Veins of Magic

by Emma Hamm

  He hushed her when she giggled. “We’re hiding!”

  “Why?”

  The glint in his eye suggested he was enjoying himself.

  She was so glad to see him happy. Bubbles of incandescent joy lifted through her being and spilled out in waves. She stroked whatever bit of him she could reach. His jaw, his hair, his shoulders, the ragged edges of his throat.

  “Master!” Oona’s scolding shout made them freeze.

  They had just reached the stairs, so close to freedom. Eamonn’s sigh stirred her hair. Responsibility called.

  She stroked the back of his neck and smiled. “We had an afternoon.”

  “And a lovely afternoon it was.”

  He let her legs swing down onto the ground. Sorcha kept hold of his shoulder as they turned towards the pixie, wanting to stay connected to him as long as possible.

  Oona’s brows furrowed and the tips of her elongated ears drooped. “Master?”

  “Yes, go ahead Oona.”

  “It’s…” She swallowed and held out a small square of parchment. “A letter arrived.”

  “A letter?”

  Sorcha’s stomach dropped to her feed. Nerves traveled through her veins in electric currents as she stared at the too white paper. She knew what it was, what it had to be, and couldn’t force her feet to step forward.

  Eamonn released her hand and walked forward as if in a trance. She watched his expression, the crestfallen way he stumbled and gently took the letter in his hand.

  He smoothed his fingertips over the edges but did not open the envelope.

  She didn’t notice she had moved until she placed her hands over his. “We’ll open it together.”

  “It is the first time I have spoken to them in centuries.”

  “Them?”

  He turned the letter over and revealed gold wax stamped with the curled lines of a tree. “It is the royal marker. This is not just from Fionn.”

  It was from his entire family. Tears stung her eyes until she could hardly see the sigil. They had condemned him, hung him, banished him, and still he desperately wanted to speak with them.

  “Give it to me,” she said.

  He handed it over without complaint.

  Sorcha slid her nail underneath the wax. It popped open with no magical seal or warning sign. At least they weren’t trying to poison him.

  She slid the letter out and ran her eyes over it, reading through the note with disappointment. This wasn’t handwritten by anyone in his family. She suspected they hadn’t even looked it over.

  “All it says is that our formal request has been accepted. In three moon’s time we are to arrive at the palace where rooms will be prepared for us to meet with the king and his court.” Sorcha looked up. “What is this? We asked for a private audience, not an assembly.”

  “So that is how he will play this,” Eamonn growled. “So be it.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Oona, prepare the dwarves. They will need to create court acceptable outfits for the both of us. We leave tomorrow afternoon.”

  The pixie shifted. “Is that enough time to reach the castle?”

  “We will ride all night if we have to.”

  Oona raced down the hall towards the servants quarters. They would need to be up all night to piece together outfits that Eamonn deemed acceptable.

  Worried, she grabbed his arm as he started away from her. “Eamonn! What is going on?”

  “We’re going to court.” Pity filled his eyes. “We will need to prepare ourselves for the worst, and hope that my brother has not completely lost his mind.”

  The Seelie Court

  They left the castle just as the sun kissed the horizon the next day. Oona and her faeries worked until their fingertips bled. The clothing they made was stunning, golden threads running throughout the black cloth that looked like starlight.

  Eamonn grunted when he saw them, but Sorcha saw the appreciation in his gaze. Oona did as well. The pixie's cheeks flushed bright red in pleasure.

  They decided that only a limited amount of their people would travel with them to Cathair Solais. They had no way of determining what Fionn was up to, and in the end, it wasn’t worth risking the lives of their people.

  The army would remain behind. Only Oona, Cian, and a few select dwarves travelled with Sorcha and Eamonn.

  Eamonn wanted to leave her behind, saying that the castle required a queen. She argued that he required a queen far more than the dwarves, who had never had a queen before.

  She won.

  Eamonn set a grueling pace that quickly made everyone regret going. He lashed the faeries to their horses so they could sleep while they travelled. Rather than tie her down, Eamonn held Sorcha on his own horse and allowed her to sleep against his chest.

  They did not rest until the castle was in their sights.

  She blinked her eyes at the golden light that nearly blinded her. “Are we here?”

  “We’ll get a good night’s sleep first. We’ll all need our wits about us when we enter the palace.”

  She wouldn’t argue with that. Sorcha waited for him to slide off his horse before following him on rubbery legs. He caught her against his chest, giving her time to find her footing before stepping away to untie the faeries. Sorcha started on Oona’s ties first.

  “We’re stopping?” Oona slurred her words, exhaustion tying her tongue. “Why aren’t we continuing? We’re so close.”

  “Eamonn wants us all to have a clear mind when we arrive at the castle.”

  “Oh,” Oona slid down and braced her hands on Sorcha’s shoulders. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  “Can you get yourself settled?”

  “I’ll help the others.”

  “No. Get your bedroll and lay down. We’ll get the others.”

  It only took a few minutes to free the rest of the faeries who piled on top of each other and fell asleep in a giant heap. They were so tired that they were silent and still.

  Eamonn spread a blanket out on the hard ground and sighed. “It’s not the luxury we’re used to.”

