At that Theo gaped at her. “He did? Read it!” He held the book toward Kayla again.
Smiling, Kayla sat beside her brother. It wasn’t an unusual situation. Kayla loved telling stories, the way her father used to, and already at the age of eight she’d told her baby brother stories. She doubted they had been any good, but he had enjoyed them, laughing and babbling.
But Kayla had always made up the stories she’d told him. She tried as best as she could to recount what her father said, but she had never memorized them. The thought that one day her dad would be gone had never crossed her young mind.
Finally, Kayla could tell Theo a story she recognized as one of their father’s. As she began to read, Theo cuddled up at her side.
“‘Once, there was a little boy who lived in a village in Scotland…’”
By the time she had finished reading, their mother had come back into the living room and sat on the sofa behind them. Kayla closed the book, facing a beaming Theo.
“And Daddy knew this story too?”
“Yes, it was one of his favorites.”
Theo grinned, revealing a few missing teeth. “It’s my favorite too.” He took the book back and rushed off to his room.
Kayla watched him go, sadness welling up in her chest. At least she’d given him a piece of their father back. When Kayla went to get a soda, her mother rose from the sofa and joined her in their small kitchen.
“It was nice of you to give him his present early,” her mother said. “Quite an interesting story.”
Kayla’s hands froze on the can. She faced her mother with a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I remember how scared you were after your dad told it to you.” She leaned her hip against the kitchen counter, her gaze resting on Kayla. “I don’t want Theo to be scared of things that don’t exist.”
“Like me, you mean.”
“No, honey…” Her mother reached out a hand, but Kayla recoiled. She slammed the can back down on the counter.
“I’m going to my room.”
“Kayla, wait—”
She spun at her mother. “I am not scared of things that don’t exist,” she said. “I know they took him.”
This time, her mother didn’t give her the chance to react before drawing Kayla in for a hug. “Honey, your father is gone, but I’m here for you,” she said, stroking Kayla’s back, and for a second Kayla leaned into her mother. “Your dad would want you to live, Kayla. He’d want you to enjoy life to its fullest.”
“You don’t know what he’d want,” Kayla said, freeing herself from the embrace with a shove. “And if you really loved him, you wouldn’t just give up on him.”
Before her mother could respond anything, Kayla dashed off, shut her door with a loud bang, and turned the lock. Ignoring her mother’s calls, she put on a pair of headphones and blasted music loud enough to drown out an explosion. She lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Kayla wasn’t insane or naïve; she knew what she saw the night her dad had supposedly died. And even if she questioned whether the white woman in her garden had been real or just a dream, it would have been an odd dream to have on such a night.
No, her dad had not died. And she would prove her mother wrong.
18
THE STRONGEST BONDS
Fay stirred, the sheets slipping from her naked body, and she curled up against Isobel with a groan.
“Morning,” Isobel said.
Fay mumbled a response. She forced her eyes open and found Isobel propped against the pillows, her wide, brown gaze sweeping across the room. “That was a lovely memorial yesterday,” Isobel said. “Considering the circumstances…”
Fay struggled into a sitting position, pulling the sheets back over her body. “I think it pleased the pixie leaders.” Though it was sometimes hard to tell with pixies.
At nightfall, they had all gathered in a clearing close to the Whispering Woods. Most spectators were Seelies, but some pixies had come along with their leaders. They stood in a semi-circle facing the forest and listened to the laments of the faerie band. No one spoke. Words were meaningless in such situations, anyway. They all watched with solemn faces as the knights placed the pixie’s body, swathed in a white cloth, onto the pyre. When they set fire to it, a chill crawled up Fay’s arms.
“It was quite unusual, though,” Fay told Isobel. “I’ve been to memorials before, but they were always followed by a revel celebrating the person’s life. Last night, all the mourners had dispersed without a single word. I saw the pixies leave with Ophira.”
Isobel tucked a strand of dark-blue hair behind her tapered ear. “In most cases, that person was not a victim of cold-blooded murderers,” she said, facing Fay with a crease on her brow. She leaned in and brushed a hand against Fay’s jaw. “They need to be punished for what they have done.”
