Page 48 of Where Broken Wings Fly

“I was raised in the walls of this castle. Raegan was a grown male before I could walk. But he’s only ever been one thing to me — a good male. I think that’s why he never bound me to the ceadan by oath. I think, really, he knows that deep down I don’t know what I want to do.”

“Raegan never struck me as the perceptive-and-kind type,” I tittered, feeling far too comfortable with Niamh. To my relief, she laughed back.

“Someone with a soul so broken knows how to keep others whole.”

I swallowed and a thick layer of silence fell over us. Trying my best to shake it off, and not question what she put on my lips, I tried for another question.

“And what about Killian?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask about him.” She gave me a knowing smirk before requesting that I purse my lips. Once I did, she started back on powders along the hollows of my cheek.

“Killian is the best pixie I know.”

I was hoping with the amount of powder on my face that she wouldn’t see my cheeks flush. “Why?”

“I can’t explain it. There’s just something in him, something good and pure.” She finished her sentence with a soft smile before setting down her various cosmetic tools — if one could even call them that — and motioned for me to rise. I was glad there wasn’t a mirror in the vicinity, because I had a feeling I did not want to see what she had done to my face.

“He taught me how to shoot my bow, you know?”

Niamh was no longer talking directly to me, instead just offering the words to the room as her mind appeared to be elsewhere.

“Green or black?”

“Huh?” I spun around to see her standing before me, two gowns in her hand. She lifted them both out in front of her, cocking her head as she compared the colours of them to my face.

“Black.” She nodded. “Definitely black. Suits you better.”

If that wasn’t the story of my life, I wasn’t sure what was.

18

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I was sure I was just imagining it, but the silky, black gown that Niamh had forced me into felt like it melted off of my body like the rushing drop of a waterfall. It draped off of every part of me; the sleeves dripping from my fingers, the hem pooling against the earth beneath me. On the rare occasion that I dared to look down at it, it glistened and sparkled in the faintest, most elegant of ways that wasn’t demanding but was mesmerizing.

It was a little too much for me. I was used to wearing the following: dark-navy scrubs covered in far too many questionable stains, an oversized hoodie and tattered jeans when I dared to leave the house, and my every-hour attire of black sweats and a shirt that could have fit a grizzly bear.

~

Niamh escorted me out of the guest-chambers, along the length of the hallway, and down the spiralled staircase towards the castle foyer.

There, the world expanded and burst around me. Every firefly on this planet seemed to have gathered for the Beltane Ball, fluttering wildly in every direction and casting off sparks of light that were not just golden, but every colour of the rainbow. Purples and blues and oranges melted together amongst the hallways, meeting with the reds and pinks and whites that buzzed from room to room. The whole castle was alight with them, leaving not a single shadow or corner of darkness behind.

Just like the fireflies, the pixies were all radiant with their own shades. Not just the familiar dark reds, greens, and browns of Choilltean, but a variety of hues that fluttered from room to room. Hair that draped down past knees, hair that was cut short into abrupt spikes. Skin that was tinted with brilliance, shimmering in both natural and unnatural colours and accentuated with sparkling powder. Wings spread behind backs, some transparent and iridescent, others thicker and sturdier with solid colours.

And not a single one had spared on excellence. The females wore gowns just as magnificent as mine, long stretches of elegant material that swept around their bodies and illuminated them in their own unique halos. The males wore tight-fitting clean shirts tucked into equally as sculpted pants. There was no armour in sight, no swords or axes or bows to be seen.

Between the fireflies, the air itself was alive. Dust, not wood-dust but what could only be described as magic floated through the castle, creating lines and swirls of an ethereal glow that painted wild paths from one room to the other.

Niamh affirmed her hold around my elbow as my knees started to tremble beneath me. I had never seen anything like this sight, nor would I ever see anything like it again. No painter would be capable of capturing such a sight, no camera technical enough to pick up every tiny detail. Like Killian had promised — pegasus’ and dragons and miniature chickens were nothing in comparison to the surreal sight that stretched before me.

“Beltane is usually hosted by Choilltean,” Niamh muttered to me as we finished stepping off of the last stair. “For Lughnasadh we gather in Speur. Samhain is usually in Uisge. And Imbolc belongs to Cluaineach.”

“All of Saoghal is here?” I breathed, my jaw incapable of ever closing again.

“Those who wish to be, yes.” Niamh narrowed her eyes, trying her best to peer through the crowds. “It looks like the Cluaineach group is absent. But they usually are, when it comes to travelling to Choilltean.”

It was hard to wonder why.