by Jodi McIsaac
“I don’t know what his plan is,” Cedar admitted, wrenching her mind away from her mother’s revelation and back to the events of the last few days. “I don’t know if he has one. He doesn’t exactly confide in me. He’d prefer it if I stayed out of the way, actually.”
Cedar gave her mother an abbreviated version of what had happened since they had last talked, and took some satisfaction in Maeve’s shocked reaction.
“I was right. You never should have gone with them,” Maeve said, leaning back into the sofa’s cushions. “You could have been killed.” Cedar started to protest, but Maeve waved her hand. “Wait. I need to think,” she said, and Cedar fell silent. She wished she could tell what her mother was thinking, and was about to ask when Maeve muttered, “That must be why it didn’t work. Tír na nÓg has changed since the war.”
Cedar looked at her sharply. “What do you mean? You think that’s why Brighid’s picture didn’t work?”
“Perhaps,” Maeve said, her eyes showing that she was still deep in thought. “I’ve never been to Tír na nÓg, but I know it is more than just a place. It’s like a person, with a soul and a life of its own. Nothing changes a person’s heart more than war or betrayal, and Tír na nÓg has seen too much of both. There’s no doubt it has changed. It might be unrecognizable.”
Cedar stared. Who was this woman beside her? Usually their talk consisted of Eden’s schedule and not a whole lot more. She was starting to realize she had no idea who her mother really was.
Maeve took Cedar’s hands. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past few days. It’s time you knew the whole truth.”
Cedar frowned. “I thought you just told me the truth. You’re a druid.”
“That’s part of it, but it’s not all. There is a lot more I haven’t told you. I’ve told you who I am. Now it’s time for you to know who you are.”
Cedar’s breath caught in her throat. Who she was?
Maeve continued. “You and I, we haven’t always had the smoothest relationship. I’m sure you think I care more about Eden than I do about you. I do care for Eden. But I love you so much, Cedar. And it”—her voice broke, and she sniffed, squeezing Cedar’s hands tightly—“it has been an honor to be your mother. I know you might despise me once you know the truth, and you’ll be well within your rights to do so. I didn’t ever want to face this moment. I thought I could put it off forever, but I suppose it’s inevitable, things being what they are. And even if it wasn’t, you would still deserve to know exactly who you are.”
Cedar sat perfectly still, hardly daring to breath lest her mother change her mind. She didn’t say a word, or ask any of the thousand questions burning on her tongue. She just sat, and eventually Maeve began speaking again.
“You are not my biological daughter,” she said, speaking slowly, as if to gauge Cedar’s reaction. Cedar’s face was blank, but inside the truth was erupting like a volcano that had long lay dormant. It had never crossed her mind that she wasn’t who she had always thought she was, but now it made perfect sense. She wondered why she hadn’t seen it before.
Maeve seemed to take Cedar’s shocked silence as a sign she should continue. “When I was young—too young—I met and fell in love with one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He was beautiful, and I was too, back then. He had a wife in Tír na nÓg, but I didn’t know about her until later. He came and went as he pleased and I, fool that I was, just sat around waiting for him. It was he who arranged for me to become a druid. I thought it was so we could be closer to each other, but now I wonder if he was just grooming me to be his servant.”
The pain in Maeve’s voice was so strong that Cedar almost reached over and took her mother’s hand. But she remained still, listening. “Then he left,” she continued. “He said there was a war brewing in Tír na nÓg, and so there was. We had been together for years, and I didn’t look seventeen anymore. I thought he was leaving me because I was too old or was outgrowing my usefulness to him. He didn’t leave me with nothing, mind you. He gave me the house you grew up in, and a full bank account. But he left all the same, and why not? Why would he stay with me when he had a wife among the Tuatha Dé Danann, one who would always be as beautiful as he was?”
There was a pause, and Maeve bit her lip. Cedar remained still, transfixed as the story of her life unfolded before her.