Fay flinched. The bruise one of the Unseelies had given her was fading, but the memory of it still hurt. “I should get ready,” she said. She rose from the bed and glanced over to the trail of clothes leading from the door. Fresh laundry lay folded on her dresser. Deirdre was always quick to clean Fay’s dresses and put the one she thought was prettiest on top of the pile.
Fay ignored the pile and stooped to pick up her clothes from the day before. As she slipped into her dress, she noticed Isobel watching her.
“I am worried about you,” Isobel said. “It is not like you to head into trouble.”
“Really? Because I do spend quite some time with Maeve.” Fay put on her doublet and picked up her brush to untangle her curls.
“I know, but…” Isobel kneaded the sheets in her hands. Sleep had left her hair in a tousle, a stark contrast against her pale skin. “If the Unseelies have returned, then this is serious, Fay. You could get hurt.”
Fay finished combing her hair. “You need not worry about me.” She sat back down on the bed and leaned in to give Isobel a kiss. “Now, as much as I’d like to stay in bed all day, Ophira needs me at the council meeting.”
Isobel raised an eyebrow at Fay, but then she seemed to change her mind and smiled. “I will come with you.”
Outside the throne room, they found Pwyll and his husband Cassán talking to their son Rhydian. Fay tried not to eavesdrop as she said goodbye to Isobel, who joined her family, but Pwyll was failing to keep his voice down.
“We do not care if you are a knight. You are too young. You must stay out of this, Rhydian.”
Fay slipped into the throne room and crossed it in quick strides. Only one knight stood guard beside the door leading to the empty council chamber. The maids had laden the round wooden table with breakfast—fruits, nuts, vegetables, and jugs of fresh water. Fay was about to grab a honey plum off a plate when someone hissed her name. She turned around to see Maeve sliding into the room.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Fay said in a whisper. “The council is about to meet.”
Maeve frowned. “That’s why I’m here. I’m asking the council to approve my knighthood.”
“What? No!” Fay grabbed Maeve by the arm to lead her out, but Maeve wouldn’t budge.
“It’s not just the queen’s decision, you know. The chancellor has a vote, too, and I’ve talked to Rhydian—”
“Whatever Rhydian told you, I beg you not to follow his words. Didn’t you hear them arguing outside? Pwyll is already opposed to Rhydian fighting against the Unseelies and you think he’ll let you do it?”
“Well, Pwyll is not my father,” Maeve said, “so he won’t have to worry about my wellbeing.”
“Your father is on the council as well and he would never vote for your knighthood. You know that.”
“I might not convince my father or Pwyll, but I know Gwylim and Farren will vote for me. And Nooa talked to his mother. So if you speak out for me, Ophira will have to consider me as a knight.”
Her amber eyes were bright and feverish. Fay hadn’t noticed before, too absorbed in her own thoughts, that Maeve was different from usual. Her green
hair hung loose and her clothes were slightly disheveled. She was wearing her doublet inside out. Her arms, crossed in front of her chest, were trembling.
Fay had never seen Maeve so unsettled.
She remembered the day they met, the surprise she’d felt that someone as gentle and kind as Nooa would be friends with a stubborn, reckless girl like Maeve. But Nooa stuck to Maeve’s side, a loyal companion. And though he sometimes questioned Maeve’s behavior and intentions to become a knight, he had never tried to talk Maeve out of it.
Fay understood now that no words in the world would change Maeve’s mind. It was still a mystery to Fay why someone would choose to be a knight, but this wasn’t Fay’s dream; it was Maeve’s. And there was nothing in the world she wanted more desperately.
“I’ll talk to Ophira.”
“You will?” Maeve grabbed Fay’s hands, her face glowing.
“Yes, but promise me you’ll leave now. It’s better I discuss this with her in private.”
