“I don’t see any other choice,” Rory said. “We’ve got to get that artefact, but hell if I’m going back in there.”
Sheng nodded. “We’d best find Hon about getting someone to clean this mess up.” Royals and dignitaries who didn’t yet have permanent gates in their halls used the Mistgate daily.
“Aye,” Rory said, looking around. After a moment, he met Sheng’s eye. “Thanks, mate. You saved my life.”
“It was nothing.” Sheng shrugged, but he suspected Rory might have been right. The Scottish druid had been in a full-blown panic and easily could have drowned.
“Well, thanks anyway,” he said and shook Sheng’s hand. “I owe you.”
“We’d best get changed. Hon’ll have a fit with all the water we’re going to track through the Hall.”
“He’s fussy as an old woman, that one,” Rory said, smiling for the first time since they started their journey in Danastai. With another glance at the gate, he shuddered and the grin faded.
Chapter 7
The following night, Munro was tired, frustrated, and needed some time alone. He knew he should be down in the transport hub working on the large gates, but instead, he sat in the druids’ workshop, moulding an iron diadem. The metal responded to his touch even better than stone. When the size and shape were right, he took his stylus and inscribed runes inside the ring. Some he copied directly from his flute and others he chose from intuition alone.
Blowing on that damned flute all the time was inconvenient, but Munro had grown dependant on the ability to see the flows. He’d already tried creating a ring, but it didn’t give the right current of power. He hoped an item worn on his head would give him more directional control and perhaps something he wouldn’t need to breathe through. One interesting thing he’d learned from using the flute was that the body had certain seats of power: one at the head, another in the chest, one at the stomach, and one at the groin level. His own came from his head. Whether the location offered a reflection of his sphere or his personality, he didn’t know.
Hours passed as he worked, shaping and playing with the runes, seeing them dance in response to his efforts. Over the past months, he’d come to understand Ewain and why he always referred to the fae as “our creatures.” The fae were, in many ways, like living artefacts. Although he had no doubt of their sentience and independence, the flute had shown him that everything about them was a complex dance of magical flows, embodied in flesh and blood in the same way the piece in his hands had begun to take on the characteristics of the magic he used to shape and enchant it.
Standing to stretch, he considered the diadem. Maybe if he put it inside a baseball cap, the other guys wouldn’t think he’d gone crazy by wearing a bloody crown. They’d never let him live that down. It wasn’t his fault that as a stone druid, metals responded better to his gifts than wood or cloth. Sheng’s air talents poured miraculously through fabric, and he’d been experimenting with stitching runes. Lisle’s blood flows clung to leather in a way Munro envied. If he showed Sheng this metal piece, perhaps the Aussie druid could make up some kind of bandana to do the same thing.
Hon entered the workshop, hovering at the door. “My lord druid, you’re being called to the council.”
“The what?” Munro asked.
“I relayed the message two hours ago. You said you were available to attend.” Hon sniffed his disapproval with the barest of movement.
Rather than confess he hadn’t really been listening and had only said whatever necessary to get Hon to go away, Munro nodded. “Of course. I misheard you.”
“Naturally, my lord druid,” Hon said with a slight smile.
“Where are they meeting again?”
“The great hall,” the head steward replied, as though well aware of the druid’s attempt at misdirection.
Munro raised his eyebrows. The druids never used that room for their private talks, not that they often held formal meetings. For the most part, they used it to allow faeries to come meet with the unbonded druids and test for a potential match. With Huck and Demi gone, though, they’d stopped doing the formal testing. Lisle said if faeries wanted to talk to her, they could come help her work in the city, and Sheng had followed suit.
After thanking Hon, Munro made his way toward the great hall, turning the diadem over in his hand as he pondered. The magic of the runes inscribed on it practically jumped off, barely clinging to the surface. He wanted very much to put the piece on to test its effectiveness, but he’d wait until he had some privacy. As he sensed the power imbued in the iron, a flutter of excitement filled him.
When he entered the great hall, he saw he was the last to arrive. Narrow, rectangular tables had been positioned to form an octagon, with seats placed along the outside. Only one chair was empty, one at the head of the room, a conspicuous position which meant he wouldn’t be able to slip in unnoticed.
All the available druids were present, along with the faeries they were bonded to. Munro met Eilidh’s grey eyes immediately. What was she doing here, and who had called her? He tried unsuccessfully to interpret the circumspect look on her face. He’d been so wrapped up in his runework that he hadn’t noticed her presence at the Hall. Tràth had come too, much to Munro’s surprise. Even more of a shock was the attendance of a fair number of the keepers. The druids worked with them frequently, but rarely did they put in a formal appearance at the Hall.
The room went silent as he entered, and their stares weighed on him. He caught more than a few glances at the diadem in his hand, and he grumbled to himself. Why hadn’t he left it in the workshop? He knew why, of course. The new artefact was a compelling piece, full of promise, and he wasn’t yet ready to let go. An apology came to his lips, but Aaron saved him the embarrassment.
