by Vanessa Skye
Baird sighs. “Twenty years have passed, and still, you miss nothing. Indeed, she is not my child by blood, but rather a charge I have cared for since she was a babe. I have come to ask she be placed under your protection here at Chathair Mhór.”
Nuadha glances at me then at the group of entertainers in the corner of the room.
I hadn’t even noticed at least twenty female fae, each more exquisite than the last, dancing, singing, or playing an instrument off to the side. They are all practically drooling as they stare at Nuadha as if they are waiting to pounce and wrap their bodies around his at the slightest attention from the royal.
A jolt of jealousy slides through me. And judging by the looks on their faces, the women feel the same way about me.
“As you can see, I have more than enough musical fae competing for my attention,” he says, sounding bored, and snorts.
“She is not of music,” Baird says.
Nuadha’s eyebrows rise ever so slightly. “Really? A beauty such as this?”
“I speak truth, Sire. She is of war. In fact, your general, Aiden, can attest to her talents.”
“Curious,” he replies with another long look in my direction. “If she is of war, then why does she need my protection? Where are her people?”
“Several attempts have been made on her life. Sadly, she has no people, no community, to protect her. Only you have the power to keep her safe—should it please you.”
The beautiful king stares at me, his expression unreadable. “I fail to see how this is my problem. And you are not being entirely forthcoming.” He turns away and strolls back to his chair.
“Estrild charged me with her protection,” Baird says, his voice firm.
Who the hell is Estrild?
Nuadha turns abruptly. “Leave us.”
The various feathered, gilled, vined, and muddied fae almost trip over themselves in their rush to obey him, and slam the door behind them.
The king waits, silent, until the room is clear of everyone but the three of us.
“Estrild? The witch fae? She has not been seen for a century, and this faeling is not even of majority as yet.” Nuadha purses his lips and rests his hand on a short dagger hanging from the belt at his waist. “Voice the truth, Baird, lest you be considered a friend no longer.” The threat of violence and rage simmering just below his lovely exterior is like a bubbling cauldron and makes the need to draw his weapon unnecessary.
“It was on my last journey for you, Sire. Estrild appeared before me on a rough path not two day’s ride from this very city, carrying a faeling a few hours old. This faeling,” Baird says, gesturing toward me. “She begged me to take the child and protect her from the fae.”
“From her own people? Why?”
“I never got a chance to ask. Estrild was gravely injured and died not long after she passed the babe to me. I did as she asked. I felt I had no choice.”
“Did she say anything else?”
Baird shakes his head. “She simply said the child would prevent a conflict that would destroy Tír na nÓg.”
“Did she say where the child came from?”
“No, Sire, she did not say where the child came from, or who her parents are—”
“Who is Estrild?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Silence, child!” Nuadha turns his blue glare on me before facing Baird again. “Estrild was unpredictable, at best, and insane, at worst. Why would you heed anything she said? She was a witch.”
“I understand, Sire, but she was remarkably accurate in her prophecies. Even Danu wa—”
“Do not mention Danu to me!” Nuadha’s rage is replaced by obvious pain. “Where have you been all these years?”
“I am afraid Alys had to be kept isolated during her upbringing for her own prote—”
The king holds up a hand. “Did Estrild tell you where Danu is, or even if she lives?”
“No, Sire. She lived for only a few moments. She made me swear, on the goddess herself, to protect this child at any cost. She said there was only one place she could be successfully hidden, and that is where we have been.”
Nuadha frowns, strides away from us, then turns and scrutinizes me carefully. “A crazy woman made you swear on our beloved goddess because this…this…wraith of a child will somehow prevent a war?”
Baird looks toward the colorfully tiled floor. “Yes.”
Nuadha, his blue eyes narrowed and mouth twisted into a sneer, stalks toward me, and despite his expression, his proximity kicks my heart into overdrive again.
