by Jodi McIsaac
“Eden,” Cedar whispered, whipping around to look for her daughter. She wasn’t there.
“Riona took her away a few minutes ago,” Finn said, and Cedar breathed a sigh of relief. Her daughter had witnessed enough gruesome things in her short life.
“Cedar.” She turned toward the voice and saw Sorcha looking back at her. Then Sorcha sank to her knees. The remaining Council members joined her. “Forgive us,” Sorcha said. “You were right. I didn’t think it was possible, but we were deceived, all of us except for Gorman, whose shield of protection made him impervious to Fionnghuala’s power.”
Cedar was still absorbing the fact that Nuala was dead. It was over. They had won. And now, these great beings who had mocked her were kneeling before her, asking for her forgiveness. She felt acutely uncomfortable. “Please, stand up,” she said hurriedly. “It’s okay—I know how you must feel.”
“But how is that we could see through her so clearly now?” asked the ivy-haired woman as she got to her feet. “I could see exactly how I had been deceived, and yet I felt none of her power, even though she was obviously trying to use it.”
“It was the wine,” Cedar admitted. “Brighid gave me a potion that negates Nuala’s powers. It was the only way to show you the truth.”
“You have proven yourself a thousand times over,” Sorcha said. “There is no doubt. You are our true queen.”
“I feel ridiculous,” Cedar said, staring at her reflection. She was wearing a long emerald dress the color of her eyes. It was the most elaborate piece of clothing she’d ever owned, all silk and lace and fine embroidery, with glittering jewels on the sleeves and bodice. Despite its ornate appearance, it was as light and comfortable as a cotton nightgown. Her hair was woven through with tiny glowing pearls, and her feet bare. Her skin was glowing, and she didn’t know if it was because she was now truly one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, or because she was just so happy that their ordeal was over.
“You look like a goddess,” Finn said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He rested his head on her shoulder.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked. The torture the leannán sí and Liam had inflicted upon him had had lingering effects, and he still sometimes experienced moments of pain and weakness.
“I’m fine,” he answered. “I know I’ve said this before, but… thank you. For saving my life even when you weren’t sure what the cost might be.”
“You would have done the same for me,” she said, reaching up and wrapping her fingers through his hair. “And I would do it again in an instant.”
“But the risk…,” he started to say. She spun around to face him and silenced him with the look in her eyes.
“You still don’t get it, do you? You are worth the risk. What we have together is worth the risk. Do you know how rare this is? People who love each other like we do? I would give anything to protect that. It’s like I told Liam—we would have found some other way of stopping Nuala. But I never would have found another you.”
He regarded her carefully for a long moment and then nodded, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “When I first met you, I knew I was getting myself into trouble. I just didn’t know how much. And in case I haven’t made it clear enough, I feel exactly the same way about you. Although… it would be nice if our lives were less exciting for a little while.”
“A week, at least,” Cedar agreed.
Finn laughed and spun her around. “Shall we go get a crown for your beautiful head?”
“If we must,” Cedar said. They had been given a few days to rest while preparations were being made for the coronation. But the time had not been spent idly. Cedar had freed the druids from Maeve’s workshop and brought them to Tír na nÓg for questioning. She had placed Rohan in charge of determining how much they had been acting of their own free will and how much they had been controlled by Nuala’s power. Nevertheless, she planned on extending an olive branch to them. She would let those who wanted to stay in Tír na nÓg do so. They could live here freely and contribute to the rebirth of the land.
The change in the land over the past few days was remarkable. It was as though spring had finally arrived after a long, dark winter. The gray sky was showing patches of blue, and tender green blades were making their way through the dry, brown grass. Eden had reported seeing a trickle of water making its way through the cracked riverbed, a discovery supported by the fact that she was covered in mud.
Cedar couldn’t resist spinning around once in the emerald dress, and she laughed as it floated around her like a swirl of mist. “Shall we?” she said, holding her hand out to Finn. He pushed open the door of their room and they stepped into the willow-lined courtyard, where they both stopped short.
“Oh, for goodness sake, you guys—don’t you have your own room?” Cedar said, her voice full of amusement.
Jane blushed and peeked out from around Felix’s arms, which had her pinned against the trunk of one of the willow trees. “Well, we do,” she said with a wicked grin, “But I wanted to see how many places in Fairyland we could, ah, experience before I go back to Earth.”
