“‘Tis rare for a boy-child to have the gift,” she whispered.
I nodded, then I pulled Benen into the shelter of my cloak, hiding him. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to realize how strong this future king might be. Not when we were on our way out of our homeland, weary and wounded. Benen wouldn’t have the banshee voice—not like Caer and I did—but he might have something just as strong, something I’d only heard of in legends and myths.
A child of light, born of a banshee, had been prophesied to one day rule all the Fair Folk in the world.
Not long after that, we began the long, slow ascent of Sléibhte Chill Mhantáin upward and upward, as we headed toward our final destination.
At this point in our journey, my horse had grown weary and her steps were slow. My boys grew fidgety, as if they had eaten a handful of bees, and they climbed down from their shared pony. Together, they frolicked beside our caravan.
“Chase me!” Ambros called to his brother.
“I’ll win,” Benen shouted back.
They both laughed and I smiled.
Benen, my pensive, introspective boy, looked so much like his father, with his black hair and dark eyes, it was as if Fethur had been brought back to life. You could almost see the gold crown perched upon Benen’s head—although he didn’t have it. Not yet. Ambros, on the other hand, was my headstrong, wild child. He looked like me, with fair hair and blue eyes. When he ran, a storm followed on his heels, strong winds and churning clouds.
“They should stay away from the horses,” Faelan chided me. “One misstep, by child or beast, and your future kings will be dead.”
“Let them play,” Caer, my sister said.
He struck her, a blow across her face so hard it almost knocked her off her horse.
“You will not do that again, my lord!” I warned him as I rode my horse between them.
Three of my foot-soldiers were instantly at my side, their swords drawn and pointed at Faelan. It may have been a mistake on my part, to come between a husband and a wife, and with my crown so precarious.
It may have been my own undoing.
Though I think he had planned something for me all along, ever since my husband lost his head during our recent battle.
But Faelan was mistaken if he thought I would allow the Old Ways to stand in this New Age. He may have stolen Caer to be his bride, years ago, but she was not his property. She belonged to my House and, since I was the last living elder, that meant she was technically mine.
Caer and I had been the best of friends for thousands of years. No Leanan Sidhe upstart would come between us—not now, not ever. I didn’t care that our father had allowed this foul marriage.
But there were others who would have disagreed with me. I could see it in their shadowed faces.
A dangerous division was taking place in our Clan. I was losing followers with each passing day.
Four
We camped that night beside a deep corrie lake, with steep valley walls carved long ago when the Ice Giants changed the shape of the earth. I remembered the Ice Giants, that’s how long I’ve been here. The Tuatha de Danann moved out of their slow path and then returned to our island homeland when the frozen rivers melted. For centuries, there were massive blocks of ice left behind. One faery even chiseled himself a castle made out of ice. We laughed as it melted a little bit every year, growing smaller and smaller until finally, it disappeared one day, in a morning fog.
Still, it had been beautiful, while it lasted. Glittering in the morning sun like something made in a different world.
This was the faery way. Taking something tragic and turning it into something beautiful. This was where our magic drew its strength.
When we used it to transform, it blossomed.
When we used it to destroy, well, then that’s when we were destroyed ourselves.
“I’m sorry, sister,” Caer said as she knelt beside me.
The sun still graced us with yellow light, but the shadows would fall soon. My children and hers swam together in the lake, their laughter rising and echoing across the valley.
I took Caer’s hand in mine.
“The apology is mine,” I told her. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to marry him.”
She laughed, longer and louder than I’d heard in a long time. “No one could have stopped Faelan. Not Da, not one of our uncles, not even me. You know the Old Ways will always rule in our Clan. He kidnapped me during one of our festivals and not one of our menfolk would say it was wrong. A moon later, when we returned, we were married. There’s no ceremony needed.”
“I will come when you call,” I said, remembering the simple oath my husband and I had made.
“Yes.” She laid back with a sigh and stared up at the blue skies, this piece of heaven that belonged to the invaders now. “Haven’t you ever wished you were a Duine? I envy them their simple life. They marry for love, you know.”
“Not always. Their kings marry the same way we do.”
“But the peasants live as they please.” Caer gave me a sly look. “I remember how you favored Heremon before Fethur came along. Haven’t you ever imagined what it would have been like, night after night in his arms?”
I tugged one of my sister’s long dark braids and she pretended that it hurt.
“Heremon married well. I’m sure he was happy.” Then sorrow swept through me and I couldn’t stop the ache in my heart. He had fallen at our last battle, not long after my husband. I’d held Heremon in my arms and sang him into the everlasting sleep. ‘Twas the hardest part of the war.
“Ah, I meant to cheer you, dear one, not stir up memories of sorrow.”
I lifted my chin and forced a smile. Faelan was watching us from the other side of the camp, a suspicious look on his face, as if he thought we were plotting against him.
“‘Tis time to gather our leanaí from the lake, before the Ice Giants return and freeze them in place,” I said.
Caer laughed. She was younger than me and had grown up listening to my tales of how the frozen rivers had once covered the earth. Before I married Fethur and became queen, I was known as Seanchaí. I was the storyteller in our Clan. When we gathered around night fires, it was my voice that rose to tell the old lore. Others took my tales and crafted them into poems. These poems were then shared with other Clans and, eventually, even the Duine came to know them.
That was why the mortals loved me.
Not because I was their queen.
It was because I was the one who told the stories of our beginning, of the Before Time. Back before the Duine learned how to write, they learned my tales.
Seanchaí was what they called me most often. Not Eire or queen.