by Emma Hamm
Her hands shook, and she stopped breathing as she finally turned her head and stared into Eamonn’s cold, vacant eyes.
“My love,” she sobbed. “I have come for you.”
Pulling herself from the chair, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her lips to his. Cold crystal bit at her flesh. So familiar and yet not at all. His chest did not move, his heart did not beat, and his eyes did not fill with the tenderness she had grown to expect.
Sorcha pressed her mouth against his again, “Would that I could save you. My love. My heart.”
Tears dripped from her eyes and splattered against the cold stone.
Rage poured through her again. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right that she was so close to him, and yet so far. He would never look at her with love again. Never touch her shoulder, wrap her curls around his finger.
It was a cruel and angry jest that the world played on her.
She whipped around and cleared the food and wine from Fionn’s side table. Screaming out her rage she fell to her knees beside him and gripped the Spear of Lugh.
“This does not belong here,” she cried.
As if the spear understood what she wanted, the staff shortened, no longer propping Eamonn up. Yanking with her entire weight, she pulled the spear out of Eamonn’s heart.
It clattered to the floor and all her anger drained, leaking from her eyes as tears slid from her cheeks. What was she to do with him? Bury him in the earth? Place him at the front of the castle like a watchful gargoyle?
She whimpered and wrapped herself around him once more. “Please, mo chroí. I want to hear your voice one last time. I love you.”
At first, she didn’t notice that her lips were pressed against silken hair. Then she heard the cracking of crystal as his fingertips moved.
Stumbling back, she landed on her behind and watched with wide eyes as the crystal shattered. It fell from his body in great shards, leaving behind warm caramel skin. He shook the stones from his shoulders, twisting away from her to rip off his armor and lift his hands to his face.
A chunk of crystal fell to the ground, the piece which had covered his face. Cold, blank eyes stared back at her, as if he had simply taken off a mask. Sorcha gasped and pressed her hand to her lips, watching with wide eyes as he stared down at his hands, then turned to face her.
He was perfect. Ragged and tired, but free from all blemishes. His face was smooth, his throat unmarked. Not a single crystal remained, not even a small one poking through his shredded shirt.
She watched his throat work as he swallowed.
“Sorcha?”
She moaned and scrambled to her feet. Launching herself in his arms, she tucked her face against his now smooth neck and breathed in his scent. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I thought I was dead.” Eamonn pressed his lips against her shoulder and crushed her in his embrace. “How is this possible?”
“I do not know, but I thank every god who ever existed that they brought you back to me.” She leaned back and traced her fingers down his face, foreign now but just as beloved. “It’s really you.”
He said nothing. Eamonn palmed the back of her head and pressed their lips together. Warm and safe and wondrous, she framed his face with her palms and counted each of her many blessings.
The Coronation
Sorcha couldn’t let go of him. She had to feel the smooth skin to believe he was really here, that somehow, some way, the disfiguring marks were magically gone. A god must have smiled upon them and healed all their wounds.
It was difficult to believe.
As they stumbled from the throne room, arms wrapped around each other, she realized how weak he was. His muscles trembled, legs quaked, and he leaned on her for support. This was not the king she remembered, but he would be.
He stepped out of the palace and lifted a hand to block the sun.
Faeries spread out on the grounds before them. All having stayed to see what the Druid Queen might do next. They gasped when they realized she wasn’t alone.
“Fionn?” Someone called out.
“No,” Eamonn replied. “Your high king.”
Sorcha felt the tremble run through his body at the name. He glanced down at her.
“What happened?”
“Your crystals, Eamonn. They’re gone.”
“Gone?” He ran a hand down his face, shaking as he touched his throat. “Are they truly gone?”
“I don’t know how, or why, but you are reborn a new man.”
He swallowed, and Sorcha didn’t know whether she would get used to see his Adam’s apple move. How strange it was to see so much skin after all this time.
She linked her arm through his and pulled him through the crowd. There was more for him to see, more that needed to be explained, and all these Fae didn’t deserve to see him at his weakest. They had condemned him long ago. They would now wait to hear what their fate would be.
They paused at the gate to the castle. His eyes widened in shock as he stared out over a battlefield of thousands all lying on the ground.
“You went to war?”
“And I ended it.”
“You?” He tore his gaze away from the bodies and met her gaze. “You killed them all?”
“They’re not dead, just sleeping.”
“Do they know what happened?”
“No.”
He blew out a breath. “I will confess, mo chroí. I can hardly handle this right now.”
“We can wait to wake them.”
“We shouldn't. Where is your horse?”
“No horse,” she said with a smile. The wet suction of feet pattered on the ground behind them. “Just a kelpie.”
His expression was almost comical. “You rode that? Alone?”
“I told you he didn’t want to hurt me.”
“The kelpie from the waterfall?”
“Not everything is black and white,” she said as she stroked the kelpie’s forehead. “I don’t know why he helped me, but I know I’m forever grateful. I’m not sure I would have made it here otherwise.”
Her own legs were trembling now. They both desperately needed to lie down in each other’s arms and rest.
