by Ren Curylo
Adamen’s coronation was marked as a new beginning. They were all truly joyous and hopeful for the first time in nearly a year.
26 years later
Phaedrus 29, 789 Na Réaltaí
Chéile Chéile exited her bathroom and slammed her door hard enough for it to rattle on the hinges. Why do I have to have these shitty old doors? Ársa’s chamber has sliding doors. I should at least have sliding doors.
She sat down on the edge of her bed. She retrieved her nail clippers from the top drawer before spreading a tissue out smoothly on her freshly made bed. She meticulously clipped her nails, being careful that each little, severed sliver landed on the tissue. She filed her nails while she continued to fume over the doors in her quarters. Satisfied that she had done a thorough job of her nails, she picked up a jar from her nightstand and opened it. Chéile picked her nail clippings up, one by one; counting them to be certain she hadn’t missed any and dropped them into the jar. She sealed it and set it back on her nightstand.
She stomped over to the dressing table and flounced down on the padded seat. She drummed her fingers on the table. The doors are not my problem. Ársa is my problem. But what do I do about him? I have to get to a place in my own head where he doesn’t matter anymore. And I am sick to death of hearing about the fucking prophecy. The Prophecy doesn’t give him the right to screw every mortal woman that looks in his direction. I thought killing his damned Fae lover would fix the problem, but no. And there’s still Moriko.
Chéile didn’t understand the reason why she rarely found Moriko anymore. She tried repeatedly over the last ten or twelve years, but that little bitch was inaccessible. Even using the doll she had made of her rival didn’t help. Something was blocking her magic. She hadn’t been able to figure it out yet, but she was going to keep trying. She had diligently looked for Moriko and she had hunted for Ársa’s bastard Fae child. The last twenty-six years had been frustrating and mostly disappointing. She had found countless colonies of Fae—everything from sweet flower Fae to the nastier Red Caps. She found nothing that she thought would be Ársa’s offspring.
Everything in her life was as shitty as could be. Her husband had drifted away and left her to her own devices, she could seldom torment Moriko anymore, and Déithe had moved on to higher level training without her, and to top the whole shit pie off, she hadn’t been able to find Ársa’s firstborn, his heir, his Fae child.
Déithe was twenty-six years old and was so much like his father in all the worst possible ways. When Chéile looked at her son, she saw nothing at all of herself. He hadn’t even inherited her pointed ears. He looked like Ársa. Chéile couldn’t see his face without thinking of his father and she could barely stifle the snarl that rose within her. Worse than his appearance, he acted like Ársa. They had the same sense of humor, which was often in poor taste. She had constantly reminded him he was better than that and he should hold himself above the others on the Envoy since one day, he would have to govern them all. It’s far more difficult to govern people you’re intimate with than people you hold at a distance.
She saw the way women looked at him as he went about his day. She worried he would take action, had she not been vigilant in her protection of him. She tailed him every step of his day, leaving him only when he was in the custody of his instructors. She waited in the hallway for him to finish his classes so she could escort him to his next appointment. She had done so since he was six and had first begun his classes.
Déithe was a young man, finishing his training and academics, and she dreaded the day when he would be more difficult for her to oversee. She didn’t intend to give the women here the opportunity to take advantage of him. Chéile found the idea of him having intimate relations distasteful and embarrassing.
So, if Déithe is twentysix, that makes Ársa’s son twenty- seven, or thereabouts. I have to find him. But how?
She thought about her situation and began to feel defeated. She needed something to make her feel alive again, give her purpose, and dig her toehold into Ársa again. In twenty-six years, he had begun to behave as if he were unattached. Chéile never saw him anymore except occasionally at meals and at Envoy meetings. Envoy meetings that she was never notified of, but because she had become adept at spying on the others, she found out about them nonetheless and she never missed even one.
An idea grew, matured, and hatched as she sat drumming her fingers on the desktop. Making a quick decision, she got up, dressed in human-style clothing, and went to the portal room. She was better at Traveling, but only to certain places. She hadn’t been to this spot in twenty-six years.
The town of Fogedge, while still obscure and squalid, had grown, becoming a bustling port on the south of Amalith Island. She made her way to the dock area and looked for the sign she remembered from so many years ago. Is it possible that man is still alive? What was his name? How long do humans live?
She walked down the street amid whistles and catcalls, which she ignored. Her platinum hair gleamed in the sunlight of midday. What were reprobates like these doing up this time of day? And what about the man I seek? Oh, yes, his name was Máel.
She quickly found the sign she remembered, the moniker for The Ox Head. She opened the door and stepped inside. Her nerves jangled as she looked around the room. A man sat where Máel had sat those many years before. He looked exactly like the man she had known, only cleaner, and older. He wore a flat cap that covered most of his head, but the hair she could see from beneath it, fringing at his temples, was grey. He now bore lines on his face, but they lent him a more dignified air.
Chéile walked to the table, being careful to sway her hips provocatively. “Hello, Máel,” she said softly.
“Why, hello, Goddess,” he said, looking up at her with a smile. “I wondered if you’d ever come back this way again.”
“And here I am,” she said, smiling as she slid into the chair next to him.
