THIRTY-TWO
Grace
I hurried up the stairs. Mama waited at the top. “Oh, Grace, you’re back! This thunder . . .”
As if on cue, it clapped right above the house, so loudly we both ducked our heads. Tethra.
“Is everything all right, Grace? With Patrick, I mean?”
“He proposed.”
“Oh thank goodness! And you accepted?”
How could I tell her the truth? The Fianna and the veleda. Choice and sacrifice. Her face was so pale I could see the blue of the veins beneath her skin. “I told him I needed to talk to Grandma first.”
“Grandma? Why?”
“There were some things Patrick said. About our family. Some questions he had—”
Her hand went to her head. “The Devlins have known our family for generations. Why, your grandmother and Patrick’s were as close as sisters in Ireland. Why would he question our suitability?”
“He’s not questioning it, Mama,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distress you. It’s nothing. I just need to talk to Grandma for a few moments.”
“And then you’ll accept him?”
“Mama, please.”
“Very well. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Oh, I hate this thunder!”
I stopped her, hugging her as tightly as I could. She gave me a funny little smile. “What was that?”
“I love you, Mama.”
“I know, darling. Is everything really all right?”
“Yes. It’s just . . . things are changing so quickly, that’s all.”
“Everyone feels that way now and again. But you’re no longer a child. You’re a young woman with a full life ahead of you. And Patrick is a good choice. I know you’ll do what’s right, Grace. You always do.”
Tears came to my eyes as Mama kissed me and drew away, going to her bedroom.
Patrick and Derry, the Fomori, centuries of Irish legend come to life. To think I was the focus of it all—in that moment it felt even more impossible. I wanted to be the girl Mama thought I was, uncertain because of a marriage proposal and not because she had to die—
But maybe not.
I straightened my shoulders and wiped my eyes, going into Grandma’s room. She was sleeping, her eyelids fluttering with dreams. I wondered what they were. Wars and a screaming Morrigan?
I touched her shoulder. “Grandma.”
Her eyes opened. She stared at me as if she didn’t recognize me, and my hopes that she could tell me something, anything, about the veleda fled. But then her gaze cleared. “Mo chroi? Why are you here? Why are you not already gone?”
“Where would I go, Grandma?”
She grabbed my wrist. “Listen—you must find him.”
“Grandma, I need to ask you some questions—”
“No! I can’t—” Her eyes clouded, then cleared again. A fine sweat broke out on her skin. “No time. I cannot keep it away. I am . . . not strong enough.” Her fingers bit into my skin. “You must listen. I will be gone—”
“No. No, don’t be silly—”
“Ssshhh. He is here. The sidhe will help you, but you must be very, very careful.”
I stared at her. This was different. She hated the fairies—she said it all the time. Stay away from the sidhe. Fear them. But that didn’t matter now. “Grandma, please. I need to know about the veleda. Do you know what I mean? Do you remember?”
“The Fianna have found you at last.”
She did know. My despair was so overwhelming I had to look away.
“You must . . . ’Tis not right. ’Tis broken.”
“That’s what Aidan said. What’s broken?”
“Aidan . . . he will know.”
“Grandma, Aidan’s too sick, and—”
“Listen! Remember, mo chroi. To harm and to protect are as one.”
“Grandma, please.”
“’Tis a curse. The sea is the knife.” Her eyes seemed to burn. “You must find the archdruid. He can help you.”
“Who is that? How can he help me? What do you mean?”
“He knows. Find the sidhe. But careful, mo chroi. You must be very careful. Your mother . . .”
“Yes, I know. I won’t say anything to her. But I don’t know what any of this means. What archdruid? What curse? What do the sidhe have to do with it?”
“There is . . . a key.”
Thunder again. I flinched, and Grandma glanced toward the window. The sky was darkening.
“A key to what?” I asked.
But when she turned back to me, her gaze was faraway. “Do not fear . . . That boy.” Her grip loosened.
“Grandma,” I said, shaking her. “Grandma, please. Answer me. What do I do now? Please—”
Her eyes closed—no answers would be coming today. An archdruid. Curses and a key. To harm and to protect . . . Aidan . . . I didn’t know what any of it meant. She’d told me nothing except what I already knew: that everything Patrick had said was true.
Thunder crashed. The whole room shook with it.
Grandma whispered without opening her eyes, “They’re here now. Choose well.”
Then I heard the screaming.