by Jodi McIsaac
“Don’t start thinking that way. Don’t give up. She is still here, still in this world, I’m sure of it. If the painting didn’t work, there’s no other way for her to get to Tír na nÓg. Nuala can’t run forever. We will find her. We’ll find Eden.”
He tried to put his arms around her, but she jerked away and glared at him. “No,” she said. “I don’t want to be with you, Finn.” She spoke every word clearly and firmly, even though she felt a little bit of herself dying with each syllable that left her mouth.
For a moment he looked stunned, and then, to her surprise, angry.
“This isn’t just about you, you know,” he said, with an edge to his voice. “Eden is my daughter too.”
She looked at him coldly. “You impregnated me. Don’t delude yourself into thinking you are her father in any way other than that. You’ve never even met her.”
“And I will never get to meet her if you give up on her! Do you have any idea what it’s like for anyone else? Yes, they lied to you, they didn’t tell you who you were, and I’m not saying they were right to do that. But in Maeve’s case, it was only to keep you safe. She didn’t have to raise you, but she did, as a single mother, and you know how hard that can be.
“I’m not blaming you,” he said in a quieter voice. “I have no idea what you went through when I left or what it’s been like to raise Eden on your own. I will never forgive myself. But you need to realize that other people have made sacrifices too. Maeve devoted her entire life to you. I spent seven years in exile to keep you safe from Nuala, knowing I would spend every day of the rest of my life aching for you. My parents, and the others like me, fled the land they loved out of the desperate hope that they might find Kier and her child here, only to be told by the druid that they were dead. Can you imagine how they felt, two decades later, when they realized Brogan’s daughter was alive after all—the hope that must have inspired? But then to find you had been made human…all the hopes they had treasured for years shifted to Eden, who was clearly one of us. Then she was taken, from them as much as from you.” Cedar started to speak, but Finn held up his hands and continued.
“I’m not saying she belongs to them, or that they have any claim on her. They don’t. She’s your daughter, and you’re right, I haven’t been a father to her. But I want to be. If you could only try to understand what she means to me, what she means to all of us. She is more than a way for us to get home. She’s even more than our rightful queen. She is hope. She’s a second chance, a sign that all is not lost, that maybe, just maybe, everything sad can be undone. And we’re not ready to give up on her yet.”
Cedar could feel his gaze, but she kept her eyes trained on the floor. She tried to imagine escaping a war zone and starting over in a strange land, with only a slim hope of ever returning home. She remembered being curled up on Maeve’s lap as a girl, and wondered how it had felt for Maeve to raise a child born to the wife of the man she loved. She thought of her own daughter, and how hard it had been at times to look at her without seeing Finn, and how much more difficult it must have been for Maeve. And yet Cedar had never felt unloved as a child. She thought of Finn, and tried to imagine being forced to leave him in order to save his life. She would have done it in a second.
Tears pricked at her eyes, but not from anger this time. “I haven’t given up on her,” she said softly.
“And neither will I,” said Finn, his face grim with determination. “Ever. Nor will I give up on you.”
There was a pause, and then he asked, “Did Maeve have any new information? Did she tell you what she’s been doing?”
“Just druid stuff. Divination and other things out at the old house. But she said it didn’t work, and then she just took off.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why?”
She told him about Maeve seeing the necklace and asking about it, and about how strangely she had reacted.
His face darkened as he considered this. He walked over and picked up the necklace, studying it.
“What do you think it means?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think it’s good. Why else would she leave so suddenly, without any explanation? If she has a lead on Eden, she should tell us.”
“She doesn’t trust you,” Cedar said. “Any of you. She thinks you want Eden to lead you into battle against Lorcan, because of some prophecy. Do you?” She remembered what Rohan had said the morning after Eden had disappeared. We will take full responsibility for her. She needs to be raised as part of this family—her true family.