Felix, who didn’t seem to notice that Cedar and Finn were there, ended the conversation by covering Jane’s mouth with his own.
“Best leave them alone, I think,” Finn said, guiding Cedar toward the door. “Don’t be late!” Cedar called over her shoulder as they stepped into the common room. Riona and Rohan were waiting for them with Eden, who—to Cedar’s astonishment—floated into the air at the sight of them.
“Look! I have wings!” she cried, fluttering around their heads in a pale yellow dress that had two large golden wings attached.
“They’re not real,” Riona whispered. “But I have a friend who can do these sorts of enchantments, and I thought Eden might like it for today.”
“I think we can safely say that she does,” Cedar said with a broad smile as Eden squealed with delight from above them.
A few minutes later they were entering the Hall, a much grander entrance than any Cedar had made before. The colored banners that usually hung limp from the Hall’s twisted spires were fluttering in the gentle breeze. Music could be heard from within, and people everywhere were straining to see Cedar, to touch her, and to see if the stories were really true. Cries of “The prophecy has been fulfilled!” and “The lost princess has returned!” rang out from the crowd.
Cedar and Finn walked hand in hand. Eden was trying to walk regally behind them, but every once in a while she couldn’t help but unfurl her wings and flutter into the air. At last, they reached the inner courtyard, where the crowd parted around them as they moved toward the dais. When they reached it, Finn released her hand and whispered, “Enjoy this—you deserve every bit of it. Just don’t trip on your way up.” Cedar tried to hide a grin as she climbed the steps onto the raised platform. The Lia Fáil sat just in front of the throne, which was made of intricately woven branches. Standing beside it was Brighid, a delicate crystal crown in her hands.
“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” Cedar said quietly as Brighid nodded at her.
“I go where the excitement is,” Brighid replied, a glint in her eyes. “Besides, someone has to crown you, and I am the most important person here.”
Cedar laughed. She reached out and laid a hand on the arm of throne, and felt a strange sensation course through her. Suddenly the dry branches beneath her fingers started turning green, as though life was being poured back into them. The change rippled through the woven branches. The courtyard was silent as all eyes watched the transformation take place. Then brightly colored blossoms erupted along the newly green vines until the entire throne was covered in large, fragrant flowers.
“Ahh,” Brighid said softly. “Now that’s how it should be. Have a seat, Cedar.”
Cheers erupted from the crowd as Cedar lowered herself onto the throne of flowers. She looked out at the sea of faces that surrounded her, most of whom she had never seen before, and thought, truly believi
ng it for the first time, These are my people. Her eyes sought the only ones who really mattered. She wasn’t even listening to what Brighid was saying as she locked gazes with Finn, whose eyes were brimming with tears, and then Eden, who was beaming with pride and waving at her enthusiastically. Then Brighid gently placed the crown on Cedar’s head, and she stood from the throne. She gave Brighid a questioning look, and the other woman nodded. “One more time,” she said.
Once again, Cedar stepped up onto the Stone of Destiny, and its roar blended with the roar of her people as they accepted her as their queen.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The creation of this book couldn’t have happened (at least not by deadline!) without the assistance of several key people. First and foremost was my husband, Mike, whose support was invaluable not only to the writing of this book but also to my own sanity. I’m also grateful to Janice Hillmer for helping me with my day job so I could have time to write; to Dwight and Denise Friesen, Lesley Winfield, and Liam Steele for their insider info on Edinburgh Castle; to Suzie Evans, Charis Rowan, and Kevin Hearne for their help with pronunciations; to Sarah Cook for traipsing all over the Hill of Tara with me in the bitter cold; and to the wonderful team at 47North, including David Pomerico, Patrick Magee, Katy Ball, Justin Golenbock, and all the others working behind the scenes. My editor, Angela Polidoro, is a genius at finding (and fixing) my blind spots and will probably edit this sentence and make it a better one. And as always, thank you to Chris Hansen for teaching me how to tell a story and sending me on this journey in the first place.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JUSTIN SHERWIN, 2012
Jodi McIsaac grew up in New Brunswick, Canada. After stints as a short-track speed skater, a speechwriter, and a fundraising and marketing executive in the nonprofit sector, she started a boutique copywriting agency and began writing novels in the wee hours of the morning. She currently lives with her husband and children in Calgary.