What is it?”
“A toy of some sort,” Cen replied.
“I made the rattle for her birthday,” Jago said. “Babies shake them because they like the sound.”
“Why give me?” Joy signed, reduced to abbreviated phrases because of Maiya’s grip.
No one answered. Joy accepted the rattle with her other hand and reached down and kissed Maiya’s damp fingers. She felt as though she was pledging service to an empress. Maiya released her hand, so Joy bowed and backed away. She ran her fingers over the object, studying its flows. It was infused with powerful blood magic, but so much more. It bore runes both on and within. They glowed in Joy’s mind.
She turned to Jago, frowning as she tried to understand what he’d created. Turning the object in her hand, she shook it once. Her heart skipped a beat, and murmurs erupted in the room. Although she couldn’t incant spirit magic, she could touch the flows. She did so uncertainly, fearful after so many decades of refusing to embrace her magic. Directing her power to the rattle, she sought out the blood magic within the toy and shook it again. Every presence in the room, except hers, Jago’s, and Maiya’s wavered. Near a few of the weaker auras, Joy heard people fall to the ground.
Joy turned to Cen. She put the rattle under her arm a moment so she could sign urgently. “Take me to the portal.”
“Lady Joy?” he said.
“What is it?” Griogair asked, stepping toward her. “What has Maiya said to you?”
“I must go back to the portal,” Joy signed and waited impatiently while Cen translated. “Quickly,” she added.
To his credit, Prince Griogair did not make any demands. “Do whatever she asks, please,” he said to Cen.
With the baby’s rattle in one hand and Cen holding the other, Joy rushed through the Caledonian Hall, returning to the immense glow and the broken spirits within it.
Chapter 21
Aaron strained to listen, disoriented and confused, but compelled by the voices in his head. Aaron has bonded, one of them said. On one hand, this makes him useful to us, assuming we can convince him to channel power into the Stone. On the other, their connection is new. He hasn’t tapped in to her abilities at all, unlike Douglas. That one had at least gained a small measure of Tràth’s temporal talent, enough to give me a taste of what I needed.
Munro was alive. Maybe. Aaron shook his head. He didn’t know for sure, but someone did. Where was this person whose voice he’d heard? What did he mean when he said Aaron could tap into Joy’s abilities?
He headed to the chamber below, into the underground library’s main foyer. “I need to see Keeper Oszlár,” he told the first keeper he encountered.
“He’s meditating, my lord druid,” the keeper said with a deferential tilt of his head. “I would be happy to convey a message when he is finished.”
Aaron took a moment to collect himself. He sighed. Time for him to step into his role once and for all, to quit playing at being a lord and be one. “Tell him I’ve heard from Ewain. Now.”
Rarely did faeries look rattled. Possibly their race was naturally good at deception, or maybe they were all so damned old they had a lot of practice. But this keeper blinked once, his eyes widened, and he stepped back. Interesting. Whoever Ewain was, the keepers knew. What else hadn’t they told the druids?
Without another word, the faerie bowed and scurried away as though someone chased him. While Aaron waited, he pondered the conversation between Munro and Ewain. How had Douglas tapped into Tràth’s temporal talents? Douglas’ memory was markedly better than before, almost photographic. Was that what Ewain meant? What abilities of Joy’s might Aaron tap into? He reached inward, caressing his bond with Joy. As usual, she seemed nervous. After they bonded, he realised her confidence and happiness were a mask made of pure willpower. Inside, she cringed with terror. Their bond was strong, but at the same time, their connection felt fragile to him, like exposed flesh unprotected by even a thin layer of skin.
A few moments later, Keeper Oszlár entered the foyer and bowed his head to Aaron. “My lord druid,” he said. His tone betrayed caution, and his eyes were steely and serious. “Come. Let us go somewhere we can talk.” He turned, leaving Aaron to follow.
They went to the keepers’ private quarters. Aaron had never been back here before, but he didn’t spend as much time at the library as Munro or Douglas had. When they reached a small cluttered study, Oszlár sat and indicated the opposite chair. “Please.”
“Who is Ewain, and why can I hear his voice?” Aaron asked as he took a seat.
Oszlár watched him closely. “You’ve never encountered the name?”
“Not before today when I overheard him talking to Munro.”
Unlike the other faerie, Oszlár revealed nothing by his expression, but he hesitated before continuing
. “You may recognise his title,” the keeper said. “He was also known as the Father of the Sky.”
“The…” Aaron’s voice trailed off, and he leaned back in the chair to catch his breath. “I’m hearing a faerie god in my head? A faerie god talking to my dead friend?”
“A hundred generations ago, he was draoidh. One of the first. He features in some of our earliest surviving stories. Over time, he became a legend, or, if you prefer, a god. Few remember the truth.”
“What about Munro? He was talking with Munro. If Douglas hadn’t heard the same voice, I’d think I was going mad.”
“Lord Druid Douglas encountered him as well?” Oszlár’s expression darkened.
“That’s why I sent him to Zalia with Prince Tràth. Something drove him, compelled him even, to feed the Stone. He believed the Stone was manipulating him, trying to drive a wedge between him and Tràth. I suggested he leave the Halls of Mist. After he did so, I began hearing the voice. Keeper, what is going on?”
“I’m not certain,” Oszlár replied.
“Who was Ewain really?”
“A powerful draoidh. His talents, as you may have guessed, were azuri. Spirit, in fact. That much we know.”
“What happened to him?”
“Because of his deviant practices, his brethren banded together to be rid of him.”
Aaron grappled to absorb the information. “Deviant how?”
“This is where the stories are unclear at best. They claimed he raised an army of demons.”
“Demons?” Aaron stared. “Is there such a thing?”
“I have never seen one,” Oszlár said. “But I’m not that old.” A smile flickered over his lips, then vanished. “The writings from the time are few, and the stories sometimes contradict one another. Ewain once held the kingdom we now refer to as Danastai. Nearly ten thousand years ago, the draoidh banded together and severed Danastai from the rest of Otherworld and destroyed its gates to the human realm. Every faerie within that kingdom at the time must have perished. If they survived being separated from the power of the Source Stone, which is unlikely, they would have been unable to reproduce. As you know, our kind cannot conceive without entering the human realm to make a sacrifice to the Mother. Thus, any remaining Danastai fae surely died off.”
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