ã€ŠDreamã€‹


 1. The Dream Shatters

    At last, kneeling before Ois¨ªn''s memorial cairn, Fuiseog wept. The heavy wash of his grief burst forth all at once, its outlet finally known. In front of his soldiers, his people, his subjects, he had saved face. Even as he felt his soul grow heavier than it had been in a long while, and they brought the body already breaking down and flowering into camp, he had kept his composure. It was simply the way it was meant to be.

    He cupped a yellow rose that sprang up around the stones and released his half of Ois¨ªn''s soul. As much as he yearned to hold on, to feel its hollow warmth beating in his arms, his lover would never meet Cernunnos without a complete being. In that moment, Fuiseog wished for little else than to go to Cernunnos himself, but the lord of wild things had no patience for those who sought him before their time. Yellow roses, he thought bitterly. Yes, that was appropriate. As rare and handsome in death as life. Fuiseog hoped his death would be so beautiful and tragic. Lavender, he thought. He would turn to lavender.

    His mother, Queen F¨®dla, four years prior, had turned to a single great yew tree. Predictable, if nothing else. Yew had always been her favorite, and it had been under the roots of the yew he had first slipped into this realm. And it was the yew again that led him back after his years among the humans. He still felt the presence of Ois¨ªn beside him at that mourning, his quiet presence the only thing that had held Fuiseog¡¯s broken pieces together.

    The last visage slipped from his bosom, and he rose, mithril clinking lightly like bells in the wind. Grief quickly turned to determination and rage. Those responsible for this crime would pay.  That day, that hour, that moment. He had played these war games as they were meant to be for years. This was different. He knew, still, his people would expect him to lean onto their traditions. As lord after his mother, he was held to the highest degree of scrutiny against true born fae-kind. But this time, his second coming, he had all the memories of being human. He shifted his being halfway across the ever-green countryside to the outside of his uncle''s pavilion.

    A handful of attendants stepped back in alarm. They too, of course, could move at will where they pleased, though it was considered bad manners. Fuiseog took two strides across the mossy cobblestone until he stood above his distant relation. Another bit of magic brought his mother''s spear to his hand, hurtling through the air from where it had sat gathering dust in his tent, and he planted the wooden end into the mortar with force enough to create a shower of dust.

    "Nephew. A nasty bit of business that last attack. A pity for your loss."

    His uncle, Duke Cailey of the Golden Hills, all rolls of rolling fat, his small silver throne buckling under the sheer weight it bore, licked more grease from his fingers. Slob, Fusieog had always thought. The duke¡¯s yellowed teeth showed in a wide grin.

    "I suppose you want vengeance?"

    "Name the cur, and they will meet my spear when the sun is high," Fuiseog growled.

    Cailey motioned with fat fingers, and a knight in midnight armor strode forth from the shadows, the metal all but whistling against itself as they walked. A long blade made of the same dark material sat propped on one shoulder, and the knight placed a gauntlet on their hip in a gesture much like, And what are you going to do?

    "Ser Keir, at your service. A cur, not, but a fine knight in my employ certainly.¡±

    ¡°At my service? Choose your words lightly, uncle.¡±

    ¡°For this purpose, yes. At your service. You will meet, as you wish, and end this.¡±

    By this, the wide grin said that could mean the matter of Ois¨ªn¡¯s death, or the war were that sword to find Fuiseog¡¯s neck. It would not. Fuiseog retreated from the pavilion and conjured a rune in the dirt to mark the field of battle. The sun inched closer to its zenith, and he squatted down using the spear as a balance point. Soon.

    The attendants returned to their liege at a frantic snap of the duke¡¯s fingers, and began to flap feathers as big as their bodies to fan him. Still he dined, a habit Fuiseog had noted was almost constant for the duke, and all the while Ser Keir remained still. Finally, as the tepid humidity reached a peak, and the sun stood straight in the sky, the knight approached silently. An odd choice, armor that made no noise. Odd, at least, for the fae. A people of pomp and circumstance, the jingle of armor was as iconic and customary as the weapon each warrior chose. Keir¡¯s feet crossed the ring, and Fuiseog spoke.