“Good,” Aaron said. “Right on time.” He waved to the empty seat. “I was just explaining the ground rules.”
“We have rules?” Munro asked and got a chuckle from the room in response.
“Only for the moment,” Aaron said, tapping the table nervously. “We’ve asked our fae bonding partners to listen in but not to speak unless asked a question, and requested a vow of secrecy about anything they hear tonight.”
“What’s going on?” Munro asked as he lowered himself into the wooden armchair.
Aaron glanced at Douglas, who addressed Munro’s question. “Last night, Keeper Fiyr brought the Hall a proposal. Aaron and I discussed the matter briefly with Lisle. We decided the idea warranted a full meeting of the Hall.”
Fiyr, flanked by several keepers and seated directly across from Munro, acknowledged him with an eager nod. Munro studied the other faces around the table. Rory and Sheng looked as clueless as he felt. He met Eilidh’s eye and raised an eyebrow. She answered with a slight shake of her head. Glancing down at the runed diadem in his hand, she gave him a puzzled look. She had as many questions as he did.
Aaron sat at the table to Munro’s right. “Keeper, would you like to lay out what you suggested to us last night?”
“Certainly,” Fiyr replied. His gaze met Munro’s. “We propose the Druid Hall raise a monarch to sit on the throne at Rìoghachd nan Ceòthan, a kingdom we predict will grow to be the centre of government for the Otherworld.” Gesturing to the keepers on either side of him, he said, “We offer ourselves as your conclave, to advise and serve however necessary.”
No one spoke as Munro took the information in. Typically, he liked faeries’ blunt manner. At the moment, he was too shocked to reply. He looked to the faces of the other druids, and then to their fae bond-mates. Prince Tràth appeared pensive, Joy subdued, as though she’d known exactly what Fiyr planned to say. Lastly, Munro met Eilidh’s eyes. Her brow knitted into a thoughtful frown.
With a sigh, Munro said, “No.”
“All due respect, mate,” Aaron began, “but you don’t speak for all of us.”
“That’s the point,” Munro said. “I don’t speak for you. None of us have ever been over any other. We can form a formal council, even
make a few rules if that makes you happy, but to give one person supreme authority over the others? Over the entire Otherworld? I for one wouldn’t want the responsibility. Would any of you?” With a gesture to Eilidh, he said, “And we expect the queens to be okay with this? Hell, they have enough trouble with things as they are.”
“That’s a portion of my point, my lord druid,” Fiyr said. “Much of the conflict arises out of confusion. You druids, if you don’t mind me speaking frankly, have tried so hard not to assert authority that the few times you’ve needed to, your actions or words have come as a shock. I suggest you put a monarch on the throne; provide a structure the queens will understand and respect. They can choose to stand with you or not, but who would stand against you?”
“What do we have to gain from this?” Munro asked.
“Peace,” Fiyr replied. “Stability. Structure. The rule of law for Rìoghachd nan Ceòthan. The city at our doorstep has already grown into the seed of a druid kingdom. Its palace sits empty, and new citizens arrive every night to serve you there. By building this place, faeries from many kingdoms have created a place for you.”
Munro sat back, waiting for someone else to speak. No one did. “Aaron?” Munro prompted. “What do you think?”
“The idea makes sense. If one of us doesn’t take the throne in Ceòthan, the city will either become a lawless frontier, which isn’t good for anyone, or one of the other queens may try to claim it. Since the reunification of the Otherworld, geographically, we’re closest to Tvorskane, Ashkyne, and Zalia, so that could very well mean Zdanye, Konstanze, or Naima on our doorstep.”
Munro considered. Zdanye and Naima both had close ties with Caledonia, but Konstanze was a constant thorn in the druids’ side. He did not want her ruling the new city or using it as a means to expand her influence. If she succeeded, she might even try to claim the Halls of Mist as her territory. A ripple of emotion from Eilidh told him she was thinking much along the same lines.
“Douglas?” Munro asked.
“You know me. No matter what happens, I’m never going to be in charge here.” He chuckled. “But the keepers are making a lot of sense. I’d rather if a kingdom does evolve here, it grows the way we want.”
Lisle spoke up. “I agree. I’ve spent a lot of time working in Ceòthan these past months. They speak of the druids as rightful rulers and themselves as our people. Whether we like it or not, we are draoidh. We should act accordingly. Our forebears created the Otherworld. We do not have to meddle in the affairs of other kingdoms, but neither should we behave as guests. Our people have carved for us a kingdom of the mists. I believe we must honour their sacrifice in coming here and the manner in which they’ve devoted themselves to our service, which, if done properly, will be the service of the entire Otherworld.” She paused. “That said, I propose a constitutional monarchy, not an absolute dictatorship.”
“Agreed,” Munro said. The best part of the deal in his mind was the offer of the keepers as conclave. They would be, in effect, bringing the library and all its resources and artefacts under the direct control of the Druid Hall. No more tiptoeing around or begging for access. “Rory?” Munro asked.
