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I looked out over the horizon and saw the vast expanse that was the Otherworld, the vibrant hues and the towering mountains that shot up above the clouds. It stole my breath, and I couldn’t help but be curious about the many wonders that existed in these lands. Wonders that I‘d never see.
Wonders and horrors, I reminded myself. As Ornan had proven, there were plenty of creatures of the dark that lurked in this world, too.
We flew most the day before landing and made camp for the evening.
The night before Samhain was the anniversary of the battle of the Fomori. And Thaya’s death. Normally I’d light a candle in her memory, but tonight I didn’t have any candles, so I took a lantern and walked into the woods. Palon lingered nearby, but I wasn’t bothered. He’d known Thaya better than I had.
My shackles clanked against my wrists as I set the lantern on the log and piled a few stones on the ground. “I’m sorry,” I murmured. I turned to Palon. “Tell me about Thaya.”
His face softened. “She was a warrior through and through. Fearless. Protective. She came off angry but really she just…” he looked to the sky. “... loved fiercely.”
She’d saved my life on more than one occasion. And I’d betrayed her in the end. Let her die in my place. “May we all love as fiercely,” I muttered, clenching my teeth against the image of Dagda that rose into my mind, almost sending me sobbing to my knees.
“Mother Goddess, grant it be so,” Palon responded.
My body wavered, legs threatening to buckle, but I wouldn’t make Thaya’s memory about my pain. She deserved better.
We stood in silence for a few more moments until the sounds of drums started up from the camp, beating in a steady rhythm. Drums of war. I jerked to Palon in alarm, but he merely motioned for me to follow him, his expression calm.
“You are not the only one to mourn those you lost this night,” he said.
I grabbed the lantern, careful to keep my jingling chains from dragging on the ground, and followed Palon through the trees. When the camp came into view, I paused, my mouth falling open. A symbol was marked in the dirt next to the fire, like a triangle, only with swirling lines that reminded me of wind. They intertwined together, curling in and out and around in an eternal loop. A power illuminated from the design.
Dagda stood at the head of the symbol, his face marked with the same figure in ash from the fire. The drums played while the guards gathered near, their faces solemn.
And Dagda’s voice drifted out over the scene. A haunting melody of war and hope and loss. It slid through me, digging into my very core. Such sorrow, such pain reverberated through every word that flowed from him that my throat constricted.
I watched as the first guard approached the emblem drawn on the ground, head bowed, drew his knife and slashed his palm. He stood over that mark while Dagda sang, letting the blood drip into the dirt. Another faerie stood next to the first, and did the same, letting his blood flow into the symbol—more and more came, until crimson covered the drawing.
“The triskele,” Palon said. “A promise to not let the sacrifice of those who died be in vain. To find a way to repay them. The magic binds us to our oaths.”
“Us?”
He shot me a glance and stepped forward. He pulled his own knife and took a free spot next to the triskele. He too, split his hand open and his blood mixed with the others. The drums played on. Dagda’s voice carried through the air, melodically telling the haunting tale of love and loss. After the last faerie had dropped their blood into the triskele, they stood to the side, head bowed, and Dagda drew his blade. I held my breath as he sliced it along his palm, tears streaking down the ash marks on his face, his voice trembling as he struggled to hold the melody. The knife cut a jagged path and he dropped to his knees, letting his blood slide into the triskele, his song fading, the drums cutting out.
Leaving only silence.
Nobody moved. I dared not breathe until Dagda’s head rose and he climbed to his feet. Then the faeries dispersed, heading off to their own tents for the evening. Dagda watched them go and then, when they’d gone, he stepped up to the fire. He stared into it for so long, I thought it had mesmerized him. His hand dropped into his pocket and he pulled out a small carved unicorn. My teeth sank into my bottom lip. Niamh’s faerie guardian had been a unicorn.
Anger struck me. He dared to defile Thaya’s memory and those who had died by remembering the one who’d caused the horrible pain and loss?
There was nothing but agony in Dagda’s eyes. His fingers curled around the carving. “Forgive me, daughter.” His words were soft. He pressed the wooden figurine to his lips and then threw it into the fire. More tears slid down his cheeks, but he didn’t move until that unicorn caught, until it went up in flames, until it burned to ash. Only then did Dagda glance up, our eyes meeting. I saw the surprise in his expression that I had watched him. That I’d stayed the entire time.
His gaze flicked between me and the fire once, then he turned and walked off, disappearing into the dark trees of the Otherworld.
Chapter 32
WhenIawokeonSamhain, the bog wasn’t far away. I found someone had placed some faerie armor in my tent during the night, no doubt on Dagda’s orders. My stomach growled with hunger, and I devoured a simple breakfast of hard bread and cheese. Palon unlocked my chains. I traced the exquisite carvings on the cuirass of the flaming bird rising from a crown. It rested on a shield guarded by two griffins. The royal crest. Before at the tournament, I hadn’t batted an eye about wearing such a symbol, but now nausea gripped me as I gazed at it.
Leaving my tent, I found Palon standing guard nearby. I walked up to him in my nightgown. The other guards quickly looked away, but he lifted an eyebrow at me. That was the nice thing about Palon. He’d been raised in a home with a bunch of other kids, boys and girls, and didn’t get embarrassed when archaic clothing rules were broken. Of course, neither did Dagda, but that was probably for other reasons.
“I want a pair of pants and a shirt,” I said to him.
“His Majesty provided you with faerie armor—”
“I don’t want faerie armor. I don’t need faerie armor…” I didn’t deserve to wear the royal crest. Not for what I was about to do. “I require a shirt and pants. It doesn’t matter if they are big. I’ll make them work. Go tell Dagda.”
Palon nodded and crossed the camp to talk to Dagda, who stood next to his faerie knight. I reentered my tent before they could start throwing glances my way. My cheeks burned. More than avoiding Dagda, every time I saw Keelin, I felt like I deserved to burn in hell for what was about to happen.