How long had it been since she’d slept in his embrace? Too long. Months, weeks, days, even hours were too long for Sorcha to bear.
He nodded. “Let’s get this over then. Thank you, my friend. You have earned honor for the race of kelpies.”
The sea horse bent to its knees and waited until both Sorcha and Eamonn were safely on its back. It surged forward and raced towards the battlefield. She could smell the sea air, hear the cries of seagulls, and the whispering crash of the waves.
Gods, how she missed the sea.
His arms tightened around her. She traced her fingertips over his forearms and realized she would have to learn him all over again. The sway of his body, the sparse spray of chest hair, the taste of skin rather than stone.
Breath stirred the curls at her temple. “How was I blessed with such a woman?”
“Is there an answer for that?”
“The gods smiled on me when they created you. I am a well-loved man.”
“You are.” Sorcha dug her nails into his arms and sent a silent prayer towards the sky.
But she knew it wasn’t the gods who had helped. Whatever deity was out there had only set the wheel in motion.
The kelpie picked through fallen bodies as Eamonn guided it towards a rise which would give them the highest peak to call out to the armies. As they walked, she saw the faces of her ancestors hovering above the Fae. Each woad painted face smiled at her. They kept the faeries still and quiet.
Macha stood at the edge of the battlefield, her sword lifted in greeting. Beside her, Balor and Ethniu held their arms around each other and grinned.
Sorcha nodded to them and leaned further back against the wall of strength behind her. She finally had him. The only thing she’d wanted since starting this journey was a place to call home, a fam
ily who loved her, and to feel as though she belonged.
She would never have guessed she'd find it all in a single person.
The kelpie’s feet touched the highest rise and shook its head. She jostled forward with a gasp, Eamonn pressing against her spine.
He groaned and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades. “Just a little longer, mo chroí.”
They moved like ancients, sliding from the kelpie’s back while wincing. A headache throbbed between her eyes. It was over and yet not… for her.
Eamonn caught her as her knees gave out. He pulled her against his chest and smoothed the hair back from her face.
No crystals caught her hair.
“Let them go. Let them awaken and we shall greet our people.”
She sighed, tucked her head against his chest, and released her grip on the threads. She could feel the druid souls disappear into the mist. A great weight she hadn’t realized pressed down upon her lifted. She sagged against Eamonn, her head lolling to the side in relief.
“Good.” He pressed a kiss against her temple, breath tickling her neck. “You’ve done remarkably well, mo chroí.”
Sorcha nodded, incapable of responding in any other way.
He held her against his side and stepped forward to watch as the faeries rolled to their sides, some to their knees. Soldiers pulled their helms off to shake their heads in confusion.
Eamonn waited only a heartbeat before he called out, “Faeries of the Seelie Court! Behold! Your new king and queen!”
The golden army froze. A few looked up at the couple, torn clothing, blood splattered, and strangely alive.
No one could mistake Eamonn for Fionn on a battlefield. He stood with his legs spread wide, his chest rounded and spine straight. This was his domain.
“What did she do to us?” someone called out.
“I made you sleep,” she said. “No more fighting, no more battle, just dreams.”
“And our king?”
“He stands before you,” Eamonn growled. “The Usurper sits in my dungeon until I decide what I wish to do with him.”
Those who supported Fionn fell silent. Sorcha’s people grabbed their weapons and corralled them until they stood in a great mass before their new king and queen. He squeezed her shoulders, tilted her chin, so she met his gaze.
“What shall we do with them?”
“If they wish to join our family, to support us, then they may.”
“And if they don’t?”
A spark of anger fired in her mind. “Then they can join their king who forced so many into slavery and more into starvation.”
The armies heard her words loud and clear as druid souls echoed her words. One by one, the golden soldiers bent a knee. Not a single one remained standing.
Sorcha smiled. “I think they are afraid of me.”
“In truth, so am I.” But he lifted her hand and pressed his lips against her fingers. “My Druid Queen, I am sorry I could not battle beside you.”
“I hope we will never have the chance.”
“Angus!” Eamonn shouted. “Take care of things for me! I’m taking my queen home.”
The dwarf saluted. “My pleasure!”
Eamonn swung her onto the back of the kelpie and they raced away from the Castle of Light. The kelpie swung his head, huffing out a breath, and mist formed beneath its feet. Faster and faster they rode until Sorcha threw her head back against Eamonn’s shoulder.
“What is happening?”
“A kelpie can travel anywhere they wish, so longer as the water hears them.”
“Then where are we going?”
“Home.”
They sank into the earth and raced on rivers of magic to the small crevice in the back of Nuada’s castle which Sorcha refused to fix. They carefully dismounted as the moon laved them with silver light.
Eamonn swung her into his arms and turned to the kelpie. “Thank you, my friend.”
It bowed and leapt from the cliff into the sea.
He carried her through the shadows to give them a few moments of peace. The castle was silent, its residents sleeping with quiet dreams.
He tucked them into bed and wrapped himself around her. Just before she shut her eyes, she watched as he lifted her hand and stared at it in the moonlight. “You are a miracle, mo chroí.”