Finn exhaled slowly. “No, I don’t. I don’t set much store in prophecies. There are too many interpretations, too many ways they can be twisted to suit one’s own ends. But not everyone feels that way. There are those who think she is the dyad, and that she will play a key role in restoring Tír na nÓg to peace.” He paused for a moment, considering. “I suppose that helps explain why Maeve hates us so much, if she believes we only want to use Eden. Between that and what happened with Brogan, I can’t say that I blame her. But I don’t like this—her leaving like that. If she’s acting against us…” he trailed off, his expression dark.
Cedar bit her lip. “I’ll call her, find out where she’s headed. But…you should go.”
The expression on Finn’s face almost made her change her mind.
“I’ll call you later,” she said. “I want to be alone right now. I need to wrap my head around all this—who I am, who my mother is, who my daughter is. I need to figure out whom I can trust. And honestly, I don’t know if that’s you anymore.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Maeve urged her car to go faster as she sped toward the old house. It was almost over; she could feel it. She had found a way to free Eden and send Nuala back to Tír na nÓg. If it worked, it would be worth all the lies.
She had called Nuala as soon as she left Cedar’s apartment. “I think I’ve found another way,” she had whispered. Nuala had sounded annoyed—and very far away—but Maeve was certain she would show up, and she would have Eden with her. Sure enough, when she pulled into the driveway, she saw two figures outside the workshop. Eden was sitting slumped on the ground. She rushed toward her. “Eden!”
Eden looked up but did not stand. Instead, she gazed at Maeve with dull eyes filled with wariness. Maeve felt the eyes stab into her, and she winced. It will all be over soon, she thought, and someday Eden would understand that everything she had done was for her sake, to keep her safe.
“Are you okay, dear?” she asked the girl on the ground.
Eden shrugged.
“Well?” Nuala asked impatiently.
Maeve looked nervously back at Eden. Then she said to Nuala, “It’s not something a child should see.”
Nuala rolled her eyes. “If you think I’m letting her out of my sight for a moment, you’re stupider than I thought. She’s going to have to deal with it, whatever it is. Now hurry up. What did you discover? What is their plan?”
Maeve spoke quickly and hoped Eden was tuning them out, since she was staring off in the opposite direction.
“I was at Cedar’s, trying to find out what they were up to,” she began, “and I saw on her bookshelf one of the seeing amulets, a starstone. It was set into a necklace; she told me it was Riona’s. Apparently the elder Donnellys have given their set to Cedar and Finn.”
“What of it?” Nuala snapped.
Glancing again at Eden, who was picking at a twig on the ground, Maeve said, “It reminded me of a similar necklace I have seen before. I had completely forgotten about it, I confess.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Kier was wearing one when she came through the sidh and into my cellar. It’s buried with her.”
Nuala was staring at her, eyes shining. “And the other stone is still in Tír na nÓg,” she breathed.
Maeve nodded. “One can only assume so. If we activate her half of the pair, we may be able to get a real-time picture of Tír na nÓg. Of course, there’s no guarantee. The other half may be lost or buried,
” she said, thinking of Brogan’s body lying beneath the earth.
“It’s unlikely,” Nuala said, her voice eager. “All the bodies were searched. There’s no way the king’s body would have been left unspoiled. Someone over there has that stone. But we need the song—do you know it?”
“I do. At least, I think I can remember it,” Maeve said.
“Show me. Where is Kier’s body?”
Maeve bit her lip. “Under the cedar tree,” she said, pointing. “Please, Eden should not see this.”
Nuala shook her head. “Then she can close her eyes.” She smirked. “What, do you not want her to see her true grandmother? Or are you worried it might be too gruesome? You should have no fear of that. The bodies of the Tuatha Dé Danann remain quite unspoiled, even in death. Now uncover the grave, druid. If you are worthy of that name, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Maeve walked over to the large tree and placed her forehead against it. Silently, she began to speak to the spirit of the tree. “We have been friends for many years,” she said, “and you have done much for me. Please, I ask for only one more favor. Release your hidden treasure, which you have valiantly protected all these years. Let me see her again, and remove but one thing from her, which will only be used for good, to save her daughter’s daughter.” She waited, and felt the tree become perfectly still as it considered her request. Not a single needle moved, even though there was a strong breeze in the air. After a moment, her body began to shake as the tree’s roots shifted beneath the ground. She held onto the trunk with both hands as the ground opened up, then fell still. She whispered her thanks and stepped away from the trunk, kneeling down near the edge of the newly opened grave.
