This Sidhe, a man who had arrived in the camp before Kyla, had the same deep chest cough as both my previous patients. I found myself questioning my hypothesis that we were dealing with an allergy. Could it, in fact, be something contagious?
Another man appeared out of a dark corner of the tent and sat down facing the sick man. A family member or friend, I assumed, however instead of taking comfort from his guest, the first man rolled away from him and struggled to stand.
The visitor grabbed his arm and yanked him down onto the cot. He fought to get the sick man's mouth open, dropping something into it and keeping his hand over the sick man's mouth to keep him from spitting it out. I rushed in, fearful the visitor would kill him.
"Stop that!" I said, pulling at his arm. Despite my abrupt entrance and sharp condemnation, the man remained steadfast as he held his hand in place. In a few seconds, the sick Fae began to breathe easier.
I watched his symptoms fade in amazement. Whatever he had put in his mouth had worked much better than my own attempts to help Kyla and Brody. The sick Fae fell into a comfortable sleep.
The visitor turned to face me. He had short cropped green hair and an old familiar face: Ronan. I shrank away from his condescending glare.
"What were you thinking?"
"I didn't realize it was you. He was struggling; I thought you were hurting him."
"His fever made him delusional. I've seen it often enough before with blue-sky sickness," he said.
"So you know what it is?" I took a deep breath and sighed with relief to learn that someone had the answers I needed.
"The air here is different from that in the Otherworld. It's heavier and filled with particles that your lungs take in that don't exist at home. We don't have this kind of humidity in the Otherworld.
"Most of us don't notice the change, but some Sidhe are more sensitive to it than others. It's been so wet around here and the air is so moist; that's what does the worst damage. I guarantee we will see more of our brethren falling ill."
I took a moment to mull over this information. His explanation made sense, though I hadn't run into it before.
"What did you give him?" I asked at last. "How long will it keep his symptoms at bay?"
"Pozen seeds. You put a few on the tongue and let them melt there while they breathe through their nose. It only lasts a day or two."
Ronan then went and gave two seeds to Kyla. Because she was awake and lucid, he instructed her on how to take them rather than forcing her, the way he had done with the fae next-door. It was interesting to see a remedy work on its own, without the assistance of my essence's healing properties.
"Your body doesn't like the air here," I said to Kyla. "Perhaps it would be best for you to go back to Faery, now that you feel better."
"Must I?" she asked, glancing over at Ronan. He shrugged.
"We have plenty of seeds, if you really want to stay."
"There's a child up at the Manor House suffering from this same illness. Let me take some seeds to him."
"Have his mother bring him to me."
"But—"
"I will administer the medicine. They're my responsibility." Ronan started back toward the center of camp without saying goodbye.
I remembered then why I had been so afraid of him as a child. I had seen him barking orders to his men, ruling them with an iron fist. His demeanor didn't even soften for children, the way most Sidhe's did.
"Why did Uncle Lomán send you?" I called to his retreating figure. He turned, and I saw the denial on his face. "You were never particularly fond of me, and I don't remember you being a praying man. Don't try to tell me you came for the wedding or because of the prophecy." He stomped toward me, attempting to intimidate me, but I held my ground.
"You can't think of a good reason for me to be here that doesn't involve you? How many Fae here, and how many of them have never come into the Human World before? I'm here to make sure they don't violate the Decree of the Ancients and expose us to the humans. Most of them rarely use their glamour; it's likely someone will forget to keep it up around humans. I keep them here, out of trouble, and blanket the entire area with glamour.
"And by the way, do you have any idea how much food and water a camp this size goes through? Have you bothered to think where that might be coming from? How safe would it be for these inexperienced Sidhe to buy supplies in town?"
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. He was right; I had considered none of these things until the incident with the girls that morning.
"You brought in food and water for them?" He nodded and huffed, releasing a measure of his indignation.
"There's a tent in the rear of the camp dedicated to supplies."
We stood there, silent for a moment. He turned to walk away again.
"Thank you, Ronan. For taking care of all these people."