    ¡°Let it be laid bare. This ring allows only death. Two enter, and one may leave.¡±

    Keir remained silent, and Fuiseog shrugged. All the better, for he had no desire to hear whatever pity the knight would spit. He rose from the ground, and planted his spear once again in the ground. Keir drew their sword, again perfectly silent, and assumed a low stance. The clouds moved overhead, a wind picking up and blowing Fuiseog¡¯s cloak to the side. At the wave of a hand, an attendant came to stand just outside the circle. Another formality. To start the battle at a count. Ois¨ªn, he knew, was given no such courtesy.

    It was tiring, the whole charade. The fae were a complicated people, weighed down by tradition and aesthetic. There were times, even after his mother¡¯s intense education in etiquette, that Fuiseog wished he could do away with it all. The greatest human nations, he knew, were born from revolution. But he had a kingdom to manage, and the people didn¡¯t want change, not yet. This, though was where he drew the line.

    The attendant made the grand announcement of their rank, their achievements, their motives. Fuiseog tuned all of it out, listening only for the signal to begin, as he glared at Keir. The knight remained passive, unmoved by wind or fear or ambition. Like a machine waiting only for the press of its switch. The signal came, and the spear was a blur as it aimed straight for Keir¡¯s chestplate. Slow. Keir¡¯s sword parried just in time to avoid total annihilation, but the spear still carried through and pierced their shoulder. Dislodging it, Fuisoeg lunged again, aiming for their leg. Keir was now in motion, jumping the strike and the following swipe up towards their groin, and they moved towards Fuiseog with a blinding speed. Though to Fuiseog, the sword swam through the air in slow motion. He stepped around the strike, and with practiced precision aimed his spearpoint up through the bottom of Keir¡¯s helmet. The knight, adjusting their speed once again, redirected the blow to the side, instead knocking the helmet clean from their head. The face underneath was young, no more than nineteen in human years, and utterly genderless.

    Keir moved faster, beads of sweat forming on their forehead as they lunged with a right feint that quickly turned to swing upwards towards Fuiseog¡¯s other side. His spear met the blade once again, and he leveled a quick slice that cut into the space in Keir¡¯s armor between the greaves and chestpiece. Kier stumbled back, placing a hand on their thigh to stabilize themselves. Then they were in motion again, bringing a wide strike down towards Fuiseog¡¯s head. He sidestepped again, and the sword changed direction faster than he¡¯d anticipated, drawing a shallow cut on his shoulder before he spun away. He needed to end this.  He watched Keir ready themselves, bringing their sword up in a defensive stance across their body, and watch him as well. The knight¡¯s eyes were lifeless, and he noticed suddenly that despite the two wounds he¡¯d already delivered to Keir, there was no blood except his own. He watched for another moment, the near-stillness of Keir¡¯s form as they waited for him to make his move, like a robot trained for this exact purpose.

    Fuiseog knew immediately how this duel was meant to end. Keir, he now realized, was probably nothing more than a husk filled with the duke¡¯s magic. He was meant to let his rage control him, never noticing Keir didn¡¯t tire or weaken with injury, until that sword would meet his neck. The rumors were true, then. There had been no honorable combat for Ois¨ªn. There was no way his lover, a man very much his equal in combat, would have even come close to losing in a head-on fight against a living fae knight. But alas, death was death. A blade in the back killed just as easily as a spear through the skull.

    This duel would have to end soon. He whispered a blessing under his breath, one usually reserved for sending a soul on to the afterlife, and gripped his spear tighter. In one motion, he thrust the spear towards Keir¡¯s exposed side, and when the blade turned to intercept it, Fuiseog let his body drop slightly and shift so the spear drove with all his might through the center of Keir¡¯s armor. The knight stumbled back, the spear going with them, and tried to ready themselves for the counterstrike. Instead, the spear glowed faintly as Fuiseog¡¯s blessing took hold, and the whole of Keir shuddered violently as their spirit shook itself free from the corpse. The wind picked up again, suddenly chilly, and as Fuiseog shivered he swore he heard a soft, thank you, pass by.