Maeve dropped Fay’s hands again. “I’m not sure…”
“But I am. If you bring this before the council now, your chances will be even worse. Ophira’s patience is already strained with all that’s going on and after what we did at the pier—”
“You mean saving all those mortals and proving that the Unseelies are alive?”
“Maeve.” Fay took Maeve’s hands into hers. It felt odd to just hold them. Fay wasn’t used to the feeling of webbed hands, which were colder than her own, but she needed Maeve to see she was on her side. That she wanted her to be safe.
“I need to do something,” Maeve said. She bit down on her lip, then sighed. “I can’t just sit around and wait for this to be over. We finally have a lead. And this time, we need to be one step ahead of them. We can’t allow them to hurt anyone else. We can’t…” Her voice broke off.
“That won’t happen, okay? I promise you.” She squeezed Maeve’s hand, which was the closest they had ever gotten to any form of comfort. Then she dropped them as the sound of footsteps grew nearer.
Maeve waved a quick hello at the councilors and vanished from the room without a glance back at Fay. As everyone took their seats, Fay settled in hers, her mind drifting off. Whereas Fay and Nooa had become friends in an instant, it had taken much longer for Maeve and Fay to connect. Perhaps because they both weren’t fond of sharing their deepest thoughts and fears. But over time, they had opened up enough for Fay to understand Maeve’s need to protect the people she loved.
Fay was pulled from her reverie when Ophira entered the council chamber.
“I have sent several of our knights into the Whispering Woods,” Pwyll said. “Another troop is heading toward the Barren and a third is guarding Blackpond. That way, there should be no more casualties.”
Ophira nodded along. “We must find my sister before she can do any more harm. They have to be hiding somewhere in this world.”
“Your Highness,” Farren said, bowing her gray-haired head. “Perhaps I am mistaken, but we have what your sister desires here in our court. We can use it to lure Titania—”
Something in Fay’s mind clicked. “Kayla is not an ‘it,’ and we won’t use her as bait!”
Several pairs of eyes widened, including Ophira’s, but Farren simply smirked. “Has our princess grown fond of the mortal?” she said.
Fay’s cheeks were burning. “We cannot know what Titania would do to her,” she said. “No one deserves that.”
“I was not suggesting that we put the girl in harm’s way. After all, we have someone amongst us who could trick Titania with a little white lie.” Farren’s blue eyes gleamed mischievously.
“So now you want to risk Princess Fay’s life?” Siân said, one white eyebrow raised. “Forgive me, your Highness, if I speak so freely, but how are we supposed to lure Titania out of her hiding place if we do not even know how to contact her? We would have to send a signal that your sister will not miss, but what would that look like? Her means of communication was more than appalling.” She shuddered, and Fay knew she was thinking of the cold, dead body of the innocent pixie.
Ophira leaned forward, folding her hands on the table, and her gaze swept over the councilors. “We cannot risk the girl’s safety before we have learned more about her. If she is truly the key to uniting our courts—and I have faith she is—we must protect her.” For a moment, her eyes settled on Fay and then carried on toward Siân. “My sister made it abundantly clear she does not want to be found, or even contacted. However, there are more ways to send a message than slaughtering pixies.”
“We cannot use fire messages,” Farren said.
“Or acorns,” added Gwylim. “Not if we do not know their location.”
Siân shook her head. “When our bond to them was severed, so were all ways of communication.”
“Not all.”
Everyone around the table turned toward Cassán. Fay was always startled by how much his daughter resembled him. They shared the same topaz eyes and long, glossy blue hair, though Cassán wore his in a braid. While his daughter Isobel was the life of the party, Cassán left most of the talking to his husband Pwyll.
Cassán was the queen’s quiet advisor in all kinds of matters, a man of vast knowledge. If someone could find a way, it would be him.
“Do speak, Cassán,” the queen urged him.
He faced her as he explained. “While Titania’s betrayal severed the bonds between our people and divided the court, it is doubtful that it affected all relations. Few bonds are stronger than those between siblings. They are even stronger than anamchara because siblings are bound to each other by blood.” He paused, glancing at his husband. “I have been studying the Secret Scrolls of Dôn for some time now and I believe I found a way to send a hidden message to your sister. But I fear it is not without risk to your life.”