  “We’re used to luxury? And here I was thinking we were living in a haunted, crumbling castle.” She placed a hand on his arm, gentle and kind. “It will suffice.”

  They lay down together, his arm curved over her waist, her hands tucked against his chest. He was warm enough that she didn’t ask for a fire.

  She breathed in his woody scent and sighed. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  “We can turn around now. There is no need to take back your family’s throne now that you have your own.”

  “Nuada’s old throne is not real,” he replied. “There is no substance to the claim, and the faeries will eventually remember that. If I am to save our people and change the old ways, then I must take back the Seelie throne.”

  Sorcha understood his desire to take it back. She had seen in the Unseelie mirror all that Fionn was capable of. The Lesser Fae deserved a life equal to that of the Tuatha dé Danann. Eamonn saw that when others did not.

  But she worried what they were walking into. The tense way Eamonn held her suggested he was also troubled by the possibilities. Fionn had never been a man to trust before.

  What horrors awaited them?

  She sighed and tucked her head underneath his chin. Of them all, she would need her wits about her. A human was little more than a plaything to these creatures. The others would watch her back, yet they all remembered what she really was. A druid was capable of far more than a simple human.

  Sleep claimed her until the early morning light. Her arms were freezing and held close to her chest. He had left her some time ago without waking.

  Oona crouched in front of Sorcha, holding out her hand. “It’s time to wake up, dearie.”

  “Thank you.” She rolled onto her side, shaking out the long mane of her hair and yawning. “How much longer do we have?”

  “Not long. I’m to get you ready and then we will ride in
to court.”

  “We? Are you coming with us?”

  “We’re to be your court.”

  “Do we have a name?” Sorcha stood up and stretched her spine, loud cracks easing her tension. “The Seelie, the Unseelie, who are we?”

  Oona did not respond.

  Sorcha glanced at her and caught the haunted expression in the pixie’s eyes. “Oona?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

  “It’s the first time I’ve been back.”

  “Oh.” Sorcha didn’t know how to help the kind woman. Pixie deserved the world laid at her feet for her giving nature and her sweet disposition. These people had not cared that she existed at all, and then Eamonn had dragged her to an isle far away.

  Sorcha cleared her throat, “Oona, I realize I have been remiss in getting to know you. I don’t even know if you have family here.”

  “No, dearie. I never had the opportunity. Pixie families are rather small, and my parents left this world a long time ago.” She gestured to the bundle in her hands. “Let’s get this dress on you and I’ll see what I can do with your hair.”

  “Did you want children?” Sorcha couldn’t help but ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you have them?”

  “Lesser Fae in the service of Tuatha dé Danann cannot have children unless their masters permit them.”

  “Who was your master back then?”

  Oona glanced over her shoulder as Eamonn strode towards them. “His father.”

  “We have little time,” Eamonn called out. “Get her ready!”

  “Yes, master.”

  Sorcha’s heart clenched. She reached out and caught Oona’s hand that held the glimmering fabric. “You don’t have to call him master anymore.”

  “I do. That is what he is.”

  “He doesn’t want that to be the reality for Lesser Fae anymore.”

  “I know, dearie. But I won’t stop calling him that until that becomes truth for us all.”

  This was why she was here. Sorcha stepped away from the men and hid between the horses as Oona stripped her of clothing. She let the silken fabric slide over her skin, barely noticing the fine quality and cool touch.

  Nerves made her stomach clench. She stared off into the distance as her mind wandered. Would they be as cruel as Fionn? Was she walking into a court where they would all attack?

  Would she lose the people she loved today?

  “Worrying will get you nowhere,” Oona soothed. “Clear your mind and show them you are more than just a weak human.”

  “Humans are not weak.”

  “They are compared to us. But you are a druid priestess, a Weaver who is capable of great things. The granddaughter of Ethniu, Fomorian and mother of the druid race. You have nothing to fear.”

  “And everything to lose.”

  “Arms up.”

  She lifted her eyes for Oona to clasp delicate gold mesh over the top of the sleeves. The entire gown was made of yellow silk that clung to every inch of her body. Oona affixed bands around her arms, her waist, and her collar.

  “This is uncomfortable,” Sorcha complained.

  “Beauty is not comfortable. Can you breathe?”

  “Yes.”

  Oona synched the metal corset tighter. “And now?”

  “No,” Sorcha wheezed.

  “That’s perfect then. Let me see what I can do with your hair.”

  “Leave it down.”

  “It’s not in style.”

  “I don’t care if it’s in style. I want them to remember that I am not Fae. Even if I’m trying to look like one.”

  It felt important to remind the Seelie Court that Eamonn and his consort were not the creatures they expected. He had grown much in the years since leaving them. She was an unknown creature they would underestimate. She wanted to use that to their advantage.

  Rounding the horses, she carefully picked her way across the ground, avoiding mud puddles as she went.

  “I’m ready.”

  Eamonn had donned his armor. Clean and oiled, it still bore the marks of war. Dents and cracks turned the metal chest plate into a dimpled mess. Crystals poked out where swords had crushed the armor against his skin and shattered the plates.

