CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Finn flew above her in his eagle form, occasionally swooping down to tell her to wait or hide or change course based on something he had seen from high above. Without the sun, it was difficult to gauge how long they had been in Tír na nÓg, but finally Cedar saw in the distance a grand building that had to be the Hall. It was like no place she had ever seen on earth. Its towering walls of pure white would have been blinding in the sun. The Hall’s many spires twisted and danced through the air above the walls, and many-colored banners hung limp from them. She tried to imagine what it would have looked like on a sunny day, or with a slight breeze to send the banners soaring into the air.
To the west of the Hall stretched a large lake, or what Cedar assumed had once been a lake. She could see water in the distance, but it had obviously been steadily receding, leaving a vast swath of dry, parched earth in its wake. Beyond this once-lake rose a gray mountain range. Cedar squinted at one of the mountains, which seemed oddly misshapen, as if a giant had ripped it in two. She wondered if they would encounter any giants in Tír na nÓg.
She continued through the brush, avoiding the dusty road that led to the Hall, until at last she followed Finn into a small copse of trees, where he resumed his normal form.
“You should be safe if you stay here,” he said. “There are guards at the front entrance, but other than that there is little activity in the outer grounds. This place used to be alive and filled with people, but now…” He gave Cedar a long, searching look, then shook his head. “This is a mistake. I should have come alone. If something goes wrong…” He trailed off, his eyes full of a sudden panic.
Cedar wrapped her arms around his neck. “They think it’s impossible that either one of us could be here,” she said, trying to reassure him. “Even if you’re caught, they’ll think you acted alone. They won’t be looking for me. Do you have the starstone?”
He pulled out the pocket watch and quietly began to sing the song that made both stones glow with a soft light. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his voice, trying to fix it in her mind, hoping she could take that memory with her where she was about to go.
When she opened her eyes, he had stopped singing, and his face was only inches away. Then his lips were crushing hers, and she responded in kind, kissing him as hard and fierce as she could, as if she hoped to make a permanent imprint of herself on his body. When he reluctantly started to pull away, she held onto him.
“Finn,” she said urgently. “If I don’t…if something goes wrong, make sure you think of Eden, not of me. She has to come first, do you understand? No matter what happens. Get her home and take care of her. I know you’ll be a great father. And I forgive you for everything, for leaving, and for not telling me the truth. I know you were just trying to protect me. And now you have to protect her. I’m trusting you with her life. Just…tell her how much I love her, how much I’ve always loved her. Tell her she’s the most important thing in the world to me. You’ll be fine. You’ll both be fine.”
She kissed him again, but softly this time, trying to communicate everything she wanted to say but dared not.
“We’re not saying good-bye,” he said. “We’re all going to be fine. I’m going to save Eden, and we’re all going home together. We’ll get to know each other again. You’ll paint, and we’ll have more children, and we won’t have to worry about any of this.”
She tried to smile at him and control the shaking in her voice. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so melodramatic, I’m just nervous. And…I love you. I want to make sure you know that.”
He kissed her forehead and whispered, “I know. I’ll see you soon.” Then he was gone. She couldn’t tell exactly what he had transformed into; all she could see was a small brown shape moving quickly through the dry grass.
As soon as he was out of sight, Cedar crept toward the edge of the trees and peered out. She thought about waiting to see if he did, in fact, succeed. Then she thought of him facing Lorcan, whose power apparently had no limit, and shuddered. No, she had to go through with her plan before both Finn and Eden were killed. She took several steps out into the open, and then stopped. Still she could see no one, so she started jogging in the direction of the Hall. Soon she saw a couple of guards standing by a small side entrance. They saw her coming and tensed, waiting. She saw them exchange a confused glance as they realized she had no Lýra.
She stopped several feet in front of them and then raised her voice and said, “I am the daughter of the true High King, of Brogan and Kier. Take me to Lorcan at once.”
“Fionnghuala.”
Nuala opened her eyes to see Lorcan standing before her. She had fallen asleep, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. Then it came back to her, and she fought back a shudder. She would not show weakness to this bastard, not if she were still determined to conquer him.
“My lord?” she asked. She was lying on a bed in a round, windowless room. She struggled to sit up, a feat made difficult by the chains fastening her wrists to the wall behind her. Lorcan waved his hand, and the chains fell off.
“Crude, I know,” he said, “but you have not yet proven yourself.”
Beside her on the bed lay Eden, fast asleep or drugged or unconscious. Nuala couldn’t tell. The girl was chained, too, both hands and feet, with enough freedom to lie down, sit up, and use the chamber pot under the bed, but not enough to reach the room’s only door. There were no guards outside the door, no one within earshot of Nuala’s voice, but she knew that these rudimentary chains weren’t the only things restraining them. Had she been so restrained on Ériu, she would have been able to break free easily. But this was Tír na nÓg, where everything was stronger—people, chains, enchantments.
