Page 48 of Crownless Heirs

Aine’s eyes burned with anger as she stepped back from Kyron. For the briefest second, Sorcha could have sworn annoyance flickered across her face too. But just as quickly, it was gone. A composed smile returned, and she sidestepped Kyron with effortless grace.

She turned to Sorcha, extending a hand. “Shall we?”

Sorcha hesitated for only a moment before rising to her feet and following Aine. She cast a glance back, catching Kyron and Maelan watching as the swan waltzed back into the room. Then she stepped through the grand doors, the cool night air meeting her skin as she followed Aine into the garden.

Moonlight bathed the blossoms in a pale glow. Aine moved through the rows of flowers with unhurried grace, her fingertips skimming the tops of hawthorn, cornflower, and daffodils. The scent of earth and petals filled the air, thick and sweet.

She plucked a single cornflower, twirling it between her fingers as she walked. One by one, she plucked its petals, her voice soft but deliberate.

“I once knew a woman by the name of Brigid,” she began. “A member of the Tuatha Dé Danann. She was the wife of High King Bres. But theirs was a marriage of power, not love. And like her husband, she sought comfort elsewhere.”

She glanced at Sorcha, as if measuring her reaction, ensuring she was listening.

“She did bear him a son, but he was slain in the war Bres waged. And though she lived among the gods, she meddled in the lives of men. she bore a daughter half goddess, half mortal.”

Aine continued plucking petals, her steps slow, unhurried.

“The child was hidden among mortals, her ancestry kept secret. The only clues to who she truly was lay in the name she was given… and her eyes.”

Aine paused, the final petal slipping from her fingers. “Brigh.” She said the name with quiet reverence, watching as the blossom drifted to the earth. “They said her eyes burned like flame. That her beauty rivaled even her mother’s.”

Sorcha’s breath caught. She was speaking of her mother.

The realization unfurled in Sorcha’s mind like the petals of the flower Aine had dropped, blooming with clarity. Memories, stories, pieces of herself she had never fully understood now rushed forward, overwhelming her all at once.

Aine must have noticed the way Sorcha’s gaze began to dull, how she stood frozen in thought, lost in the flood of emotions. Gently, she pressed a flower into her hands.

A single cornflower.

“Did you know that the flowers I grow are not just for their beauty, but for what they signify, who they tie to?” Aine asked, carefully selecting a bouquet of cornflowers and daffodils, arranging them with precision.

Sorcha barely managed a nod, watching as Aine handed her the delicate bundle. The flowers were cool against her fingertips, their scent subtle yet grounding.

“Each is connected to a season, to a goddess, to the earth itself. We all belong to it in the end. Our ancestors’ spirits live on within the ground we walk upon, in the trees, the flowers, the breeze. We are all connected to it. We never truly leave, you just need to know where to look.”

Sorcha glanced down at the bouquet, a strange weight settling in her hands.

Aine’s voice softened. “The flowers you hold are sacred. The blossoms of the hawthorn tree, for instance, are tied to the Fae, love and protection. To harm it is to anger them, to bring misfortune to those who disturb it.”

Sorcha nodded, suddenly understanding why the garden had felt so… alive. She walked slowly, letting Aine’s words weave into the stillness of the night.

Aine hummed a song, her voice lilting like the breeze through the trees, lost in an old melody only she could hear.

Then, with a knowing smile, she whispered, “Cornflower is tied to your grandmother. And your mother the goddess of healing and fire.” She plucked a single daffodil, tucking it gently into the bouquet in Sorcha’s hands. “Daffodils are for rebirth, renewal. I’d say they suit you.”

She stepped back, studying Sorcha. “A crown of firelight, now resting on the head of the Cait Sidhe’s queen.”

She tilted her head slightly, expression thoughtful. “It’s interesting how things have changed, Sorcha. You seem to defy fate itself. Let’s hope you choose wisely when the time comes.”

With that, Aine turned and walked toward the doorway. Her hand extended slightly, fingers grazing the air.

“Come, child,” she murmured. “We have more to discuss.”

“I need a moment,” Sorcha replied, holding the bouquet tightly.

Aine nodded and stepped inside. In the garden, Sorcha held the flowers and began to tremble. Her hands gripping the flowers so tightly, her hands turning white. Flames licked her fingertips, and she watched as flames consumed the bouquet. She held them until ash rained over her hands and nothing was left but smoldering embers. She threw the ashes to the wind and exhaled slowly, watching them float away over the hills.

When Sorcha stepped inside, chaos erupted before her eyes.