  He looked every inch the warlord, and she was thoroughly pleased.

  “You are beautiful,” he said. “They won’t know what to think of you.”

  “Ideally nothing at all. I would prefer to stay in the shadows. I’m better at listening then I am at politics.”

  “No, we have not had the time to train you.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Let me do the talking while we are there.”

  She didn’t argue.

  Eamonn lifted onto his own horse rather than letting her ride separately. He swung up behind her, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist and pulling her back against him.

  They were all quiet on their ride to the castle. The few dwarves who had traveled with them were on high alert. They scanned the distance as if waiting for an army to appear out of thin air.

  Sorcha assumed it wasn’t such a far-fetched idea. She held her breath, waiting.

  They reached the main road without incident. The buildings around the castle were just as splendid. Gold poured from the roofs as if the rain were molten metal. Filigreed pieces so fine they must have been made with magic decorated the outsides of building like the finest of wallpaper.

  Faeries milled through the streets, far more beautiful and impossible than Sorcha had ever seen. A woman with ebony skin walked by their horses, a red cloak covered her head and tiny dots of gold flecked over her cheekbones and forehead. She bought a strand of gemstones from a man covered in so much jewelry that Sorcha couldn’t tell where he began. Perhaps he was made entirely out of gold and gems.

  No one even glanced at them as they rode by.

  Sorcha leaned back and whispered, “Why aren’t they looking at us?”

  “We are the banished. We do not exist.”

  “They can see us, can’t they?”

  “If they cared to look up, yes, they could see us. It is forbidden to acknowledge that any of the banished exist.”

  “How do they know we were banished?” she asked.

  “They were warned.”

  So this was how Fionn would tear at Eamonn’s confidence before he even reached the castle. Not soldiers. Not bloodshed.

  Sorcha had forgotten how painfully intelligent Fionn was. The king wouldn’t take the risk of making Eamonn angry. His pride could be wounded long before anyone needed to fight. A man with no surety in himself would fall without Fionn lifting a finger.

  She lifted her chin. “Let them know we are not ashamed then. They may not remember our faces, but they will remember we walked through this crowd without fear.”

  The dwarves lifted their chins with her and Oona’s ears tipped up. Sorcha refused to allow any of them to feel unwanted. They were dearly wanted by her, and if the Seelie Fae could not appreciate them, then she would.

  “Sing the stones,” she whispered.

  One of the dwarves glanced at her in surprise. “M’lady?”

  “Sing the stones. Let them hear us coming, we have nothing to hide.”

  Eamonn’s arm tightened around her waist, but he did not silence the dwarves. They lifted their deep voices high into the air and let the wind carry their ancient song. Faeries flinched all around them, some lifting startled eye towards the newcomers before violently turning away.

  Good, Sorcha thought. Let them know the high king traveled among them.

  The dwarven song echoed through the streets, bouncing off stone and statues. Fionn’s people scattered. Soon, the streets were empty of all but a brave few who refused to budge or look.

  Sorcha watched them as they ducked their heads and kept their eyes trained on the ground.

  “They look as though they are bowing,” she observed.

  “They are not.”

  “Do your kind not realize that looking a leader in the
eyes is the greatest show of defiance?” A faerie nearby lifted his green-haired head. But he still did not meet her gaze. “It is a shame there is so little bravery amongst your people.”

  At that, the faerie looked up and meet her gaze. She smiled, cold and sharp edged, until he looked back at the ground.

  They reached the steps of the castle and Eamonn did not hesitate. He clucked his tongue, urging the horse to continue. Sorcha leaned forward, gripped Eamonn’s forearms tight, and took a deep breath.

  The large doors opened.

  Cathair Solais was as beautiful as she remembered. Polished floors, open ceilings that filtered the sky through emerald green leaves, tall columns made of the whitest marble with no veins to speak of.

  This time, faeries filled the castle. They lined either side of the great hall which lead to a massive throne. Three stories high, billowing red fabric stretched as far as the eye could see. A great tree grew behind it, nearly as tall as the castle. And seated in the center, Fionn the Wise watched them approach.

  Eamonn leaned down and said, “So it begins.”

  The crowd remained silent, their eyes staring towards the throne and not the newcomers who dared parade horses through the hallowed halls of the king. Sorcha nearly gasped in shock as they grew close enough to see the throne in detail.

  There were two chairs on lower levels, upon which the previous king and queen sat.

  “Eamonn.” Her nails dug into his arms.

  She felt the moment he saw them. His body tensed, his spine straightening and his breath sawing unevenly.

  What torment he must feel! She wanted to close her eyes to banish the image of Eamonn’s parents who did not even look at him. They too, kept their eyes on the floor. Fionn was the only person in the entire room who met Eamonn’s gaze.

  Stone hands gripped the reins and tugged hard. The horse chuffed, tossing its head in discomfort.

  “So,” Fionn’s voice echoed through the great hall. “The banished prince returns.”

  “I have come to take back what is rightfully mine.”

  Eamonn’s powerful message sent a ripple of shudders through the crowd. Sorcha hadn’t expected him to declare his intent immediately, but she agreed with his decision. They needed to be strong because Fionn expected them to be weak.