by Emma Hamm
She inclined her head and gestured towards the tables. “Shall we?”
“Are the others here yet?”
“I was unaware there were others.” She tucked her hands behind her back as they made their way towards the makeshift war council. “Has there already been talk?”
“I profess, I do not know. It is my assumption that many will wish to have their hands in such a declaration of war. We have been waiting for a very long time to take on Fionn.”
“Strange, I heard you did not wish to send your troops.”
“Not to Eamonn.” He cleared his throat. “My apologies, m’lady. I understand you were close. However, I fought next to him on the battlefield and I know how he fights. The man was reckless, without care for his own life. It served him well, but I had no wish to pledge my people to one who cared little for their lives.”
“He changed. Eamonn was focused far more on the lives of his people than his own in the end. It’s why he took the risk to visit Fionn.”
“Ah,” Angus nodded. “Then sorry I am to have judged him wrongly. What is your plan?”
“There are many, and I would have the opinion of my war council before I decide.”
“I think you’ll find there are many opinions.”
The dwarf sat himself down, braced his elbows on the table, and looked her in the eye. “Shall we begin?”
Though she appreciated their candor, Sorcha would never have anticipated the faerie leaders to be so vocal.
She held her head in her hands and stared at the worn wood of the table while the men and women shouted over each other. A headache pounded between her eyes, racing down the long column of her neck with every heartbeat.
They couldn’t agree on anything. Each leader had their own opinion on how to attack, what to do with the armies, where to come from, what day to fight.
And there were more leaders every day. Sorcha hadn’t expected the swarm of faeries who rushed to the castle. The cooks grew overwhelmed, the fields wilted, fights broke out in the bars nearly every night.
She tried to tie them all to her, but there were too many to keep track of. Every time she broke free from the war council to wander the streets, she would find yet another who she hadn’t attached to her expanding web of faeries.
She breathed out a slow, controlled sigh. Every moment was another second to remind herself that she had asked for them. These people were here on her request, and she owed them respect.
They had led their people for a very long time. They knew these lands as she could not. Yet, she still wondered just how much they actually knew.
Druids voices whispered in her ear.
“We could have made these decisions hours ago.”
“Let us guide you, Sorcha. The Fae are only slowing down the process.”
“It takes longer as more arrive. Make your choices now and tell the others they were too late.”
She squeezed her temples. “I cannot do that. They deserve to have a choice in their future.”
“This will only end poorly, Sorcha. You must control them.”
“I will not use my powers to sway their opinions.”
“Then you will be long dead before they agree!”
“So be it!” Sorcha stood and slammed her fists down on the table. The faerie leaders fell silent, staring at her in surprise. “We have argued enough.”
“We still have not decided,” the brownie hissed.
“Then I urge you to decide soon, or I decide for us all.”
“You have no right,” the pixie grumbled. “You are not a faerie, merely the catalyst for a war which has been in the making for centuries.”
Sorcha rolled her eyes.
One of the peat faeries clawed at the table. “I did not agree to follow the whims of a Druid!”
“You agreed to that the moment you walked through those doors and sat down at my war council!”
“How dare you!”
The shouts started again. Some argued that Sorcha was the only reason they were there. Others agreed that she had no right to be their leader.
Sitting back down with a hard thump, she watched the proceedings and wondered where she had gone wrong. Was she not supposed to assume these creatures were capable of rational thought?
“They aren’t,” a druid angrily said in her ear. “Why do you think they banished us all those years ago?”
She ached for Eamonn. He would have known what to do. Worse, they never would have become unruly when he was here. They would fear for their lives and what torture he would force them to live through.
“M’lady!” Oona’s shout echoed through the outside halls before the doors burst open. “I tried to stop her, but she would not listen!”
“Who?” Sorcha stood and placed her palm on the knife at her hip.
The woman who entered the room was so painfully beautiful that she was difficult to look at. Hair, so golden it rivaled the sun, spilled down her shoulders to her waist. Sunlight blossomed from her skin, making her glow with an otherworldly light.
Sorcha glanced down at the woman’s fingertips, pleased to see the stains had turned gray. Elva had shaken the addiction, so it seemed. Or at least had not partaken in such activities while she traveled.
“Royal consort,” Sorcha greeted her. “I did not expect to see you here.”
“I ask for a private audience.”
The faeries stared at her, and Angus chuckled loudly. “Sorry, we’re not able to afford you that. Not when we asked for the same and you killed our king.”
“I did not kill him, and I request you respect my station, dwarf.”
“What station? That of a sheath for our bastard of a king?”
A pink blush spread across Elva’s cheekbones, and Sorcha knew it wasn’t from embarrassment. There was a certain sense of panic radiating around the faerie. She was here without permission, Sorcha guessed.
“Go,” she said to the faeries. “Leave us.”
“M’lady, I cannot agree to such folly.”
“Out, Angus. All of you, get out.”