“What brings you back to our little slum, darling?” he asked.
“The same thing that brought me here last time,” she purred.
He grinned rakishly. “Are you paying the same price?” he asked.
“Are you charging the same amount?” she countered with a challenging tone.
He grinned. “Well, Princess, the price has gone up in the twenty or so years since you were here. Tell me, did you get the brat you wanted?”
“I did,” she said, “but now I want another one.”
He looked her up and down, undressing her with his eyes. “You know, I was going to say that you were too damned old to have another one, but you look exactly the same as you did last time I saw you.”
“You don’t look that much worse for the wear, either,” Chéile said.
“I’m bald as a newborn baby’s ass,” he said, laughing and removing his flop hat.
“Oh,” she said, looking at his shiny pate. “That doesn’t matter to me. Do you have what I need?”
“Are you willing to pay my price?”
“Name it,” she said.
“Price has gone up, Princess,” he said, licking his lips and looking at her breasts. “You have to stay the whole night.”
Chéile took a deep breath before replying. “All right. I’ll stay the night, but you have to promise me enough lalin sik to take care of my problem, like last time.”
“You’ve got a deal, Princess,” he said. He stood from his chair and held his hand out to her as before. It was cleaner than last time. She took his hand, giving it a squeeze as she smiled at him.
Máel led her up the stairs to his room.
Chéile stayed for three days with Máel in Fogedge, in his room at The Ox Head. It made her happy to know she was doing something that would make Ársa disapprove.
When she arrived home, she checked Ársa’s schedule to determine when he would return. She was worried about making him suspicious. She didn’t want to do too much too fast, so she invited Déithe to meet her in Ársa’s room for dinner after he arrived.
Taking it slowly was the hardest thing she had ever done. She wanted to use the lalin sik and get this process over with but the last thing she needed was Ársa balking and ruining her plans.
After three weeks of family dinners, she decided her time was right. She didn’t invite Déithe, but she told Ársa she had. Before dinner, she had mixed the lalin sik into the Apple Fizz she served her husband. Now, she only had to wait for him to drink it all.
1 month later
Aero, 789
Silverwilde Province, Cardosa
Moriko Moriko was a frequent visitor and a welcome sight in the Flower Fae’s meadow. They came out to meet her in droves, hovering over her, flying around her, singing their greetings in loud, high-pitched voices. She could feel them sitting on her head and shoulders, pulling her hair. They meant no harm, but were overwhelmingly mischievous and couldn’t help themselves.
“We’re so glad you’re here, Moriko,” they shouted, dancing in the air around her.
“Why is that?” she asked. “It hasn’t been that long since the last time I last visited. What has happened in my absence that has you all so excited?”
“Girin…” one of them shouted excitedly before another one swatted her across the mouth.
“Hush up,” the swatter said. “You let Girin give his own news.”
“Ouch,” the swatted Faerie said. “You didn’t have to be so mean.” She reached out and pulled her attacker’s hair.
“Stop that,” the swatter said. She grabbed a handful of the other Faerie’s hair and jerked her head back. Others of their troop quickly joined in, shouting and laughing and shrieking, some for joy, some in anger. Soon there was a ball of Faeries so big Moriko could no longer see the two who started it.
She laughed and sidestepped them and went on toward Filigree’s home. She had learned long ago not to get into a frenzy of Faeries. The first time she had seen a Faerie fight like this, she had tried to intervene and had ended up with a hundred or more nasty little Faerie bites on her hands, fingers, and forearms. She had even sustained one on the end of her nose. She didn't care to repeat the experience.
As she neared Filigree’s home, Girin came out. He saw her and greeted her happily, expanding to his full height. He had grown taller than Moriko, and far taller than any Lilitu she had ever met. He was handsome to a fault, she noted. He looked a perfect combination of his beautiful Lilitu mother and his handsome father, Ársa. It almost broke her heart every time she saw his face.
“Moriko,” he said, moving forward in a rush. He gave her a warm hug.
“The whole troop is certainly in an excited state. What’s going on?”
“Let’s take a walk,” he said, linking his elbow with hers. “We can talk without interruption that way. Once their fight breaks up they will remember you’re here and they will be all over us.”
Moriko laughed. “You’re absolutely right, Girin.”
They walked down the path toward the river that flowed nearby. It was quiet and peaceful here and Moriko knew they would have privacy for a few minutes, at least.
“What has everyone so excited?”
“Trinket and I are getting joined,” he said, his blue-green eyes sparkled. They were an exact blend of his parents’ eyes, but they were tilted upward at the outer corners like his mother’s were
Trinket was an Iris Faerie, and she looked the part, with highly piled up hair in shades of purple with streaks of yellow. Her eyes were purple with yellow flecks in them as well. Her skin was a pale, dusty purple, too, and her lips were a deep, dark eggplant. She was a sweet, even-tempered Fae who never met a stranger and made fast friends of all she came across. Moriko had always liked Trinket.
Moriko smiled and hugged Girin. “Well, congratulations, that’s exciting.”
“Thank you, Moriko. Your support means a lot to us.”