It was not deep, only three or four feet. The grave was rimmed by thick roots, interwoven so that it looked like an intricate basket had been lowered into the earth. The sides of the hole were lined with more roots, which sheltered the treasure that lay at the bottom. Maeve’s lips tightened as she gazed down at Kier, still so beautiful, so young. Her blonde hair was spread out around her, and her dress lay smoothly, as if she had been buried in a coffin of glass and gold instead of roots, dirt, and slugs. But there were no insects or other creatures of the earth around her. All signs of blood and violence were gone. Her pale skin was unmarked, and her long lashes lay peacefully against her cheeks. On her chest, the stillness of which was the only sign she would never awake from this sleep, lay a richly decorated gold necklace with a large stone the color of onyx set in the center.
A shadow fell over the body. Maeve glanced up to see Nuala standing behind her, with Eden at her side. Eden was looking into the grave with wide eyes.
“Who is she?” Eden asked. “Is she a princess?”
“She is Queen of Tír na nÓg,” Maeve answered.
“She was the queen,” Nuala corrected. “I will be the new queen.”
Maeve was surprised. “Is that what you think is going to happen, that you will unseat Lorcan from the throne?”
Nuala’s face was impassive, as cold as a damp winter chill. “In case it has escaped your attention, people tend to do what I tell them. Look at you, groveling in the dirt, betraying your own daughter, and I’m not even trying. Lorcan wields many powers, but they will all bow to mine once I am in Tír na nÓg. Now bring me the amulet before I toss you into the grave with her.”
Maeve cast a worried glance at Eden, who was still staring at Kier’s body, her small brow furrowed, and then lowered herself into the grave. The roots shifted slightly to support her, giving her a small shelf on which to kneel. Up close, Kier’s body gave off a light floral scent, and her skin was supple and smooth, although there was no color in her cheeks.
“I have done as you asked,” Maeve whispered, reaching behind Kier’s neck to find the clasp. She shivered as her fingers grazed the pale skin. “I kept your daughter safe, and hidden, for as long as I could.” Then her face twisted. “And she hates me for it. That is the only legacy you left me.”
“Now, druid,” came Nuala’s voice from above. Maeve stood and began to climb out, the tree roots obliging her by forming small steps in the side of the grave.
Wordlessly, she handed the jeweled necklace over to Nuala, who took it hungrily. Then she looked at Maeve suspiciously. “The song—you said you knew it.”
Maeve nodded. “It’s been a long time, of course, but I believe I can remember it.” How could she forget? It had seared itself into her heart like a brand. She would always remember the sound of Kier singing the song through her moans of labor, clutching the stone around her neck as if it might save her, wanting desperately to see her husband one last time, to know he was safe.
He had never answered her call.
The stone had remained black and cold, and when Maeve had finally abandoned all attempts to revive Kier, turning her attention to the squalling infant, it had taunted her with its silence. She knew what it was, what the Danann woman had been trying to do, and the fact that Brogan was not answering his wife’s desperate call meant that something was horribly, impossibly wrong. Maeve had wrapped the baby in a blanket and laid her against her mother’s cooling chest. Then she had touched the necklace, cupping it in her hand. Softly, she had sung Kier’s song and waited for a response. She had concentrated on Brogan’s face, picturing it clearly in her mind and trying to weave a psychic message into the song. Your wife is dead. I have your child. Come back for her. Come back for me.
Silence.
