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Sionnach, my fox.
Thunder rolls again as Finnbheara speaks. “You dare guide this mortal into my kingdom. It is not his place.”
Ten feet above my head, the king dangles my love. I reach for Sion, but Finnbheara drops him onto the sparkling silver and green grass. I fear for him. The creature hits the ground hard and rolls from the momentum. After a few yips of pain, Sion regains his human form.
I fly to him. As soon as my wing touches the flesh of his cheek, I become Eala the woman, not the white swan. Knee-length leines of thin beige fabric cover our nakedness.
Sion desperately clutches me tight to his chest. “Eala, my anamchara.”
I splay my fingers across the sides of his neck, peppering his face with quick furious kisses.
Again, thunder rolls above us, and the tip of a gleaming sword as tall as a house is thrust into the ground next to us.
“Leave our realm at once, Sionnach Loho.”
Without an ounce of timidity in my bones, I stand before Finnbheara, King of the Connacht Fae, the closest being I have to a father. “This man fulfilled your bargain. The soulfall is broken, its spirits free. You cannot deny him entrance to Tír na NÓg if it is his chosen destiny.”
In a flash, Finnbheara discards the dimensions of a massive marble statue and telescopes down to the size of a tall man with lithe, corded muscles evident through his fitted, metallic tunic. He removes his helm, allowing waves of shimmering silver hair to cascade over his shoulders. Despite his now palatable proportions, waves of power still surge off him, crackling through the air. Sion and I take a step back.
“Our bargain was not with this man.” The king narrows eyes that shift color from gold, to emerald, to lilac as he stares at Sion.
Sion gulps a lungful of air. I squeeze his hand hard to keep him from opening his feisty mouth and making our situation go from terrible to impossible.
The king stretches his arm with the grace of a dancer and points a long, thin finger at Sion. “Our affection for your earthly mother, mortal, allowed you to escape a fate in the Glade of Chimes. Give thanks for that and be gone.” Finnbheara turns his back on Sion.
This time, I lay my palm over Sion’s lips when he begins to speak and give my head a single shake. The fact that Finnbheara has not sent me packing gives me a drab of hope.
Without deigning to look at us, the king offers me his arm. “My child and I have much to discuss.”
My—not our child. The king dropped the royal pronoun. Is it possible Finnbheara cares for me at all, or am I merely one more triumph in his existence of Fae trickery and bargains? He answered my call when my existence depended on it. This is my one chance to find out if I truly mean anything to him—my one risk to take—my last moment not to lose Sionnach for eternity. It is time to test if whatever I am has even a drop of Fae clout.
I shoot Sion a look I pray reads as trust me. Instead of taking the king’s arm, I move directly into his path and drop into a deep curtsy before lifting my gaze to the mighty Fae. “Great King Finnbheara, I’d like to propose my own bargain.”
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