“You shall always have that,” she said. “I think you two are a fine match for one another.”
“I was wondering if you’d tell my mother. I know she will want to be here,” he said. “I would like to invite Skill, too, if you could. We plan to have our joining ceremony in two weeks.”
“I’ll invite them right away,” Moriko said. She noted Girin’s hesitation and wondered what else there was to his story. “Is there something else?” she asked.
He appeared suddenly shy. His cheeks reddened a bit and he cast his gaze away from her. “Trinket is having a baby,” he said barely above a whisper.
Moriko almost laughed but she caught the sound in time to squash it. “That’s even more exciting, Girin. Are you not pleased?”
He nodded quickly and emphatically as he looked up at her at last. “We haven’t told anyone yet,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We don’t want anyone to know until after we’ve…ah…had our ceremony.”
“I see,” Moriko said. “So you don’t want me to tell your mother, is that it?”
“No, please keep it a secret until after the ceremony. We want to tell my mothers first.”
Moriko noted his mention in the plural when speaking of his mothers. Both Filigree and Adamen were truly his mothers and she was pleased that he felt that way about them both. “I won’t say a word, Girin, but why did you tell me? Wouldn’t your secret be safer if no one knew but you and Trinket?”
Girin shrugged. “Perhaps, but we wanted your blessing, since you’re our goddess and all.”
“I see,” she said. “Well, you shall always have that, as I said before. Nothing will change that.”
“Thank you, Moriko; I will let Trinket know right away so we can start planning the event.”
“And I’ll go right away and invite Adamen and Skill.”
2 weeks later Aventine 20, 789 Belnesse Province Ceann’nathair
Moriko The forest here was old growth, mostly deciduous and dense. Moriko stood in the top of one of the tallest trees and looked out over the top of the forest, trying to pinpoint the area where the distressed cries she heard were coming from. They were incessant and desperate. Some animal in her forest was in pain and she had started tracking it ten minutes earlier. Now, more of them were joining chorus with the first. Something or someone was torturing them and Moriko felt desperate to find them and render aid.
Adding to her frustration was the fact that she had to be leaving this forest soon to join the Flower Fae in Silverwilde for Girin’s and Trinket’s joining. She had promised and she intended to be there, but she could not leave this forest until she found what animal was suffering and helped it.
She stood at the top of a boxelder tree, nearly seventy-five feet above the forest floor and listened. She was hoping the height would help her pinpoint the direction of the cries. The sounds drifted to her on the wind and she was able to determine where she needed to go. Moriko wasted no time Traveling in that direction. She stayed in the treetops, landing next, in a shorter gum tree. She was closing in on the sound, for it grew louder and more insistent. She could hear several distinct voices crying together. The cries came from a small animal and now there must be five or more adding to the clamor.
Moriko Traveled again and knew she was within a few yards, for the din was nerve rattling. She peered through the trees to try to get a glimpse of what might be causing the disturbance, but the spring growth had the trees leafed out in full. There was no looking through them to the forest floor, so she Traveled back down to the ground and set off in the direction she was sure they came from. She hurried through the forest, dodging and weaving her way between the trees.
She could tell yet another voice added to the group already wailing away. She slowed her pace, not knowing what to expect. Whatever was attacking them was obviously still at it, and she wanted to get the drop on it; she couldn’t afford to let it surprise her. She crept the last few yards at a much more sedate pace, picking her way through, to move forward as silently as possible.
When the scene came into view, Moriko had to stop for a moment to take it in, make sense of it. It was a horrific sight and it caught he
r completely off guard. As she moved forward, Chéile came into view. She had her hands up over her head, securing a pack rat’s tail to a huge thorn. There were, in total, a dozen pack rats, hanging from the tree, each one pierced through their tails by a huge, ugly thorn.
“What the Ifreann…” Moriko said. “Stand down, Chéile.” Chéile turned to Moriko with a smile. “I was wondering when you’d get here,” she said. “It took me quite a while to prepare this gift for you. I was afraid I’d run out of pack rats.”
Moriko raised her hand to hurl a blow at the woman, but Chéile laughed and said, “Are you really going to attack me rather than helping these poor creatures? They are in such pain.” Her voice was dripping with mock empathy.
Moriko’s lips curled and her eyes glittered with a dangerous rage. She pulled her hand back to strengthen her blow.
“Sorry, gotta run,” Chéile said quickly and instantly, she was gone leaving Moriko with no choice but to wind her blow down and dissipate it.
She rushed forward and began to disengage each rat’s tail from the tree. They were all hanging from a wild olive tree, and since wild olive trees bore no thorns, it meant that Chéile had somehow managed to transform the tree solely for her little stunt.
It would take quite some time to disengage so many wriggling, crying rats from the tree. Moriko could have simply made the thorns disappear, but she knew the rats would fall and she didn’t want to be responsible for injuring them further. She felt she had no choice but to remove each one individually. She started with the first one nearest her and worked its tail free of the branch. Before she let it go, she covered the injured area with her hand and gently squeezed it, healing the wound enough that she was sure it wouldn’t get infected and give the rodent any further trouble. She did the same for each rat in turn until she had freed them all.