She told herself it was war; he was fighting, or in hiding. He could not be dead. He would come back when he could, looking for his wife and child, and when he did, he would find his mistress and child instead. She would be there to comfort him, and the child would love her like a mother. He would stay, or would take them both back to Tír na nÓg.
Ten years later, a ragged group of survivors had appeared in her cellar and told her the horrible truth: Brogan was unequivocally, irrevocably dead. And by then she loved Cedar and wasn’t willing to give her up to these strangers. So she told them the child had died along with her mother, and they believed her, too accustomed to death at this point to question her. Without the Lýra, there was no reason for them to suspect that the human child running around her house was the missing princess they so desperately sought.
No reason, that is, until Cedar showed up on Rohan’s doorstep with stories of a child who could open portals with a touch of her hand.
Maeve reached out and took the necklace back from Nuala, and began to sing. The song was simple but haunting, and her aging voice did not do it justice. But the notes were the same, and her lips formed the words of the ancient language reserved for the most intricate of spells.
As she sang, the black stone began to swirl like angry clouds. Watching it, Maeve felt as if she were floating through the air. Nuala looked over her shoulder and gasped. Then she grabbed the stone.
“Come here, Eden,” she said, yanking the girl over to her. She knelt so Eden could see the stone, which lightened to a uniform gray. They all peered into it. The color shifted again to a dull brown that was slightly textured. It looked like dead grass.
“Yesss,” Nuala hissed, putting her hand on the back of Eden’s neck and forcing her to look closer. “Someone has the other stone,” she said. “Look, child, this is Tír na nÓg, your home and mine. Look closely.”
Maeve stiffened at Nuala’s words. “This is your home, Eden, don’t ever forget that. Your home is with the people who love you.”
Eden looked back and forth between the two women, then back at the stone. The picture in the stone swung about to reveal a barren landscape. The image was small, but perfectly clear. In the foreground was a dead tree, tall and ghostly white. In the background of the tiny picture was a dry gully where perhaps a river had once run. The image did not linger; soon it blurred as if moving, and they heard a voice,
“King Lorcan! Your ring, it’s glowing.”
Instantly Nuala reached out and pushed Eden to the ground, ordering her to stay silent. Sh
e moved away from them, holding the amulet so only she could see what appeared in it next. Maeve noticed Nuala’s hands were shaking. She helped Eden to her feet and pulled her close.
A voice came from the stone. It was as soft and oily as the selkie that swam in the Irish Sea. It was a voice accustomed to being obeyed.
“You are not Kier Mhic Airgetlam,” the voice said. “Who are you, and how did you come by this stone?”
“My lord Lorcan,” Nuala said with a bow of her head. “I am your servant Fionnghuala.”
“A traitor, then,” Lorcan said slowly, “and yet one who calls me lord and professes to be my servant. You answered only one of my questions.”
“K-Kier is dead, my lord,” Nuala said with a slight stammer. “I took the amulet from her body. I wish to beg forgiveness and to bring you a great gift.”
There was a moment of silence, and Maeve was sure Lorcan himself could hear the pounding of her heart. What gift?
Then Lorcan spoke again, his voice so smooth and quiet that Maeve took a step closer to the stone to hear him. “Bring me? We have overturned every pebble and twig of Tír na nÓg looking for the sidh through which you cowards escaped. Are you telling me it is still open?”
Nuala licked her lips and glanced over at Eden. “I have found a way to reopen the sidhe, my lord. That is the gift I am bringing you.”
The impact of Nuala’s duplicity struck Maeve suddenly, almost knocking her to the ground. For a fleeting moment she allowed herself to feel like a fool for trusting this woman, for believing she would hold up her end of their bargain. But there would be time for guilt later. Now, she needed to act, and quickly. Low and soft, she began to sing Kier’s song, just barely audible. She saw Nuala frown in concentration at the stone in her hand.
“My lord? Can you still hear me? My—” Nuala looked up and saw Maeve’s lips moving, then she turned back at the stone, which had gone completely black.