“We do not need to prevent war here on Tír na nÓg —we win it, child. We have not lost a war in four thousand years. We are not about to start now!” He towers over me. “Do you doubt my abilities to lead my army?”
I step back, shaking my head.
He stomps toward Baird with his hands clasped behind his back. “Why should I believe you? You were once trusted, but that was long ago now, Baird. And you are not being entirely truthful with me.”
“I swear to you, I am telling you the truth, Sire,” Baird whispers. “At Estrild’s request, I have protected this child for nearly eighteen years, keeping her from being found in an…i-isolated community. However, we were discovered, and no fewer than three attempts have been made on her life since then. The attempts were made by fae. That in and of itself lends weight to Estrild’s claims. Somebody wants her dead. Somebody powerful. Somebody who could be a threat to you and our world. I can no longer protect her alone. For these reasons, she needs to be here. Until we know whom we are dealing with, and why, we cannot ignore Estrild’s plea!”
I spy a bowl filled to the brim with rosy red apples, and my mouth waters.
As Baird and Nuadha continue to argue behind me, I slowly inch toward the long table until I’m within reach, snatch an apple, and take a bite.
Its flavor floods my mouth and a low moan of pleasure escapes me, covered by the men’s rising voices.
I quickly wolf down the fruit, and steal three more, hiding them in the concealed pockets of my dress’s billowing skirt.
“Enough!” Nuadha roars, storming toward the heavy oak doors. “I have no patience for this nonsense today. You will both come with me.” He throws the double doors open like the dense wood weighs no more than a child’s toy.
The fae waiting outside—undoubtedly straining to hear every word only seconds before—scatter and press against the walls as he stalks past them.
Baird and I follow in the opposite direction of our room and down a long flight of stone stairs, almost running to keep up with his long angry steps, before stepping into a cobblestoned courtyard, which leads into a lush green field.
The ancient poets’ love of the Irish countryside is understandable as I gaze out at rolling hills covered in knee-high grass so green it looks fake. Wildflowers grow in thick bunches between the grass and the tall yellow and purple heather, and in the opposite direction, the resounding boom of the ocean waves sounds as they break against jagged the craggy cliffs. I haven’t got anything to compare it to, yet it all seems so familiar somehow.
Nuadha does not stop to admire the stunning scenery, however, instead leading us—and the large crowd of curious fae now following—toward a small wooden structure about the size of a human shed. Its slate roof and three paneled sides appear to shelter a pile of white and mustard-colored rags.
“I had this built when he was too we-weak to come in out the rain and snow,” Nuadha says, his voice breaking.
I swallow a sob as Baird makes a choked sound of shock.
I realize with horror that the little shed isn’t home to a pile of rags at all but a terribly emaciated unicorn. The beast’s legs are folded beneath him and his head rests on the grass as if the weight of his horn is no longer bearable. Every bone in his body is painfully visible through his meager coat.
“Now you see why I cannot care about the plight of your strange faeling today, Baird.” Nuadha’s voice sounds harsh, like sandpaper a
gainst his throat. “I must put this beloved creature to death.” He sucks in a ragged breath. “And in doing this, I finally understand Danu is truly dead for there is no place in space or time that would prevent her from getting back to him were she alive!” His voice cracks again, and I want to wrap my arms around his broad shoulders.
I run to the unicorn instead, desperate to help it.
I’m so hungry.
“No!” The king catches me around the waist and flings me twenty feet away with a flick. “You do not touch him!”
The unicorn jerks and peels one eye open the slightest bit. Even the tiny movement seems to take overwhelming effort. Who wakes me?
I don’t understand how I know it’s the unicorn or why I choose to reply in my mind only, but I don’t question it. I do. I stand and step as close to the pitiful creature as Nuadha will allow. I am sorry to rouse you from your sleep.
Sleep is the only rest I have from the awful hunger. I’m so hungry.
Tears stream down my cheeks. The recognition I feel is gruesome and beautiful all at once. This is my unicorn—my dream unicorn that has been with me since I was very small. The one I saw galloping across this same field not long ago.
