Page 62 of Tasteful Anarchy and Tangled Auras

Epilogue

Adelaide

Iinsist on staying for the burial rites for the two deceased Priestesses. Alys’s body is sent to Court, which is good. I couldn’t have attended any rites for her. I feel nothing at her death. Except maybe concern that that little trick the Morrigan showed me is going to stay in my knowledge base.

After the burials, we return to Glario where Orla absolutely read me the riot act and fussed over me incessantly. We’re staying in their guest house for a while as Bryn deals with EA stuff.

Seeing little Isla climbing all over Ossy is exactly what my soul needed. As are the swims with Orla and Sean and their raft; after I threatened to go alone, my mates agreed to the group swims.

Things with the EA are bad. Bryn says Filib is aligned with us, but we’re not sure. The two council members whom we met at the Temple aren’t stepping down, which is good but hardly enough to sway things. The council is still in talks about the voting for the new Head. However, they fall to arguing almost daily about stepping out of the shadows and actively...becoming a terrorist organization, from the sounds of it.

The thought turns my stomach. Even though I wasn’t directly involved in the Troubles during my time in Ireland, I definitelysaw its effects. Besides, if the US got wind of it, they’d probably storm in and “liberate” us. These are not comforting thoughts.

Our FEC is shaken by the “Mabon Bombing,” as it’s taken to being called. I heard from Grandmother’s secretary that she is in meetings with the leaders of the Light and Dark Court. I’m assuming that’s an absolute shit show, and a call to Maudey confirms. But Grandmother took Eira with her. That concerns me.

No word from Avilion and Olwyn in Alaska. I’m still not sure why Grandmother sent them, but I’m starting to wonder if they’ll ever return.

My cycle arrived the other day. No baby here yet. I’m not sure how I feel about it. How could I bring a child into this disaster? How could I not want to get into a position where I could change things? My thoughts run in circles until my mates make me forget my name with pleasure.

I write my “words of the year” on my mirrors, like an affirmation or mantra. Strong. Ruthless.