She had been allowed to live, despite her role in the rebellion against Lorcan. He had plans for her, or so he had said while he was extracting all the information she had about Eden and the Tuatha Dé Danann on Ériu. He did not have her power of persuasion, not yet, but his own power had not been exaggerated, and she’d had no choice but to tell him everything he wanted to know. She had planned to tell him, anyway. It wasn’t as if she cared what happened to Ériu or the people there, whether they were human or Danann.
“According to my guards, the child’s mother is here,” Lorcan said. “You told me she was human. Explain how this is possible.” His face was unreadable.
“What?” Nuala said, shocked. “That isn’t possible. Eden closed the sidh, I saw her do it. I made her do it. There is no one else with that ability, and you’ve kept her unconscious and in chains. I told you, she needs an actual door to open the sidh.”
“And yet, the mother is here. Fascinating, is it not?”
Nuala felt her skin go clammy. If he thought she had somehow tricked him…
“I suppose I shall just have to ask her myself,” he said, “before I kill her.” He paused for a moment to relish that concept, and then said, “Wake the girl. It is time to make an example of her and claim what should be mine.”
Nuala gaped at him in horror. “But you need her alive. If you kill her, her gift dies with her!” She remembered what Maeve had said, how the woman had begged her not to take Eden to Tír na nÓg. She looked at Eden lying there on the bed, so innocent and weak. The girl had come willingly, to save her grandmother’s life. Nuala felt a strange, unfamiliar feeling sweep over her—a sense of loss…and guilt.
Lorcan tossed back his golden head and laughed, rubbing his hands together. “Is that what you thought? Looks like Brogan’s lies have backfired, doesn’t it? No, my dear, no one is immune to my power. If I kill her, her gift becomes mine. The only reason she is still alive is so I can make an example of her. I will show my people what happens when they sympathize with humans.”
“She’s just a child,” Nuala said, looking again at the small girl lying beside her, the way her hair stuck to her forehead, her mouth slightly open, as if she was peacefully asleep.
“She’s an abomination, and will not be permitted to exist,” Lorcan rasped.
Cedar was led through a dizzying series of corridors, past marble fountains and towering statues and across grand open spaces where gardens had once flourished. Her mind registered them all, but as if from a distance. She was not bound, and the guards walked an arm’s length away. They did not look at her, but she sensed that they were walking slower than normal, as if they were unsure what to do with her.
She picked up the pace, forcing her guards to keep up, although she did not know the way. It was too late for regrets or second thoughts. All that mattered now was that she arrived in time.
Finally, the guards stopped and held out their hands for her to do the same. She stood perfectly still. They had reached an entrance to a large courtyard—one of many entrances, for the walls of the courtyard consisted of a series of large white stone arches. Between the arches stood tall white birch trees, leafless but still imposing in their height. Their faint white glow reminded Cedar of the sidh she and Finn had passed through, and her heart sped up. Standing in every archway was a warrior of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Was Eden in there? Had Finn managed to slip past the guards? Had he succeeded in finding her?
For a moment, she allowed herself to hope, but then she reminded herself again what was at stake. Rescuing Eden this one time was not enough, not if Lorcan still lived. He would always want her gift, he would always hunt her, and Cedar was the only one who could truly defeat him.
One of her guards was speaking with the warrior at the archway. The tall, bearded man turned and stared openly at her. She defiantly met his gaze. She was determined not to be intimidated by these so-called deities. If she had learned anything about the Tuatha Dé Danann over the past few days, it was that they were as flawed as she was. Stepping forward, she spoke to the bearded warrior.
“I am Cedar, daughter of Brogan and Kier,” she said again. “Take me to Lorcan.”
“Wait here,” the warrior said quietly, then turned and walked into the courtyard and out of sight. Cedar could see other men and women entering the courtyard through the other arches, milling about. Some of them stopped and gaped at her, and Cedar knew it wasn’t only her lack of a Lýra that told them she didn’t belong. Her dirty, bloodstained clothes stood in stark contrast to the delicate robes and gowns that sheathed the Tuatha Dé Danann as naturally and beautifully as petals on a flower.
She tried to see inside the doorway, but her two silent guards stood in front of her, blocking her view. After a few minutes, the warrior returned. He looked at her gravely, and then said, “Come.”
She followed him through the archway. The crowds of Danann lords and ladies parted to let them through, and the air felt heavy with their silence. At the far end of the courtyard loomed a dais that was several feet high. Behind it stood a row of white birch trees like the ones between the archways surrounding the crowd.
A man was seated in the center of the dais, on a beautifully crafted throne of woven branches that seemed to be growing up through the marble platform. Cedar knew at once who he must be, but her eyes merely skimmed over Lorcan as she sought the one she had come here to save. Eden was there, standing behind his right shoulder—still wonderfully, gloriously alive. Cedar’s body nearly gave out, so great was her relief.
“Eden,” she whispered as she was led to the foot of the dais. “I’m here.”