I’m so hungry.
I’m almost crippled by hunger pains at the same time the king slowly staggers toward the beast as if his every step is painful.
A horrifying sob wrenches free of him, as he draws his mighty silver sword from the huge scabbard on his back. The curved edge of the blade glints in the light, glowing bright for a moment as if concentrating the rays of the sun then flashes as blue flames lick up its entire length.
I’m so hungry.
Clutching my stomach, I double over with a moan and realize it’s not my hunger I’ve been feeling.
Who are you? Who are you to feel my agony?
I am called Alys.
The unicorn stares at me for a long moment, even as Nuadha draws closer with his heaving sobs and sword clutched in both hands. I have been waiting for you, Alys. I am Mandrake.
I know. I have always known you.
Aiming to sever Mandrake’s head from his body in one strike with the searing blade, Nuadha wails as he swings his sword with his full body.
“No!” Without thinking, I throw every ounce of power I have at Mandrake. Blue light pours from both my hands and surrounds the unicorn in a shimmering, impenetrable aura just as Nuadha’s sword meets my shield with a resounding crack.
Sparks fly as he struggles to hold the great weapon, but it’s hurled out of his hands and lands in the grass several feet away, its flames extinguished.
None of the fae rush forward and pick it up for him as I anticipated. Instead, they simply stare, their mouths hanging open for several shocked seconds, before gasps and shrieks ring out as they glance at each other.
I take advantage of the confusion, throwing myself in front of Mandrake and willing Nuadha’s next blow to land on me if that’s what it takes to spare the unicorn.
I fling my shield back up and settle next to Mandrake in his shelter, careful not to bruise his weak body with mine.
Did you bring me apples?
“I did,” ” I say, fishing the three apples out of my skirt.
I hold one out but Mandrake cannot even lift his head, let alone take a bite of the crisp fruit. Instead, I bite into it myself and place the smaller piece between Mandrake’s teeth, like a mother would for her child.
Everyone in the field, myself included, holds a collective breath to see what the starving unicorn will do. Even a stunned Nuadha stands and waits, his great sword lying in the grass, discarded and forgotten.
Ever so slowly, Mandrake chews the piece of apple and swallows painfully. More.
I bite another chunk of apple off and feed it to him, and another, then another. Mandrake’s munching seems less strained and painful with every bite. Soon, all three apples are gone, cores and all.
I’m still hungry.
I stare up at the king still standing in the grass.
His expression is full of wonder as tears roll down his cheeks and neck.
“He’s still hungry.”
“Bring the faeling more apples!” Nuadha yells to the crowd without taking his eyes off the two of us. “As many as you can find.”
And carrots.
“And carrots,” I say, repeating the silent request.
The king barks instructions at the thinning crowd scattering in different directions, eager to do his bidding.
Two fae bring a shallow dish of water and place it near the nimbus still surrounding Mandrake and me.
I hold water out in my cupped hands, and Mandrake sucks it from my trembling palm. I gently stroke his coat as he closes his eyes once more. His breathing sounds less shallow and his sleep more restful, but I am no vet.
Nuadha crouches as close as my shield will allow and rests his forearms on his knees. “How are you doing this?”
“I know his name,” I whisper. “But I must not say it out loud, not even to you.”
Nuadha gasps but continues watching. “You can lower your shield, girl. I would never hurt the beast if it were not necessary to end its suffering.”
I see the truth on his beautiful face. With him this close, I notice his indigo eyes contain flecks of purple, silver, and gold.
He stares, unblinking, as my shield flickers out before slowly standing, retrieving his sword, and after a quick inspection of the blade, and securing it on his back.
He turns.
The man who was crying without a hint of self-consciousness or doubt over the suffering of an animal only minutes before is now gone, and the angry king is back. Only Nuadha, Baird, Mandrake, and I are left in the field. The royal dwarfs all but one of us.