She half expected them to refuse. But they stood as one, reluctantly filing out of the room. Angus was the only one to remain.
“You too,” Sorcha ordered.
“With all due respect, m’lady, I intend to stay. Someone should remain as your guard.”
“Oona will stay.”
“A pixie?”
“They are surprisingly capable of protecting those they love. Please, inquire with the pixie leader and see if she disagrees.”
He grumbled, but left the room. She caught the way he hesitated to close the door. He watched them for as long as he could before the doors boomed shut.
Oona shook in the corner, her body locked tight as she stared at the woman she had helped raise. Sorcha caught her gaze and nodded.
The pixie launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around Elva’s waist. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and her lavender wings beat so hard the wind knocked a cup off the table.
“Oh dearie! I never thought I’d see your face again!”
“Hello again,” Elva hesitantly said. Her hand hesitantly pressed against Oona’s back. “It is good to see you.”
“I am so sorry. I should have kept you. I should have run away with you and never looked back. But that mother of yours was so certain you would become queen! She didn’t let you be a child, and she certainly didn’t want me around you too much. I should have tried harder!”
“Oona, there was nothing you could do to alter my future.” Elva gently set the pixie aside, grimacing at the tears streaking Oona’s cheeks. “I dislike being touched.”
Sorcha watched from her seat at the head of the table, elbows propped up and her chin on a fist. “Yours is a story I would very much like to hear. But not now.”
“No, there is little time for reliving the past,” Elva agreed. “Thank you for offering a private audience.”
“As private as one might get in such times. Please, have a seat. I would
offer you food and drink, but I suspect you would not take it.”
Elva sank into the chair across from Sorcha, arranging her skirts neatly. “The others did not?”
“Many choose not to eat until they have become invested in the cause. Once they realize we are talking about war, they are more likely to gorge themselves on my gardens.”
“I did not realize midwives were capable of such greatness.”
Sorcha’s grin was feral. “I did not realize consorts traveled without permission.”
“I see your tongue is quicker than I remember.” Elva ducked her head. “It is true, Fionn does not know I am here.”
“How long will it take him to realize where you have gone?”
“I imagine he already knows I have left, but he will never suspect I came here.”
“Why not?”
“He still believes I love him.”
Sorcha leaned forward, steepled her fingers, and pressed them against her lips. “Did you ever?”
“Love him? No.”
It was a shame. Sorcha had seen how attached Fionn was to the beautiful faerie. Though it hadn’t seemed possible, he was gentle with his consort. Almost kind.
Elva saw the emotions flicker across Sorcha’s face. “It is true, he loves me.”
“How is that possible?”
“Did you think him incapable of it? He is just a man, like the others.”
“He admitted his guilt to me before he killed Eamonn.”
Elva nodded. “He has nightmares about that night. He dreams of the blade plunging between his own shoulders and everything being taken from him while Eamonn watches.”
“That was his plan.”
“I suspected it was. They gave each other no choice.”
“They could not see past their own differences.”
“Both were set in their ways.”
Sorcha felt a kindred spirit in the Tuatha dé Danann before her. They both knew the dangers of meeting, but both understood why the events had unfolded the way they had. They both mourned for the pain the twins had inflicted upon each other.
“Why have you come?” Sorcha asked.
“To offer my aid.”
“You wish to go against the king? To help build an army which will defeat him?”
“I wish for my freedom,” Elva corrected. “I wish to make decisions for myself, which I have never done before.”
Freedom. It was a concept they all fought to possess. Sorcha wanted nothing more than her own freedom as well, yet she was now queen of a people who were not her own. At the very least, she could help Elva.
“Then you are welcome within my walls. I’m certain you will understand my hesitation at having you here, and that I will assign a personal guard.”
“Understood.”
Sorcha leaned back in her chair. “All right Angus, you can come back in.”
The doors immediately burst open, and the dwarf sauntered into the room. “I knew you’d have need of me, m’lady.”
“You were listening at the door. I don’t take kindly to those who do not know when they are needed and when they are not.”
“I wanted to be sure you would not be harmed. The queen needs a protector.”
Sorcha forced her eyes to remain still. “This queen does not. You will assign a personal guard to attend to Elva. Please, remind the others she is here as a guest, not as a prisoner.”
“It will be my pleasure.”
“Take care of her and keep her safe.”
Elva stood, brushed her hands down her skirt, and hesitated.
“Yes?” Sorcha asked. “Is there more?”
“I thought you would like to know. He keeps Eamonn next to the throne, a crystal figured twisted in pain and anguish.”
“As a reminder to his people what happens when they go against the King.”
“No.” Elva shook her head. “I think it is a reminder for himself.”
“Of what?” Sorcha asked.
“I do not know.”
The thought was unsettling, and the last piece of information Sorcha needed to hear. She wished that Fionn was one of the evil characters of old. The man who wanted nothing more than to maim and torture, who needed to be put down.