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    The runic circle sprang suddenly into green flames and shrank, passing harmlessly through Fuiseog and consuming Keir¡¯s body in less than a breath. There would be no flowers, no tomb, nothing. Cernunnos would be final judge and jury.

    Fuiseog stepped away, taking a cloth from the officiating attendant to wipe his spear clean. The only sound was that of distant songbirds chirping and the wind in the grass. Even the duke had ceased his endless feast, eyes wide and a dribble of spit dangling from one corner of his mouth. No doubt he thought the tales of the ruthless king only a clever exaggeration.

    ¡°You hear them, uncle?¡± He placed a hand emphatically to his ear. ¡°Larks. They call for my victory.¡±

    ¡°Or your death,¡± the duke said, trying to regain some composure. ¡°We shall see, nephew. Back to your people now, and celebrate this small victory.¡±

    It was Fuiseog¡¯s turn to grin wildly, rising to his full height as he came to stand towering over Duke Cailey on his throne. He saw a tremble in the fat man¡¯s face, a terror he knew was rare for high-born fae.

    ¡°True,¡± Fuiseog hissed, ¡°I could return to them. Or, I could end the war here and now.¡±

    ¡°A blemish, then, on your honor? You would besmirch yourself for this pettiness?¡± Cailey¡¯s voice quivered with his jowls.

    The king¡¯s hand shot out and closed in an iron grip around the duke¡¯s throat. He watched as his uncle¡¯s face went from pallor to red, deeper and deeper until it was a blue-purple. Only then did he throw the man back, toppling the throne and leaving the duke in a fit of coughing in the dirt.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I think I want to make you suffer a little longer. We shall see what those loyal to you reap.¡± Fuiseog  waved his hand, and the throne and duke both returned themselves magically to their places. Cailey was breathing heavily, unsure what he was meant to do now. Fuiseog chuckled lowly. ¡°Look at you. All ready to piss yourself. You were never fit to be king. My mother would have found another to take your place either way.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not¡ª¡± the Duke started, but Fuiseog was already gone, his only remanant the sound of the birds edging closer. Before any attendants could run, the army of larks swarmed in, beaks and talons ripping most of them to bloody shreds around Duke Cailey. And they sang the whole while, a lilting song that heralded the dawn despite by then being after midday. It was Fuiseog¡¯s calling card, that song, played everytime his armies marched. His namesake, for it was that same song that had welcomed him the first time among these people when he¡¯d stepped through the thorn-covered door as a child. It was that song that had played when he and Ois¨ªn had exchanged portions of their souls, upon being wed. As the birds once again took to the air, leaving no survivors save the Duke himself¡ªstill unscathed beyond a growing bruise around his throat¡ªthe song was heard for the last time.

    Halfway across the land, Fuiseog once again stood before the tomb. He waited and listened, trying to hear what nature dictated. Eventually, a single bird flew close and perched on the tower of stones. Fuiseog sat on the grass, waiting, and after a thorough grooming under one wing, the bird sang a sour dirge. The king committed it to memory, and whistled it to himself as he made the slow climb back up to the castle and his citizens. Let them fear this, he thought, the sound of their death on the wind.

    Elsewhere¡ªand nowhere, really¡ªOis¨ªn found himself falling. For a while, after he had felt cold steel slide between his ribs, he had been floating above the world. He had seen his body fall to the ground, the knight in silent armor slinking away as Fuiseog¡¯s soldiers filed in around his corpse and carried him to camp. He had seen the pain in his king¡¯s face as he gazed down at Ois¨ªn¡¯s body, already turning to flowers. Yellow roses. Hah. If his spirit could laugh, it would, but instead he felt no mirth, no sadness, only the empty void around him. He followed his corpse on its journey back to the castle, as it was placed on the ground and given rites to finish its transformation. He watched as Fuiseog strode along the shoreline and picked rocks for the cairn, carrying them up in his cloak and stacking them carefully. He watched as all composure left his husband¡¯s face, and he broke down, and when he saw the silver glow as the other half of his soul left Fuiseog¡¯s body, he had only a second to shed a tear before he was ripped away.