“You have been false, Baird,” Nuadha says with a glare.
Baird looks into his king’s face. “I…”
Nuadha points at me. “She has not been on Tír na nÓg!”
“You can’t know that!” I blurt from my place beside Mandrake as he sleeps.
“Oh, but I can, child,” he says through clenched teeth. “Power like yours could not remain hidden long here. It would not matter where you were concealed.” He stares at me then faces Baird. “Would it, trusted emissary?”
Baird shakes his head and looks down.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because what you just did was impossib—”
“I told you, he—”
“Do not interrupt me when I am speaking! I am your king!” Nuadha stalks toward me drawing his sword from its scabbard. “Do you know what this is?”
He holds the tip of the flaming blade so close to my face I feel the small hairs on my cheeks singe, but I refuse to show any fear or raise my shield as defiance wells inside me.
“A sword?” I lift my chin and raise one eyebrow. “Prettier than most I’ve seen, sure.”
He snorts. “Your ignorance is unsurprising. This is the Sword of Danu! A sword fashioned from magic fire by Danu herself. Only the true king of this world can wield it. It always strikes true—Danu’s magic ensures it. There is no power on Tír na nÓg to prevent this sword from meeting its target if it’s what I so desire.” He lowers the blade, but still the flames lick its surface. “Except yours, it would seem.”
“Oh.” When I instinctively protected Mandrake, I didn’t realize my shield wasn’t supposed to work against his weapon. It never even crossed my mind that it mightn’t. No wonder everyone was so shocked.
He sheaths the sword again, and I struggle to make sure my huge sigh of relief is silent.
“A power like yours would have come to my attention long before now had you been on Tír na nÓg.” He faces Baird once more. “Isn’t that right, friend?”
Baird nods. “I am sorry, my king. Estrild insisted it was the only place she would be sa—”
“You’ve been hiding her in the human world!”
The word human is spat from his mouth like the kind of words Mom used to threaten to wash my mouth
out for using.
“You traveled between worlds, without my permission, to live among the banished and the descendants of the Returned, and then brought her to my domain without my permission. For that alone, I should kill you both where you stand!”
Baird bows his head. “It is true, Sire. I have disobeyed you. I knew taking her to the human world was forbidden, but…I felt the implications of her birth, and her power, befitted some…some special consideration.”
“I forbid travel between worlds! Only the banished may live with the humans, and die a mortal death, as their punishment!”
“Estrild said it was the only place she could be safely hidden.”
“From whom? Me?”
“No! Of course not.”
Nuadha purses his lips. “And yet she did not come to me.”
“Perhaps she planned to, Sire, but her wounds were so grievous she could not make it. She died not far from here, after all.” Baird takes a deep, shaky breath. “I brought Alys to you this day believing you can help find out who she is. Her power, her birth, must be investigated, not only because—”
The king cocks his head to the side. “Because why?”
“Because she has displayed this kind of power in the human world also, which should be impossible.”
“The human world?” Nuadha steps back, his gaze jumping back and forth between Baird and me. “You must be mistaken. Magic of the magnitude I just witnessed cannot be done there!”
“And yet, she has done it…on more than one occasion.”
Baird details the various attempts made on my life as well as the magic I used to protect my mother and me to a silent Nuadha.
“So she is not of war. She is of fire?” Nuadha asks.
“She appears to be of both, Sire, with gifts in both.”
“Curious,” he replies, rubbing his smooth chin with a hand.
I watch the wheels turning in the king’s head while he processes.
“What do you think this means, Baird?”
“I wish I knew, my king.”
“This is grave, indeed. What strange forces at work would allow magic on the human earth, and what does it mean for our world?” Nuadha regards me with his unsettling gaze. “Bres and the remainder of his army died as mortals more than three thousand years ago in the human world. And those I banished since can never return. They have no magic. Even if magic could somehow be done, surely most of those with even trace amounts of fae blood would have no idea such a thing is possible.”