“Kellen,” he said, telling me his name.
This time when he spoke, standing so close to me, my memory of him returned. He was Cara Maith! Despite the poison that had clouded my thoughts, all the times he had visited me in the cave came back. He’d been tending to my lads and me for years.
“Cara Maith,” I said.
He gave me a smile, slow and gentle at first, but it broadened until the very sight of it brought heat. Both Benen and Ambros yipped and pranced around him, and he bent to embrace both of them, scuffing their fur and kissing them.
Only then did other human hunters run out of the forest, all with swords, bows, and arrows, all wearing a crest of roses on their garments. These were my last few Guardians and my heart cheered at the sight of them. They stopped at the edge of the chasm, staring down at the blackened rocks and charred grass. Before they could lift their gaze toward us, Kellen stepped to my side, blocking me from their view. Even though I wore his cloak, it was still hard to cover my nakedness. He removed his tunic and handed it to me, all while hiding me. I was dressed in a moment.
“‘Tis your long-lost queen, men,” Kellen then announced, bending to one knee, his bow on the ground. “Eire has returned to us.”
A rousing cheer rang out, a band of eleven or twelve men rejoicing at Kellen’s words. They joined us from the shadowed wood and from across the gulley, all first bending the knee and laying down their bows, arrows, and swords. Then, once I had acknowledged them, they each rose and approached.
It was a time for rejoicing and I delighted in it. My boys yipped and barked, running circles around us. I imagined them wearing their rightful golden crowns, sitting upon thrones and sharing their kingdom. They would make gentle, benevolent rulers. I could see it in their good-natured, frolicking attitude.
But I feared ruling was not in our future.
While we all laughed and planned a great feast, I fell to my knees in the snow one last time. I blinked and everything around me wavered. The sun vanished from my sight as everything grew dark; my skin turned cold and all voices faded to a whisper.
I collapsed on the ground, my face in the snow.
All I could hear was dark laughter.
And Faelan’s voice saying, I will find you and I will kill you. Prepare to ride the Faery Cavalcade forever.
Twelve
“Stand back, lads,” Kellen said. “Let her breathe.”
And yet, they pressed forward. I could feel them, shadows in a dark world, hoping for something bright. I wanted to say something to cheer them as they had cheered me, but I was lost to a nether world.
Kellen’s Leanan Sidhe poison was stronger than I first thought. It surged through me in waves, each one more brutal than the last.
My boys whimpered and licked my face, crying for me to wake up. One of them grabbed my left hand in his teeth and pulled, trying to force me back onto my feet.
“‘Tis the Nightshade Blood,” Kellen said. He carefully brushed my wolf cubs aside. “Back, little ones.” Then he snapped off the arrow shaft that still plunged through my shoulder. “She must have a drop or two of Leanan Sidhe in her veins. Many of the Fair Folk do.”
“Is there not a cure?” one of the other hunters asked.
“Not here,” Kellen said as lifted me in his arms. “All of my herbs and remedies are back in my cottage.”
My children were growing frantic, leaping and grabbing onto the cape that wrapped about me.
I’d just survived an enchanted cup of wine that made me sleep for a thousand years and a battle with a dark supernatural creature.
Was this poison meant for the Leanan Sidhe going to kill me?
“Ma, are you hurt?” Benen asked, as he ran around me.
“Wake up!” Ambros said, his tone fearful.
“‘Tis my own fault,” Kellen continued, sorrow in his voice. “The poison was fashioned for the blood drinkers. Few would have survived it.”
“Take my horse,” one of the hunters said. “Ride fast! We’ll follow you.”
And all the while, my delirium built, a fever boiled from within, and Faelan’s horrible voice continued to taunt me. “Run, though you will not escape. I will find you. You and your children—”
“Promise me,” I whispered as I curled in pain, writhing in his arms.
“Anything,” Kellen answered.
“If I perish, take care of my children—”
“I vow it.”
Then I tried to speak the incantation that would turn my twins back into faeries, but my voice was gone. If I died from this poison, they would be wolves forever.
Together, we rode the horse through the forest, Kellen’s arms wrapped around me, my wolf-cub children yelping and running at our side, as if they feared they would be left behind. Did this Duine understand the words my children spoke, or did their words sound like the bark of a wolf cub?
It was possible Benen and Ambros would be treated as wild beasts throughout eternity. Now, there would be no hope of them reclaiming their kingdom or defeating the Milesians. They’d never wear golden crowns upon their heads, not while they wore white fur instead of skin.
I had failed my House.
I fell into a fretful state, nightmares as real as day taking shape and chasing after me. I imagined my boys grown, their white fur shaggy and dirty, their paws bloody from running away from Duine who hated them. I imagined Faelan sending one army after another across the Muir éireann, each one more evil than the one before, all of them seeking to destroy the remnants of my House. I imagined Greagoir rising from the dead to come after me, demanding that I return his heart.
Night shadows filled the glen. The trees towered and thickened around us until we no longer ran on a woodland path.
In my mind, we were flying over the treetops.
I imagined that all four of us were black ravens, flying through a blinding snowstorm, all while being chased by a golden eagle with a wingspan as wide as a castle.
In all my battles—even when I fought beside my husband Fethur during the Milesian Invasion—I had never been so afraid of death as I was now.
We ran and we flew, all night long, until we reached a small cottage, nestled in an oak grove beside a clear mountain stream. I lifted my head, glad our journey was over, and I expected to see Kellen’s wife greet us at the door. Surely, she’d have a babe on her hip, another three or four asleep in their beds.
But the door swung open and only a little girl stood there, a sleepy grin on her face. She looked about ten years old. There was no woman here. But there had been once—I saw her in the fine dishes and the handmade lace curtains. Dust and cobwebs covered her finery.
She’d been here.
But she was gone now.
Like my own husband, she was probably dust in the wind.
Thirteen