"Don't thank me. Thank the King." He glanced over his shoulder and added, "I didn't think about the noise level. You and your cousin did a good thing, getting the trees to help with that. I guess I owe you thanks as well."
As I watched him go, a harp played off in the distance: the same soft melody from two days earlier. The music was coming from outside the encampment… but who would be playing in the rain? Could it be someone too shy to enter the camp without an invitation?
Curious, I began to follow the sound, hoping to find its source. I hadn't gotten far when a small tan dog ran toward me, barking and splashing through puddles of water and covering himself with mud. He took a running leap towards me, stumpy tail wagging.
I jumped back to avoid his muddy paws, missed my footing and tumbled to the ground. Stunned, I stared up at the cocker spaniel as he stood on my chest, licking the rain off my face.
"Max, get off her, you stupid dog," a familiar voice shouted. Sloan Murray appeared a moment later, towering above me with her short-cropped, bright purple hair and large black flowers tattooed around her neck. She grabbed the dog's collar and pulled him away.
Sloan, a lost Sidhe child, had travelled with us on our last trip to Faery, even saving my life while we were there. She had stayed behind last month when the rest of us returned to the Human World.
"Sloan! You're back! I'm so happy to see you." I would have given her a big hug if I hadn't been busy trying to scrape the mud off my clothes and out of my hair.
"What are you doing out in the woods by yourself?" she asked, concern thick in her voice.
"There's someone out here playing the harp. Didn't you hear it? I wanted to find them and convince them to come to the camp."
"Harp? Sure, I guess. I wasn't paying attention. But what's new? Someone's always making music around the Sidhe. But that's not the point. It's on the wind that someone shot an arrow at you a couple of days ago. Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Her anger made me smile; it was her way of telling me that she loved me.
"It seems that was a false alarm. The shooter was aiming for a Leprechaun."
"Was it Gobban?" she asked. "Is he okay?"
"He's his regular grumpy self, if that's what you mean. Nay, it wasn't him." The dog pushed up against me, begging for attention. "Is this guy yours?" The dog's lolling tongue and wagging tail that moved his entire body left me no choice but to smile and lean over to rub behind his long floppy ears.
"I missed having a dog. It turns out that people, the Sidhe included, are much more judgmental than animals. I missed having someone around who wasn't trying to change me."
"Someone?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't worry, Max is just a dog. But I have to admit, he looks different in Faery. Shinier, like everything else there."
Suddenly Max's demeanor changed. His body stiffened as he sniffed the air. He began to bark madly—not the friendly sound he made when greeting me, but a harsh and menacing warning. Sloan and I both scanned the woods, trying to figure out what had triggered his aggression. A moment later, Ronan appeared from behind a tree about twenty feet away.
"Are you following me?"<
br />
"Just making sure you're safe, My Lady," he said with a bow. His tone made a mockery of the gesture.
"As you can see, I'm fine. I've run into my protégé, Sloan. You may leave us now."
Sloan didn't even look his way; she was trying to calm Max, who refused to stop his insistent barking at the guardsman.
"Aye, I've heard of her. Not only an Unseelie, but the granddaughter of Deaglan Mór. And yet, she bears Lugh's Spear. Is it here?"
The taunt in his words got Sloan's attention. She stood and squared off with him, taking in his measure. Max grew quiet as his mistress asserted herself.
"Do I need it?" she asked, taking slow, measured steps towards the guardsmen. He sneered at her, unimpressed with her confidence, until he saw the spearhead at her feet. The spear of Lugh the Long Arm was one of the four Treasures of the Tuatha dé Danann. Once drawn in battle, it never lost.
Ronan put his arms up in surrender. "I can see you have the princess's safety well in hand."
Laughter spilled out of the library as I came downstairs from my second shower of the day. I hadn't taken the time to dry my hair, so I worked it into a rough braid as I descended the stairs. I picked out each chattering voice: Rosheen, Keelin and Sloan.