Fay saw several councilors open their mouths to object, but Ophira quieted them all as she laid her hands on Cassán’s. “I do not fear pain or death if it keeps my people safe,” she said. Her eyes flicked toward Fay for a second, opening up a tiny window into Ophira’s soul. Fear and despair roiled in a turmoil like the waves in the thunderous sea. It vanished in a second, and Ophira returned to Cassán with a smile. “I trust you with my life. And with Siân by your side, I believe I will be in good hands.”
“Always,” said Siân, bowing her head.
“I will need some time to prepare,” Cassán said.
“As soon as you are ready.” Ophira slipped her hands from Cassán’s. “In the meantime, we must do all we can to prevent the Unseelies from murdering another innocent being. Up until now, we have been looking for ghosts, but those ghosts have become reality. They are threatening the people of Tír na nÓg and the alliance of our kingdom. And if anyone finds them, they must report to me immediately.”
The councilors bowed their heads and retreated from the room, until Fay was left with Ophira and her personal guard Fionn.
“Is there something you wish to discuss with me?” Ophira asked. She sounded almost annoyed.
“Uh, yes.” Fay rubbed her hands down her dress. She swallowed against the dryness in her mouth and weighed her chances as she looked at Ophira, who furrowed her brow. “It is about Maeve. I wanted to—”
“If this has anything to do with her vow,” Ophira cut in, “you can assure her that nothing has changed. Certainly not after she disobeyed my orders.”
Fay slumped back in her chair. “Yes, of course,” she said. “And what about Kayla? What will happen to her now, I mean? Should I take her to see Dahlia again?”
“I have trusted two of my knights with that task,” Ophira said, rising to her feet. “Perhaps they are more obedient than you and your friends.”
Fay froze at the scorn in Ophira’s voice. She watched after the queen as she strode out of the council chamber, fighting the heat sweeping up and down her body. When Fay had first come to the Seelie Court and everyone had called her the Seelie Princess, Ophira’s daughter, she had refused to l
ook at Ophira as her mother. Fay had had a mother; she didn’t need anyone else to take care of her.
But in that moment, Fay felt like a child who had been reprimanded by her parent.
19
LOST CONNECTIONS
Kayla tossed and turned in her sleep, haunted by images of dead faoladhs and Unseelies with gleaming red eyes. She woke with a gasp in the morning, sucking in air through clenched teeth. The distant memory of something stinging her arm during the night clung to her, but she couldn’t remember what it had been.
She struggled out of bed and squinted at the clear blue sky outside her window. There was a bundle of clothes on her vanity table and she lifted it up. It was some brown pants and a simple green shirt. She spotted a pair of worn sneakers on the floor, wondering why she would need them, when the door to her room flung open.
Kayla spun around. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Not pleased to see me?” Deirdre asked. Her rose-blond hair was in an elaborate braid and she was carrying a plate of fruits and vegetables.
“It’s not that… I guess I was expecting someone else.” Kayla took a fruit Deirdre offered her, too starved to care about any enchantments. She chewed it, savoring its rich sweetness. “Do you know where Fay is?”
Deirdre put down her plate and rearranged the flowers, which stood in a vase on the table. “I am afraid you cannot talk to her at the moment,” she said. “Fay is with the council. The queen is not pleased with what transpired in the mortal world.”
“I noticed…”
“It must have been so frightening,” Deirdre said while smoothing out the sheets on Kayla’s bed. “If it were not for the Unseelies…” She paused, her hands trembling on the sheets. “Some of my loved ones would still be alive.”
Kayla swallowed a bite of the plum and tried to think of something kind to say. No words would soothe the pain caused by losing a loved one; she knew that much. “So no one knows where they are?” she asked instead. “Not even a clue?”
Seelie Princess (The Crown of Tír na nÓg Book 1) Page 15