Page 31 of Where Broken Wings Fly

On one of the mossy-overhangs above the doors, a large dragonfly twitched and fluttered its wings as we drew nearer, large glassy eyes watching our every move.

“That’s a dragonfly,” Raegan whispered to me. I was trying to pretend I didn’t hear the slight condescending nature of his voice, but I failed miserably when I turned my head to him and he winked.

“I’m aware.”

“They didn’t used to be called that, you know. We had another name for them until you humans renamed them.”

“Is that so?”

“Several centuries ago, one of my ancestors took to the sky on his faithful beast, Cogadh. He flew Cogadh amongst the humans, blind and ignorant to what he was doing. By some miracle they were capable of noticing his dragon, but not him. Though tales of the appearance spread, those who told the story were ridiculed and berated. It was only when dragonflies were later seen in the summer seasons, they believed the tale and hence named the bug after the beast that had soared.”

“Hold on – dragons?”

“You’ll soon see that many creatures lost to your myths and legends did no such thing, only retired to a smaller world where their existence would not be so easily noticed.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I find it humorous how wide your eyes open when you learn something new.”

That only bore a thousand more questions in my mind, but we finally reached the castle doors, waiting to follow Rory into the palace.

Nature endured within the interior. Flowers continued along the edges of the hallways, not in pots or vases but growing up from the cracks in the marbled floors. Instead of fireflies adorning every surface to bring light to the space, there were floor-to-ceiling panes of glass along most walls, bringing the natural light of the sun into every corner and banishing every shadow.

Rory shuttled us down hallway after hallway, occasionally passing pixies on our way who flicked their eyes up and down our bodies before gasping and bowing deeply to Raegan. He paid not a single one of them a moment of attention, instead keeping his proud chin high and his eyes pinned to the back of Rory’s head.

Rory pushed at a set of double-stone doors, revealing a throne room and motioning for us to pass him. Once we stepped past his body, he shut himself out, the doors groaning as they found themselves closed once more.

The throne room was a simple extension of the rest of the castle; polished, smooth floors and walls with panes of glass peppered throughout. The throne was centered amongst the room, not so dissimilar to the Choilltean throne in that it was made of brambles, twigs, and compacted grass and foliage. Where the room differed from Choilltean’s throne room was the constant stream of water within the fountain behind the throne, echoing a belligerent trickling sound as it ran its cycle over and over.

No one sat on the throne. Instead, there were three males sitting on carved oak chairs just in front of it, and one female sat on the end.

All three of them jumped to their feet as they noticed our sudden appearance, one of the males going so far as to collapse to his knees. It was not respect or worship that threw his body down, but the shuddering that began in his spine and took his whole body hostage as he placed his hands over his eyes.

He was the first pixie I had seen that had short hair. It was golden-brown, tickling at the tops of his dead-straight, pointed ears.

The three pixies on either side of him moved forward, grabbing him by his arms and trying to lift him to his feet as he continued to sob into his palms. When he finally pulled them away from his face and revealed puffy, red skin and tight crinkles against his forehead, I realized that I recognized his eyes. Nothing else, just his eyes.

“R-Raegan?” he stammered, one hand starting to lift in front of him as if he planned to cross the distance and touch the Prince. “You’ve come?”

Squaring his shoulders, Raegan cleared his throat several times. A few straggler pixies that I had not noticed burst forth from the corners of the room, immediately appearing in front of us and trying to offer the Prince some water. He waved them off just as quickly as they appeared, and they settled for standing a few paces behind us. All of them female, I tried to zone them out as I heard their faint whispers beginning to fade into the background.

“Good aft, Diarmuid,” Raegan performed the slightest of bows. It felt like more of an insult to make such a minute movement than not bow at all. But there was something in Raegan’s voice — something not Raegan.

“P-prince Raegan,” Diarmuid hinged so abruptly that he stumbled forward a step. “What an honour.”

Raegan did a slow sweep of the room with his eyes, the poisoned blinking of them making me wish more than ever that Killian was here. “I wish it was on joyful terms that I visit your kingdom, Diarmuid.”

Diarmuid’s face fell, no matter how quickly he tried to cover the movement up.

“I wish to speak with you about the Rachainn.”

Like every other time I had heard the name spoken aloud, murmuring ruptured the air around us. Even the three pixies surrounding Diarmuid could not help but to close their ranks, lips brushing against ears as they exchanged thoughts.

“Why don’t you and your —” Diarmuid paused to assess me, head to toe, “—consort retire for the afternoon, then join us for dinner. We shall discuss such matters then.”

Consort?

I blanched. Raegan seemed far too thrilled at the fact my whole body bristled beside him that he felt no need to correct Diarmuid.