Sophia snuggled next to Sloan on the sofa. The older girl hugged her close, each of them looking delighted to be together again. Keelin sat curled up in a ball, her head resting on the arm of the upholstered chair. Rosheen occupied her usual spot at the sewing machine, working on the dress I had noticed her pinning to Sophia earlier.
"What did I miss?" I asked when I entered the room.
"Sloan was telling us stories about her time in the Otherworld," Keelin said.
"They weren't funny at the time," Sloan said with a chuckle. The laughter died down as her tone turned serious. "The King and Queen were very good to me. They let me stay at the Castle, and they've been kind to my mother."
"How is Erina?" I asked. Sloan, kidnapped as an infant, learned at twenty-five years old that she wasn't human, but a Sidhe. She had recently reunited with her mother, Erina, who had locked herself away in a folly in the Otherworld: a self-imposed prison from reality. During her time there she became both homicidal and insane.
"She doesn't recognize that I'm her daughter," Sloan said, shrugging as if it wasn't important. Only her dark expression revealed how much it hurt. "She's still expecting someone to return the infant she lost. She mumbles a lot; it alternates between rants about everything being Neve's fault and vows to kill her father." She turned her head away from everyone to hide the moisture pooling in her eyes.
"Where is she now?" Keelin asked. Sloan smirked, resuming her 'it doesn't matter to me' act.
"I guess you would describe the place they keep her as a high-security mental hospital. They've done everything to make her comfortable; they even brought in some of her furniture from the folly. She still behaves like the Queen of the Castle, ordering everyone around like servants. For all I know she thinks she's still at that folly. But they take good care of her." She cleared her throat and changed the subject.
"How are the wedding plans going? I hope I managed to come late enough that there's nothing left for me to do," she said with a cheeky smile.
Rosheen finished the seam she had been working on, lifted the sewing machine needle, and shook out Sophia's dress.
"Perfect timing. I'm nearly finished with this, and then I can get started on yours." Sloan held up her hands in protest.
"I'm not wearing a dress."
Sophia scrambled off the sofa and ran to grab her dress from Rosheen. She held it up to herself, spinning around for everyone to admire.
"See how pretty this is? Don't you want one, Sloan?" Sloan looked sheepishly at Rosheen.
"I wouldn't mind something nice to wear. But couldn't it be pants?"
Rosheen's haggard expression perked up as she and Sloan discussed options and she started sketching. Keelin and Sophia entertained themselves by giving unsolicited advice on how to improve the design as she sketched. Sophia was of the strong opinion that none of the dresses, including her own, sparkled enough. They were close to a consensus when Alexander walked in to the room.
"You're back," he said to Sloan, his voice flat. "You're here for the wedding, I assume?"
"Yeah, but I also have news from The Otherworld. I was waiting for everyone to be here before discussing it. We should get Shamus; he needs to hear this too."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALEXANDER
The cocker spaniel trotted into the library and Sophia squealed in delight. The dog wiggled toward Sloan, ready to jump on her, but she put up a hand to stop him.
"Not on your life, Max! You're too wet," she said.
Sophia had no such compunction. She sat on the floor and took the dog in her lap. He eagerly rolled onto his back, begging her to rub his belly.
I had been thinking about Sophia all day, trying to take what Tressa had said the night before and put the puzzle pieces together but without success. All the evidence pointed to Sophia being extraordinary… and yet when I saw her like this, acting like a regular child, I could only see her as my sweet little girl. Shamus came in after Max, looking rather damp himself.
Whatever Sloan had to tell us, it sounded unsuitable for a kid. I was searching for an excuse to send Sophia away when the old butler did it for me.
"Lass, take that animal down to the kitchen to play with him. I don't need his wet fur soiling the carpets."
Nonplussed by his sharp tone, Sophia skipped out of the room, calling for the dog to follow.
"Okay, Sloan. You have everyone's attention. What's the big news?" I asked.
"Well, the headline is that Deaglan Mór has the Dagda's Cauldron."
