Page 32 of Where Broken Wings Fly

He nodded once to Diarmuid, interlocked our arms at the elbow, and pivoted us towards the exit. “Come, consort,” he beamed, his grin just as childish and mischievous as Killian’s.

13

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I was thankful when Raegan dropped me off at the guest-chamber assigned to us and left me just as quickly.

I was also thankful, no matter how much I had enjoyed Choilltean, that the first thing I saw in that bedroom was a hairbrush. Sure, it was made of bones or wood or something that I dared not question, but the thought of having smooth, tamed hair once more was a relief like none other.

In the few hours that Raegan left me, alone, in the guest-chambers, I did exactly that. I worked at my hair tirelessly, freeing it of the knots and mats and debris, until it was a silky, near-sunlight colour and texture once more.

When Raegan did return, I was taken aback to see that he, too, had combed through his hair. As much must have shown on my face as he stepped into the room, because he immediately frowned at me.

“If you mention this to the others—”

“My lips are sealed,” I chuckled. “You have very pretty hair, Raegan.”

It was even more surprising that he laughed at my mocking. “I believe I dug four beetles out of it.”

“Ah.” I rose from the four-postered bed I had been perched on. “Five in mine.”

“Impressive.”

We shared a moment of mutual enjoyment of one another's company, before he cut it short.

“Diarmuid will want to hear your account of what happened with the Rachainn.”

“I figured as much.”

“We’re expected down at dinner in a few minutes. Here—” he set down a pile of clothes on the nearest table, because the thought of approaching me and passing them over was too farfetched. “Rory is outside your door. He will escort you down to the feast.”

Nodding, I waited for Raegan to depart without an additional word spoken, and strode over to the pile. My fingers grazed against the silky material. It was unlike anything I had ever touched before — soft yet firm, light yet strong. It seemed to attract light, no matter where it was, constantly illuminated in the faintest of sheens not so different to the glazing of the pixies wings that I had seen.

Once dressed — less than impressed with the fact my midriff was on show and the majority of my back was uncovered — I slipped out of the door and met Rory with a smile.

“You look wonderful, Olivia.” He bowed to me and I fought the desire to offer him something back.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” With the hook of his elbow on display, I bit down on my tongue and tried to remind myself not to trust such a kind, soft face. I kept that reminder in the fore of my mind as I took his arm, letting him lead me back down to the throne room.

Twisting far too often in an attempt to cover my revealed skin, Rory and I arrived in the throne room several minutes later where we were met with an abundance of pixies. Like the pixies of Choilltean, those of Cluaineach had a distinct look to them. Hair like meadows; greens and yellows and pinks, hair like the dirt that the meadow grows from; honey-browns, light-browns, and the occasional darker hue. Their skin often followed suit, each one with a faint tint that carried the colour of their hair across their flesh and even coloured their eyes. Then there were the ones with wings, frail limbs behind them with that translucent sheen that stretched from top to bottom, iridescent and constantly sending a scatter of rainbow-colours across the room when light hit them just right.

It was easy to find Raegan amongst them all. He was the only one without a grin of pure thrill across his face and a glimmer in his eye. He sat at the head of the large table erected in the center of the room, most of the chairs adjacent to him already filled with pixies of importance.

Rory led me wordlessly towards that table, where we stopped before two open chairs and Rory motioned to a female pixie sitting next to them.

“Olivia, this is Aisling.” He smiled, Aisling quickly swinging her head over her shoulder to see us. She was like cotton-candy — the pink-kind not the blue — with how that overpowering colour possessed her whole being.

“Olivia!” Aisling grinned, her watermelon eyes twinkling as she looked me over head to toe. “Lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” I muttered as Rory pulled out a chair for me, the one that indicated I would be placed between them. She pushed some of her bubble-gum hair from her shoulders and furthered a beamed expression in my direction, causing me to blush nervously as Rory took the seat beside me.

While Raegan and Diarmuid spoke about politics between the kingdoms, updating one another of the comings and goings of their lands, I was wedged tight between Rory and Aisling.

And damn were they chatty. No matter what they had to say, they forced me into the conversation. Whether it was speaking directly to me or pressing against my side as they conversed, I had no choice but to listen to them instead of home in on Raegan’s conversation. Maybe he had planned it that way.

“I’ve never seen Diarmuid so thrilled,” Rory said, his mouth full of Brussels sprouts. The dark tinge to them was a harsh contrast to his vibrant hair, which was pulled back into a bun as he ate.