“And she was beautiful,” Maeve continued. She stared off into the distance, as though she had forgotten Cedar was there. “Her hair was as golden as mine was red, the color of the midday sun.” She paused for a moment, and Cedar could tell she was somewhere very far away. “When Brogan left, he assured me I would never hear from him again.”
The name Brogan sounded familiar to Cedar. She was sure she had heard it before in connection with the Tuatha Dé Danann, but she couldn’t remember where, or why it was important.
“But I did hear from him again,” Maeve said. “Almost a year later. He came to me in a dream, saying that terrible things were happening in Tír na nÓg and I was his only hope of saving”—she paused and tried to calm her voice, which had started to tremble—“of saving his wife and their unborn child.” Maeve raised her chin so that her eyes, shining with unshed tears, met Cedar’s, which were wide with growing comprehension.
“That child was you,” Maeve said.
That child was me, Cedar repeated inside her head. I’m one of them. It didn’t make any sense. “That’s…that’s impossible,” she protested, once she had found her voice. “I’m human, like you are. I don’t have special abilities or anything. The Tuatha Dé Danann have that sound they emit to each other, the Lýra. I don’t have that; if I did, they would hear it.”
Maeve looked absolutely wretched. “Let me finish, and you will understand.” She sighed deeply. “I was never very good at denying Brogan anything. As angry as I was with him—well, I was heartbroken more than anything. I still loved him. I thought if I helped him, if I showed him I was willing to help even his wife, he might come back to me.
“He told me all the sidhe between Tír na nÓg and earth had been sealed, except for one, which no one knew about but the two of us—the one he had created in my cellar, which I couldn’t go through. He wanted to send Kier, his wife, to me for safekeeping until the war was over and she could return. I agreed. I went down to the cellar and waited to receive this rival.” She looked up at Cedar, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes, even three decades later. “I hated her,” she said, “but I loved Brogan and would have done anything to help him, even then.
“When Kier came through the sidh, she was badly wounded. The Tuatha Dé Danann are strong, much stronger than humans. They heal quickly and do succumb to old age or sickness, but if they are wounded gravely enough, they will die. She was covered in blood and screaming from the pain, not at all what I had expected. She was so far along, and clutching her swollen stomach as if to keep you inside. I made a tea that would help with the pain so I could see to her wounds. I’m not a healer, but all druids learn basic medicinal skills, and I thought if I could just stop the bleeding, her body would be able to heal itself. But she had already lost too much blood, and then she started screaming again…and that’s when you came into the world.”
Cedar stood up and started pacing the room. The shock of Maeve’s revelation was wearing off, and she could feel the anger building within her. Her own life, her own identity had been nothing more than a lie.
“What happened to her?” she asked.
“She knew she was dying,” Maeve said, a note of defensiveness in her voice. “She was barely strong enough to hold you. She knew who I was; she clutched my hand and begged me to take care of you, for the sake of the love I bore her husband. You were so helpless, and I could see him in you. How could I say no?”
Maeve took a deep breath. Cedar wondered what could possibly be coming next.
“And then she asked the most extraordinary thing. She asked me to help her make you human.”
Cedar stopped pacing. “Why would she want
me to be human?”
“She was terrified, for your sake. Your father was the High King. She knew Lorcan wouldn’t stop until he had tracked down and snuffed out Brogan’s line completely. But she knew she wouldn’t be around to protect you. She wanted to hide you, to give you the best disguise she could so that he would never be able to find you. And she needed my help; her power was draining. To change the very nature of a being is a complex and dangerous branch of magic, one I had certainly never attempted before. It was far beyond my ability, but it was something she could not manage alone either, not in her weakened state, maybe not at all. This is why druids and the Tuatha Dé Danann are meant to be together, because together we are capable of greater magic than we are alone.