For a second the room remained silent as stunned faces stared at her. Then everyone began to speak at once, rattling off questions and talking over one another. Sloan furrowed her brow as she tried to understand what everyone was asking. I said nothing.
Her simple statement had ignited a rush of adrenaline through my system. The sword sang, compelling me to pull it out and fight. It took all my concentration to keep from answering its call, even though my opponent was not only not in the room, but in another world altogether.
"Everyone, calm down," Shamus barked. The deluge of questions faded away, but an anxious energy lingered in the air. The twins moved closer to each other and clasped hands. Tressa glanced over at me anxiously. I stood still, bracing my outstretched arms on the back of the winged chair to quell my inclination to pace.
"How do you know that the Unseelie Prince has this Treasure?" Shamus asked, still taking the lead.
"Well, I wouldn't make it up. He's my grandfather, but I'm not on his side," Sloan said, glaring from Shamus to me. She had reason to think I would doubt her integrity; I had distrusted her in the past. Tressa reached out and took her hand, speaking before I had the chance.
"Sure, and nobody here thinks you're making it up, Sloan. Simply tell us what you know."
"There are crazy rumors going around Faery and some scary crazy stuff on the wind, but I'm not talking about that stuff. King Lomán sent me to update you guys with the intelligence the King's guard has gathered. It's not a rumor; it's fact."
"Are our parents okay?" Rosheen asked. She and her sister wore matching expressions of fear. Sloan looked at them, surprised.
"They're fine. So far he's only attacked the villages on the fringes of the kingdom, but the reports are that he's moving toward Tir na nÓg." The twins glanced at each other warily.
"Why don't you start at the beginning. Where and how did he get the cauldron?" I asked.
"No one knows. About a dozen of the Unseelie have defected; either they've had a change of heart, or they were coerced into joining him in the first place. A few of them have seen it and say it fits the limited descriptions we have of the cauldron, but he's not showing it off to many people.
"He has plenty of food, money, and other stuff he didn't have before, but
he hasn't been sharing his bounty—not even with his warriors. If you're lucky enough to be eating with him, you're having a feast; otherwise, his people are just scraping by. One of his Brounie slaves escaped and told us that his wealth comes from a cauldron he recently acquired.
"Brounie slaves?" Tressa gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Sloan nodded, the squint in her eyes acknowledging the horror of that statement.
"Now that he has the Treasure, he's going around the countryside recruiting followers and burning villages behind him. Anyone who refuses to renounce God and join with the Unseelie he leaves to starve or kills on the spot."
We had two of the four Treasures on our side: Nuada's Sword—the Claíomh Solais or Sword of Light and Spear of Lugh the Long Arm—the Gáe Assail or Lightening Spear. Both of these objects were weapons. The Dagda's Cauldron, as I understood it, brought abundance to the Sidhe. They called it the Undry because it never ran out of the things the community needed to survive and thrive. I hadn't envisioned it being used against the Sidhe in this way, as its own type of weapon. Renounce your faith or die.
"Deaglan Mór is building an army," Tressa said, horrified. "For what purpose, other than to attack Tir na nÓg? What with all the other atrocities done by his hand, surely we must return home. We're sitting here in the Human World with the two Treasures undefeatable in battle."
Sophia returned, holding a cookie behind her back to hide it from Shamus as she slipped past him. She scrambled onto the sofa and Tressa pulled her onto her lap. Sophia broke the cookie in half and gave a piece to her.
"The King thought you would react that way. He said I should tell you, 'In no uncertain terms are you to return to the Otherworld until after the wedding.'" Sloan did a fair impression of Tressa's uncle. "Your marriage will solidify our position with those of our people who seek the prophecy. We have everything under control here.' And believe me, he meant it. He was pretty scary when he gave me the message."
The wedding was in just two days. I worried about Tressa's family, but nothing was going to get in the way of me marrying her. There would be no delay; I would take no chances. I looked over at her, glowing with beauty and cuddling my daughter like she was her own. Nothing was going to keep me from making this woman my wife.
Deaglan's Deception Page 8