He simply followed the old ways and trusted that they were the right decision for his people. Blind and foolish, he made decisions he might not agree with because they should be the right ones. Fionn was a complicated man.
Almost as complicated as his brother.
Sorcha nodded. “Angus, please show her to one of the guest rooms. Send Oona to attend to her and post two guards outside her door. She is to have whatever she wishes. Tomorrow morning, bring her to the war council.”
“Understood.”
The door closed behind them with a final bang that eased the tension from her neck. She lifted her hands and massaged the muscles, sighing as the headache faded away.
Balor appeared in one of the seats, leaning forward to grab a goblet of wine. “You did well today.”
“Did I? I cannot say anything was accomplished.”
“No, but you’re earning their trust.”
“By letting them scream and shout?”
“They need to get out their frustrations. The future is tenuous, and that makes people nervous.”
Sorcha nodded. “And nervous faeries seem to have knee jerk reactions.”
“That they do.”
She leaned back and watched as he inhaled the sweet scent. She had yet to see him or Ethniu eat, and suspected they couldn’t, but he still enjoyed smelling the food and drink.
“What would you do?” she asked him.
“I would have gone to war long ago.”
“How many people would die?”
“Thousands. The land would be decimated, crops ruined, ground burned, grass trampled underneath the feet of my armies. We’d have cut down all the trees for lumber, killed all the animals for food, destroyed the mines so the other army couldn’t get more resources.”
“So, you would have killed Tir na nOg along with Fionn?”
Balor nodded. “The old ways were cruel.”
“Are they the only ways?”
“That is up to you, my dear. These people deserve at least one battle. See how you like that first and then make your judgment.”
She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. It was a large decision to make and one she did not anticipate would end well.
Free from the war council for a few hours, Sorcha stood on the edge of the cliff where Eamonn had recited poetry. Her soul ached. It was a bruise she did not know how to heal.
“There are so many people here,” she said to the wind, hoping it would carry her words to his soul. “Dozens of leaders, hundreds of clans, thousands of warriors all ready to stand in your name. I wish you were here to see it, my husband.”
He would have been proud. He would have stood at the top of the mountain with her and stared down at the sea. Likely made a joke about how they could still run away and leave this place.
She smiled. He would have trailed a hand down her head and tangled curls around his fingers. He had always loved her hair.
Stones crunched from the crack in the wall behind her. It was almost completely fixed when she asked them to let it remain cracked. Though it was a weakness should an army climb the cliffs, she couldn’t let them take this place away from her.
“Oona,” she sighed. “I asked to left alone.”
“Then it is a good thing I am not Oona.” The deep voice sounded like the stamp of hooves. The fresh scent of grass drifted to her nose.
Sorcha stiffened. “Macha.”
“Yes.”
“You have not spoken to me in a very long time.”
Why did the faerie come now? Of all times, why did the Tuatha dé Danann arrive just as the battle was about to begin?
Stones shifted back on her heels. Macha stood beside her, staring out over the crashing waves with her hands clasped behind her back. Their red hair tan
gled together until Sorcha could no longer tell whose curls were whose.
“You have done well,” Macha said. “Far better than I expected from a human girl.”
“Druid.”
“As you wish. Druid.”
Sorcha licked her lips, refusing to glance up at Macha. “I did not uphold our deal. Have you come to collect my debt?”
“No. You have exceeded my expectations and done the impossible. While Eamonn was not returned to my children, the outcome was exactly what I hoped.”
Sorcha looked at her then, eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You wished Eamonn to start a war?”
“That was the intent of bringing him home. I expected he would fight my children for a time, but then he would agree that returning to Tir na nOg was the only way to save his people. I did not anticipate he would fall in love with you and wish to take back the throne on his own.”
“He didn’t really want the throne,” Sorcha hesitated, “he wanted a home.”
“Yet, he found that with you.”
“I believe he realized that too late.” She looked back out to sea. “And because of that, he paid dearly.”
“It is always sad when we lose one of our own. I am sorry you must bear the weight of his loss.”
“I bear more than that,” Sorcha whispered.
“An army waits outside these walls for your orders. It is strange how time changes. I remember when we ran the druids out of the Otherworld for fear they would destroy us. Now, we all wait with bated breath as a druid determines whether or not she will catapult us into a time of blood and fear.”
“You gave me this power.”
“No,” Macha shook her head. “I would love to take that credit, but you took this power all on your own.”
Sorcha supposed she was right. If she had gone to Hy-brasil and done what she was told, then she would likely be back home with her father and sisters.
She sighed. “Did your children ever have the cure?”
“No.”
“Did they know of it?”
“They knew ways to prevent a person from contracting the beetle plague, but not any way to cure those who were already ill. They also knew the druids had it, but with no way to contact them, they would not have told you.”
“Could they have killed the beetles?”
“No.”