“I am yours,” she whispered.
They slept tangled up in each other, alive and finally at peace.
Feather light touches pressed across her cheeks and lips. She furrowed her brow, desperately trying to hold onto the warm grasp of sleep.
“Stop,” she murmured. “It’s not time yet.”
“Mo chroí, if we wait any longer they will fear we died. Again.”
Her eyes snapped open at the deep baritone so familiar it made her heart hurt. She blew out a breath as her gaze met bright blue eyes.
“Eamonn?” She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. Yanking him down on top of her, she breathed in his woodsy scent while tears trickled down her cheeks. “I feared I dreamt it all.”
“I am here.”
“You are here!”
He chuckled against her throat. “Yes, I am. Although I’m uncertain how much longer if you keep choking me.”
“You’re too stubborn to die by my hand. Let me hold you for a few moments longer. Please.”
“A man cannot deny such a tempting argument.” He rolled them over and wrapped his arms and legs around her. “Be at ease. We survived.”
She couldn’t stop crying. Tears splattered onto his chest, mingling with the short hair there. Hair!
Sorcha tugged on it. “Since when did you have chest hair?”
“Eh?” He ran a hand down his chest, craning his neck to look down at himself. “I didn’t. Or I haven’t, for a very long time.”
She sucked in a breath and traced a circle around a hole she hadn’t noticed before. A star shaped wound over his heart Tiny crystals scattered around it, hardly comparable to his previous crevices and cracks, but still there.
“Look,” she said.
He held his hand over hers. “I’m pleased to keep it. It’s a good reminder of how precious life is.”
“It is.” Sorcha leaned up and pressed her lips against his, making a face when she pulled back. “You have morning breath.”
“I have what?”
“Morning breath!”
“I’ve never had morning breath in my life.”
“You have now.” Still, she kissed him again just to enjoy it. “Eamonn, there’s something I have to tell you.”
A fist pounded on the door, Cian’s angry voice shouting through the wood, “Ain’t no servants meant to be in those rooms at this time of day! If you’re canoodling in the master’s chambers, I’ll flay you myself!”
Sorcha bit her lip and shook her head. “It can wait.”
“I don’t mind telling him where he can find the whip.”
“Eamonn,” she giggled. “We have to tell them sooner or later.”
“A few more hours alone couldn’t hurt.” He ran his hand suggestively down her spine.
“You were the one waking me up and saying we needed to go.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Are you certain you’re up to it?” She winced as her hip popped when she moved.
“Ah, we’re both still aching. Perhaps we should wait.”
She didn’t want to, but knew she would regret it if they found time for each other. She wanted to run her hands over this new body of his and rediscover every piece of him. But her body creaked when she moved and trembled at the mere thought of stretching.
It would have to wait, as he said, but she wasn’t happy about it.
“Shout for him then,” she grumbled. “I hadn’t thought to reintroduce you in our bedroom. But so be it.”
Eamonn cleared his throat. “Cian! You mangy bastard open the door!”
The gnome’s bellow echoed through the hall nearly as loud as the banging door which slamme
d off its hinges. There was so much hope in Cian’s eyes as he looked at them, wrapped up in the cream sheets with gossamer curtains all around them.
And then rage so red it burned turned the gnome to stone.
“So that’s how you’re repaying him?” he growled. “The master’s only been dead for three months and you crawl into bed with his brother?”
Eamonn moved, a sword flinging through the air so swiftly that it embedded halfway through the door just above Cian’s head. “You’ll be careful talking to my queen that way, gnome. We might have a history, but I won’t stand for that.”
“I won’t have the false king in this castle.”
“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have him.”
Cian crossed his arms firmly over his lumpy chest. “You aren’t the master.”
Sorcha pulled the sheets up to her chest and sat up. “I appreciate your loyalty, but you must be blind if you cannot see this is Eamonn.”
“Have you been tricked girl?”
Clattering steps echoed up the hall and Oona shouted, “What is it Cian? Did one of the will-o’-the-wisps get stuck again?”
She burst into the room, froze when she saw them, and crumpled into tears. “Oh my stars! Master!”
She threw her arms wide and leapt onto the bed. Sorcha choked as Oona’s elbow hooked over her throat and dragged her back down to Eamonn’s side.
Oona blubbered, “Oh my dearies! I never thought to see your faces again! And Master! You’re so handsome, not that you weren’t before, but look at you!”
She pulled back enough to pat his face with her violet hands.
“Oona!” Cian scolded. “That isn’t the master! That’s his brother, Fionn. Look at his face!”
“You dolt! Don’t you recognize our boy when you see him?”
Cian’s face paled. “Eamonn?”
“I tried to tell you,” he grunted. “Instead you made me put my sword through a perfectly good door.”
The gnome launched himself across the room and wrapped his arms around Eamonn’s shoulders. “You’re alive!”
They all laughed and held onto Eamonn until he turned bright red and attempted to shove them away. Neither Oona nor Cian would let go. He looked over their heads at Sorcha with wide eyes.