“So I made the preparations as best I could. I created a potion, and she supplied the one missing ingredient—her own blood, given freely. I drank it, and then together we spoke the incantation. At first, it didn’t seem to be working, but then, as we chanted, fresh wounds opened on my body, and she pressed herself against them, allowing the blood from her wounds to flow into mine. In so doing, she bound her life force to mine—giving me power equal to her own for a time. Together, it was enough to complete the spell, to make you human. She poured everything she had into you, through me. When it was over, she was gone. She had not even saved enough energy to keep herself alive. And I was holding a completely human child.”
Cedar realized she had stopped breathing and struggled for a moment to fill her lungs with air. For several heartbeats, she just stood there, reeling. “And my father?” she asked. “I mean, the man you told me was my father, who died when I was a baby? Did he even exist?”
Maeve shook her head.
“Why?” Cedar wailed. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Finally, she had answers, and yet she had never suspected this. All her life she had believed she was normal—a fatherless child, a struggling artist, a woman in love, then a woman abandoned, a single working mother. Now that foundation had cracked, and she could feel herself falling.
“She made me swear to never tell you, or anyone, who you were,” Maeve said, looking at Cedar with desperate eyes.
“But the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danann know, don’t they?” Cedar accused. “It explains everything—the half-truths, the whispers. No wonder they look at me with pity and revulsion. I’m a freak in both worlds. I’m not really human, but I’m not like them either, not anymore. This is what Finn wanted you to explain, isn’t it? How is it that everyone knows the truth, except for me?”
“I had no choice but to tell them!” Maeve protested. “Rohan called me as soon as you left their house the day you met them. He demanded that I explain how you could have birthed a Danann child. Riona came by, trying to see Eden in order to prove their suspicions, but I wouldn’t let her in. But they insisted I meet with them, which I did—alone—after you returned home that day. As I said, I had no choice. He had the goblet of Manannan mac Lir; I couldn’t lie to him. And then he made me swear not to tell you, not yet. It was Eden they wanted, not you. They thought if you knew too much, you would make things more difficult. You’re the daughter of the High King…but a human. It’s something that in their minds should not be. I swore an oath not to tell you who you were, but I’m breaking it now, for you. Don’t you see? And Finn, he swore an oath too, but he wanted me to tell you.”
“Why has everyone sworn an oath to lie to me?” Cedar raged, her face distorted. “My whole life has been nothing but lies! Am I so weak, so pathetically human you didn’t think I could handle knowing who I was—or who I could have been?”
Maeve stood up and held out her hands in a calming gesture. “No, Cedar, it wasn’t like that. I wanted to tell you—”
“Did you?” Cedar interrupted. “If you had really wanted to tell me, you would have. Your oath isn’t stopping you now, is it? I bet you enjoyed keeping it a secret, knowing you had Brogan’s child all to yourself, telling yourself you were keeping me safe while clinging to the memory of the man who rejected you!”
Maeve winced as if Cedar had struck her across the face, but Cedar didn’t stop. It was too late now; this storm was going to run its course. “All of this is your fault! If I had known who I was, none of this would have happened! Now Eden is gone, and who knows what’s going to happen to her!”
“She’d have been in the same amount of danger if I had told you the truth!” Maeve snapped back, her eyes blazing. “Everything I have done has been to protect you, and to protect that little girl. If I had told you who you are, and who she is, you would have delivered her straight to them. They give too much weight to that damn prophecy.”
“What are you talking about? What prophecy?” Cedar asked, vaguely remembering Deardra and Rohan’s argument on the beach.
“Eden is the dyad, don’t you see?” Maeve said. “The dyad that should not be will rise from the ashes and purge the land of the coming poison. They’ve been clinging to that prophecy ever since Lorcan gained power. If they find her, they’ll raise her to be a warrior and send her to fight Lorcan. That is why I didn’t tell you about what she might become. I needed to keep you away from them! But you went to them anyway.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Cedar asked, her cheeks still burning with rage. “That I wouldn’t wonder when she started opening magic doors all over the place?”
“I honestly didn’t think it would happen,” Maeve said, her shoulders drooping. “I thought it was impossible.”
“Why?”