The red-haired druid shrugged. He looked distracted, but then, his troubles with Flùranach always had him in a bit of a state. “I understand the thinking, and it sounds like the idea could work. If this means not having to ask permission from a queen every time we want to do something, then I’m agreed.”
Eilidh stiffened, and Munro lightly touched her hand, hoping to reassure her. This would be the problem, the nightmare of every queen: that the Druid Hall would commandeer their thrones and diminish their influence.
“I don’t think we should rush in as though we’re taking over,” Munro said.
“I concur,” Fiyr said quickly. “The keepers have long commanded a position of respect. The queens already respect the druids. I suggest it may be less oppressive for them to bend the knee if your rank was officially higher than theirs. Nothing has to change in the way the kingdoms are run. Each queen would be sovereign in her own territory.”
“Sheng?” Munro asked. The Aussie might be new, but this place was his home as much as any of them.
“I agree to raising a monarch, but I suggest a council of druids in addition, perhaps with veto power over certain issues which directly affect matters of our Hall. Over the coming years, our numbers will grow, and leadership will become more important. Still, I personally like the idea of balance. No one druid having too much power over the others, and yet one central figure the queens can look to. Right now, it’s a mess, all of us getting tugged in all directions, each making decisions on our own.” He glanced oddly at Rory. “Decisions made that should be put to us as a group.”
The idea sounded rational, but how would the change go over with the fae population? He turned to Eilidh. “What would Caledonia’s position be?” he asked.
She looked thoughtful but didn’t hesitate long. “Caledonia acknowledges the authority of the Druid Hall,” she said. “We would continue to do so no matter your internal leadership structure.”
“Tràth, what stance do you think Zalia would take?”
He tilted his head, considering. “I believe little would change once you reassured Queen Naima there would be no power grab from Ceòthan. As Eilidh said, if handled slowly and correctly, most fae would regard the change largely as internal to the Druid Hall. My suggestion would be to raise a queen of the druids, then let the people of Ceòthan claim her as their own. Form your conclave and council, and then let the queens deal with you as they will. Over time, their subservience will become evident, but submission will be better offered than demanded. Name a queen, not an empress.”
Munro thought he made a sound argument. The Druid Hall could use a touch more structure. “Our system works for now, but I have wondered what would happen if we someday have two hundred druids, all running around, making promises to queens, using their authority as draoidh with no rules to rein them in. We’re a tight group, and we trust each other. That works well at the moment, but someday, we may need more. And I take Lisle’s point about the fae who have come here to establish a kingdom at our back door. I doubt any queen wants any of her peers to have that throne. Logic dictates it should be held by someone of the Hall, but who?”
No one spoke for a moment. “I think we should vote,” Aaron said. “Let this be the first act of the Druid Council.”
“Agreed,” Douglas said. “Are we all good with that?” One by one, each of the druids indicated their assent.
“If we’re to have a queen in Ceòthan,” Munro said, “I think it should be Lisle. She’s well regarded there, and here too, of course.”
The German druid blinked in surprised. “Me?” she said. “No, I think not.”
“The fae queens will respect you.” Munro looked to the others for support, and saw Sheng enthusiastically nodding.
“Because I’m old?” She smiled with amusement. “Perhaps you’re right, but I’m unbonded. Despite the fact that I’m feeling better than I ever have, we must acknowledge that at over eighty years of age, if I don’t bond soon, I may not live long enough to provide continuity.” She sighed. “I would never be more than a figurehead, and a temporary one. No, you must choose another.”
“Then maybe we should wait,” Munro said. “We form our Council and appoint our conclave, and wait for Huck and Demi’s return.” An uncomfortable silence settled. No one wanted to admit Huck and Demi might never be found, but he could feel the accusation in the way they shifted in their seats. “I will find them,” he assured them. “I won’t rest until I do. When that happens, we bring them back and raise Demi as queen.” He expected murmurs of agreement, but no one met his gaze.
“Actually, we had another suggestion,” Aaron said. He looked at Joy, then blurted out, “We think it should be Maiya.”
Munro didn’t even take a breath to consider it. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Just hear me out,” Aaron said.
“Maiya is half druid and half fae, so the queens will not think of her as a foreign interloper. She’s seriously powerful, which will gain her respect. Joy said her spirit is immense.” He glanced at his bonded faerie, and she nodded.
“Maiya is fifteen months old. She won’t even come of age in fae terms for another ninety-nine years.” Munro couldn’t believe they were suggesting this.
“She’s also half human,” Douglas said. “She could take the throne in seventeen years, if we take that into consideration. Think about it. None of us are old enough to rule by fae standards, but we aren’t fae.”
“I won’t have my daughter offered up as a political pawn. She’s not even able to understand this. I say we wait for Demi.”
“If I may speak, my lord druid?” Joy asked.
“Sure, why not,” Munro said in exasperation.
Joy seemed unruffled by his attitude. “Your daughter is destined to rule Caledonia. Is sitting on two thrones really that much more of a leap?”
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