    Instead of hard ground, a nest of soft moss came up to meet him, and the void became a dense forest. The nest pulsed with energy, like one giant heartbeat beneath him. Ois¨ªn grabbed a handful, tearing it up roughly, and it instantly withered as it left the ground. The small clearing itself, three strides by three, was softly lit by a sunshine that didn¡¯t originate from the dense canopy above. It simply was. The sound of flint striking steel rung behind out him, startling Ois¨ªn to attention, and another gentle light began to filter through his vision. He turned to find a line of torches advancing down a narrow path, their long bodies gnarled and woody as if hewn from the trees themselves bark and all. Rising, he tentatively reached out, yet felt no heat. He plunged his hand fully into the flame, and still there was no sensation. Turning again, he found the trees on the other sides of him so dense as to be impassable. Forwards, then.

    After four torches, the path fell away into darkness before him, though more torches sprung up as Ois¨ªn drew closer. He took another look behind him, and found the path he¡¯d already walked had been swallowed in that ever-present darkness. It wasn¡¯t the gentle retreat of the sun in place of the moon, but a pure black through which nothing could be seen. He continued forwards. Another four, then more lit, another four, so on. He lost count at some point and began sprinting forwards, but still the pattern repeated. Is this the afterlife, he wondered, a hell where I follow torches for all eternity? No sooner had he stopped sprinting, instead deciding to plop down onto the ground, then he was no longer on the path. As before, he found himself prone on a bed of soft moss, sunlight now visibly creeping through a different set of branches. When he sat up this time, he was surrounded. Two great shaggy wolfhounds, seven feet at the shoulder, sat perched by his feet, and he noted two more farther away beside a throne of living wood. A handful of trees had grown close, twining around each other, before straightening along the back and climbing to join the others in the canopy. In the space of a blink, the throne went from dark and empty to lit in the same sunbeam and occupied. The creature¡ªthe man, as Ois¨ªn corrected himself on further staring¡ªwas simultaneously foreign and familiar to his mind. A dark brown goatee hid his mouth in shadow, and a mess of auburn curls topped a head punctuated by two grand antlers emerging from either temple. The man was bare from the waist-up, tanned-skin almost like leather, except for a bear-skin cloak, and below the waist he wore a tight loincloth that left nothing to the imagination over thickly-muscled ram legs. And beyond, even from the distance between them, Ois¨ªn knew the man to be almost twice his own size. Ois¨ªn was taken aback. He¡¯d long envisioned Cernunnos, lord of all wild things, to be strange - but surely normal-sized.

    ¡°So,¡± Ois¨ªn said, ¡°I¡¯m dead.¡±

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± the god replied, ¡°Call it more of an¡­in-between state.¡±

    Cernunnos¡¯s voice registered on two different levels. It began soft and voiceless, the sound of wind through the trees and the crackling of a warm fire, but after a second it picked up over-top as a deep rumble in a language Ois¨ªn understood.

    ¡°I failed. I didn¡¯t return triumphant to Fuiseog. And now he is without his other half.¡±

    ¡°Again, not exactly. There is a way.¡±

    ¡°Then plague me no more, Cernunnos, and tell me.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have the power you seek. It is beyond my forest.¡±

    ¡°Where, then? Tell me and I¡¯m on my way.¡±

    ¡°You seek Aengus, in the highlands, far from these woods.¡±

    ¡°Set me only on the path, dear lord, if I can once again see Fuiseog.¡±

    ¡°In due time, but you should know the rules:

    ¡°This is an opportunity rare indeed, for I have plucked your soul from the stream. This in itself is an affront to the other Tuath D¨¦. You cannot leave these woods without my blessing, and my curse. This alone will save you their wrath. I would bestow upon you a torc, a symbol of my power, to be fused around your neck. Thirteen days, you have, to reach your destination and convince Aengus of your love, pure and true. He alone can restore your sole to the living realm. This is not a task easily done, nor a path easily walked. I control only these woods. Each land you step into is the domain of my brothers and sisters, and each will try to harry you from your task with their demands for passage. Your wisdom and wit are your only weapons against the other gods. I know you have a tongue as sharp as your mind, and I have faith that with patience you will prevail.¡±

    ¡°Then, the curse?¡± Ois¨ªn asked, voice feeling so small next to that of his lord.