“Only two members of the Tuatha Dé Danann can produce another, and I thought you were, well, you are human. That’s why Eden fits the prophecy. She’s the impossible result of mating between a Danann and a human. But maybe I was wrong, maybe there is some Danann left in you, or…” Maeve trailed off, looking at Cedar as though she’d never seen her before.
“What?” Cedar snapped.
“I just realized how…” she stared at Cedar for a few more seconds, her mouth slightly open. Then she closed it firmly and shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” she said.
At once, Cedar fired up again. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?” she shouted. “No. More. Secrets.”
Maeve opened her mouth again to respond, but before she got a word out her eyes fell on something behind Cedar. All at once, the blood drained from her face as she stared in undisguised astonishment over Cedar’s shoulder. Cedar turned to see what had caught Maeve’s attention and noticed that the necklace Finn had given her in New York was lying on one of the bookshelves behind them.
Maeve’s voice was barely a whisper. “Where did you get that?”
Cedar glanced at the necklace again and then back at Maeve, who was swaying slightly on the spot. “The necklace?” she asked. “Finn gave it to me. It’s Riona’s. He called it a starstone or something.”
“I know what it is,” Maeve said in the same ghostly whisper. “Yes, of course, that might work.”
“What are you talking about?” Cedar asked, coming to stand right in front of Maeve. She waved a hand in front of Maeve’s unblinking eyes, which were focused on something far away. “Are you okay?”
Maeve looked at her suddenly. “Yes,” she said. “I’m fine. But I must go.”
“Go? Go where?” Cedar demanded, hands on her hips. “I’m not letting you do this again. Tell me what’s going on!”
Without a word, Maeve picked up her purse and headed for the door, almost colliding with Finn in the hallway. She pushed past him, her purse swinging wildly as she ran down the hall.
Cedar followed Maeve into the hallway and stared after her with an open mouth. Then Finn spoke in a soft voice.
“She told you?”
Cedar should have been angry with him for not telling her. She wanted to rage and scream and accuse him of horrible things, but the weight pressing down on her was so heavy she could barely breathe.
She nodded, her mouth in a tight line. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
For such a powerful being, h
e looked incredibly fragile at that moment, like smoke drifting from a recently blown-out candle. When he spoke, it was ever so gently.
“I didn’t know, not when we were together. I had no idea. Last week, when Rohan first told me, I wanted to rush to you, to tell you everything, but he made me swear not to say anything. He made me promise that if I told you, I would have to leave you again.” He shook his head. “So I stayed silent, hoping you would find out another way, hoping that when the time came you would find it in your heart to forgive me…again.”
Cedar stared at the spot where Maeve had disappeared around the corner. She didn’t want to see his face right now. She didn’t want be reminded of what she had lost. “Just go,” she said. “Go back to your people. They’re always going to come first with you.”
“Cedar, please believe me,” he pleaded. “I learned who your parents were when I was summoned back here, when they told me about Eden. It was only days ago. But it doesn’t change how I’ve always felt about you. I didn’t lie to you.”
Cedar looked up at him, disbelief written across her face. “You don’t think you lied to me? Pretending all this time not to know who I was? Letting me think Eden was special just because you’re her father, and I had nothing to do with it?”
She shook her head, and her voice broke when she said, “I’m so stupid. How did I not see it? I was so convinced that I was completely normal. I am normal. Human,” she corrected herself. “I thought Lorcan just wanted Eden so he could open the sidhe, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? She’s the heir to the throne. Assuming I don’t count, and I’m sure everyone agrees that I don’t, she’s the only heir of his greatest rival, which also makes her his greatest threat.” Her throat seized up, and when she could speak again she whispered, “There’s no chance he’ll let her live.”
“He will. He needs her alive, remember? Besides, it hasn’t come to that yet,” Finn said firmly.
“How could you possibly know that?” Cedar asked, her voice rising with frustration. She stalked back into the apartment. Finn followed and immediately picked up where he had left off.