Eden watched her approach but betrayed no sign of movement, except that her eyes filled with tears that spilled down her cheeks and onto her grubby, stained clothes. She stayed as still and expressionless as if she were frozen, although Cedar could see no restraints. Still, she was alive and would soon be free. So intent was Cedar on her daughter, it barely registered that Nuala, too, stood on the dais, slightly behind Eden. Looking at her now, Cedar could see she wore a Danann robe in a mossy green color that set off her creamy skin and red hair. Despite the fine clothes, she looked miserable and ill, and her whole body trembled.
“Well, well,” Lorcan said, inclining his head at Cedar. “I do believe this is a first.” He looked out at the faces filling the courtyard. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a human in the court.”
A murmur spread throughout the crowd, low and anxious. Lorcan raised his hand, and silence fell at once.
“I know all about you, of course,” he said, addressing Cedar. “Your friend Fionnghuala has been very cooperative. What she has been unable to tell me is how you, a human, made the journey from Ériu to Tír na nÓg. Don’t tell me you share your whelp’s ability. Power like ours cannot reside in such a weak vessel. And yet I have rendered the girl immobile since her arrival, so this cannot be her doing. Tell me at once. How did you come here, human?”
Cedar hesitated. She had no doubt Nuala had told Lorcan everything, but if Nuala didn’t know about Eden’s tree-sidh, she wanted to keep it that way. “My father was Brogan, your High King. I have his gift. I made the sidh,” she lied in a loud, clear voice. She had expected more murmurs, but the air stayed silent, as if all those who heard her had suddenly stopped breathing.
“Yes, your father,” Lorcan said in almost a purr, but loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the courtyard. “Your father, the coward. Your father, who preferred human whores to his own queen. Your father, who was so afraid of my power that he dared not face me himself. Your father, whose blood was so weak he produced a human child. Do not insult our company with your lies. You have no power. The power, you see, is all mine.” He glanced over his shoulder at Eden. “Or very soon will be.”
For a moment, Cedar said nothing. She was not here to defend her father’s honor, and yet she needed to keep Lorcan’s attention on her and away from Eden. She needed him to see her as the bigger threat.
“My father was a greater king than you could ever hope to be!” she said, raising her voice and trying to project a confidence she did not feel. “He was loved, not feared. I know all about you too. You are nothing without the power you take from others! You’re nothing but a leech!”
“Silence!” Lorcan roared, and she felt all the breath rush out of her as if she had been struck hard in the chest. She collapsed to the ground, wheezing, and he leered at her. “Your time here will be short enough, do not hasten your death with idle insults. I am the king.” He lifted his face to the crowd behind her. “I AM THE KING!” he bellowed. In one voice, they all chanted back, “You are the king,” but to Cedar’s ears it sounded rote, and far from enthusiastic.
“My subjects!” Lorcan said, standing and spreading out his arms. “May I introduce to you the human spawn of your former king, who would have had you bow down to humans rather than defend yourselves against them. She has been hiding among her kind in Ériu, and has now come back as a spy to finish her father’s work, to bring the armies of Ériu against the Tuatha Dé Danann once more, seeking to eradicate us once and for all. She and what is left of her family of traitors will be dealt with severely, so you will see I have no patience for those who would stand against our cause.” Lorcan’s voice rose as he spoke, and he raised his arms in the air. The birch trees shook, and above his raised arms came an answering rumble from the sky. Cedar, who had managed to regain her breath and was making her way shakily to her feet, watched in awe as he seemed to grow to twice his normal size. His voice boomed out over them, drowning out the thunder that still rumbled in the sky above.
“It is time for us to reclaim Ériu for our own!” His eyes glowed brightly as he strutted in front of the throne. “We will take the humans by surprise. We will destroy their armies. We will exact our revenge on those who once tried to destroy us, and would do so again!” There was another rumble from the sky, a burst of applause in the otherwise silent air.
He put his hand under Eden’s chin and forced it up so she was looking at him. His voice quieted. “This child, abomination though she is, has brought us a parting gift. Once she is dead, we will be able to open the floodgates of the Tuatha Dé Danann until humanity is utterly destroyed.”
Cedar heard her own voice scream, “No!” and she flung herself forward. Her guards, caught by surprise, came up behind her and grabbed her by the arms. She strained against them, feeling her muscles tear as she fought to reach Eden. “It’s me you want!” she screamed. “I am Brogan’s daughter! I have his gift! Kill me, not her!”
Lorcan slowly removed his hand from under Eden’s chin and turned around. “Let her go,” he said to the guards. As soon as they had released her, Cedar felt herself lifted through the air as if by invisible strings. She floated, unable to move, several feet above the marble dais. Looking out over the crowd, she spotted the one face she did not want to see at this moment. Finn was standing in front of one of the arches, his face a portrait of agony and fear. As her eyes met his, the invisible strings holding her in the air were suddenly cut. Her body met the marble floor and she felt her arm break as her breath was forced from her lungs once again. The pain was blinding, and she would have screamed if she’d had the breath for it. Instead, she lay crumpled at Lorcan’s feet, unable to move.
Just do it, she thought, wishing Eden didn’t have to watch.