    ¡°The torc. It is protection, a charm against meddling, but it comes with the thirteen day price. All those who take my sigil become one with the forest. Each day you spend with it around you, you will begin to change form. A stag, I think, for one of your nature. First the antlers, then the legs. On, until the end of the thirteenth day when it will take your voice, and you will no longer be able to speak to Aengus.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± It was simple statement, but the only thing he could muster.

    ¡°It is not a boonless curse. Even should you fail and become a stag, you have been chosen. The torc will return you to me, and you will enjoy endless peace in my woods until such time as Fuiseog comes here naturally, as his mother did before him.¡±

    ¡°Then I see no choice.¡±

    ¡°There is always a choice. Even if it is an impossible one. Should you refuse the torc, I would simply guide you on to the fields where you can enjoy the afterlife as you have earned.¡±

    ¡°Impossible, yes. But a choice I see no options against. I will take the torc.¡±

    Cernunnos waved a hand through the air, causing a shimmer like an illusion being cast, and the air became suddenly hot sucking Ois¨ªn¡¯s breath away. The superheated gas coalesced into the shape of an open ring, and resolved into a beautiful golden torc, engraved with leaves and small intricate scenes of fawn playing. The god motioned Ois¨ªn closer, and when he was standing level with the god¡¯s knees, Cernunnos reached down and placed the torc around his neck. The gold heated enough only to bend the ring into its final closed shape, a perfect collar that would be impossible to remove without the god¡¯s intervention again.

    ¡°What happens if I succeed, lord?¡±

    Cernunnos chuckled. ¡°You know, I have no idea. I¡¯ve never seen anyone actually convince Aengus before. Good luck, Ois¨ªn.¡±

    And with that, the god was gone, once again leaving the empty throne in shadow. A single wolfhound remained, and yipped once to Ois¨ªn¡¯s right. There was once again a long path lined by torches. He sighed. Gods, this would be a long journey.

 2. Thus Begets the Journey

    "This was my home, once," Guthund said quietly, coming to a stop just ahead of Ois¨ªn.

    The man followed, and the view from atop the hill took his breath away. Below them stretched a city that rivaled any Ois¨ªn could even imagine. A cobbled wall, tall but thin stretched impossibly on and on as far as he could see in either direction. The houses¡ªor so he presumed from that distance¡ªwere detailed and his vision swam with their bright colors and jagged lines. He had thought his own home big, a town of thousands of fae that clustered in packed streets anytime he and Fuiseog came down from the castle along the main road. The city Guthund now presented, Ois¨ªn guessed, would hold a thousand times that number.

    Without any other words, the two of them descended the hill and made for the gates. The great limbering iron grate sat rusted in its frame and wide enough across that seventeen wagons wheel-to-wheel could have passed through with room to spare. The houses, now close enough to inspect, were indeed extravagantly detailed, and yet much smaller than he had thought. Ois¨ªn himself was an average-sized fae, but even he would have to duck considerably to enter any of them. The colors up close on each roof and hanging across the street on wires were a myriad rainbow of shades Ois¨ªn knew in his heart shouldn''t exist. He was so enraptured, Guthund had to nip at his hand to keep him from trampling a citizen hopping across the path in front of them.

    "Oops, hey. Sorry about that," Ois¨ªn said, taking a step back from the small rabbit now cleaning its ears and glaring up at him. It wore a small tan vest, a pen in the pocket, but no other ornaments.

    "Whatever," the rabbit said shrugging, and hopped along on its way.

    Though it would have shocked Ois¨ªn a day before, a rabbit¡ªor any animal for that matter¡ªwearing clothes and speaking was no longer an entirely foreign concept. It had begun with Guthund, the single wolfhound who remained to guide him out of Cernunnos''s woods. Along the path, the dog had been silent except for an occasional growl and nudge when Ois¨ªn began to slow; however, when they''d at last cleared the last grove of trees and emerged into the sunshine along a dusty dirt trail leading into rolling hills, the dog''s barks suddenly morphed into words. At him jumping back and looking startled, Guthund had only given his best wolfish grin and sighed in relief that the torc had begun to work its magic. The first stage, apparently, was rewiring his brain to understand animal speech.

    There had been a couple farms along the trail tended by all manner of beasts, one of which they''d stopped at once the sun had set and bartered a meal off the farmer in exchange for waking at dawn to help haul in the first load of wheat. These were the lands of Beithe Br¨ªd, Guthund had said, queen of healing and domesticated animals. When a pet died, whether bonded to human or fae, it ended up in her lands to live out the life they''d wished to have with their masters. For some that meant taking up the farm they had grown up on. For others, they lived in the city going about their business under Br¨ªd''s castle. For Guthund, he had been born in the city, a direct creation of the goddess eventually gifted to Cernunnos to help guide any souls that wanted to trek further into Tir na n¨®g into her lands.

    Ois¨ªn rubbed at his scalp absently. Since the previous night, he''d had an incurable itch. On examining his reflection upon waking, he saw two small bumps forming just above both of his temples. Antlers, most likely, as Guthund had said. One day of his thirteen gone, and he was already growing antlers. If nothing else, Ois¨ªn wished vainly he would still be attractive as he slowly transformed. And that the snout wasn''t the very next thing.

    Guthund led the way through the city, and Ois¨ªn quietly marveled at the menagerie of animals that surrounded them. Though the concept was no longer so shocking, he was still amazed by the variety of pets people had kept in their lives. There were dogs, cats, rabbits, things he would easily imagine. But when a great beast lumbered past, several times his height and mottled in shades of yellow and brown, he wondered where such a thing even came from. Then again, he thought, Queen F¨®dla had been fond of keeping badgers. One in particular, an older one with a star-shaped patch of gray fur on its hindquarters, had been the messenger sent to bring Fuiseog to the fae realm.

    "Guthund, do some people already understand animal-speech?" he asked suddenly.

    "Of course, but it''s not as common outside of the fae nobility. It does happen though. Why?"

    "My spouse, Fuiseog, was born human but I have the suspicion now he could understand animals. He kept one particular badger close, like a confidante, though I only ever heard it squeak now and again."

    "Oh, old Graystar? Yes, I imagine your suspicion is well-founded, Ois¨ªn. Queen F¨®dla never does seem to tire of talking about that little one. She probably passed the gift to her son."

    Ois¨ªn nodded, but stayed silent, and they continued on. Though impossibly large, the city did begin to slant upwards gradually towards the castle. At one point they passed a market, and Guthund stopped at a couple stalls to make small talk. Ois¨ªn as well wandered briefly, stopping at store fronts that piqued his interest: A long thin building completely filled with hundreds of bees the size of kittens, all talking over each other as they flew from honey comb to honey comb with jars to collect the excess; a racoon who kept licking their lips nervously as they showed off silver watches clearly painted gold; a hedgehog with thick glasses quietly sewing an extraordinarily long dress train surrounded by similar garments in that same impossible rainbow. The whole while, Ois¨ªn kept Guthund in his sight and followed along so as not to lose him.

    Eventually, they passed out of the other side of the square and found themselves on the doorstep of the castle. Much as the city''s, the iron gates were already up, unmanned, and nearly rusted beyond use. Guthund padded his way in without another thought. Ois¨ªn scratched his scalp again, and suddenly felt a wetness growing where he touched. He pulled his hand back, and there was blood streaked on his fingers and under his nails. He tsked to himself, wiping what he could on his undershirt, though he felt a small hot bead running down the side of his head. The wolfhound looked back at him, and chuckled.

    "Glacann d¡¯ainm br¨ª." <i>Your name takes on meaning.</i>

    Ois¨ªn rolled his eyes. Fuiseog would have maybe found the irony funny, but he wasn''t here. Ois¨ªn crossed his arms and hoped Beithe Br¨ªd wasn''t a snob about the appearance of her guests. Or, she had a change of wardrobe for him. He still wore the same tunic and trousers he''d died in and carried his armor in a backpack at Guthund''s insistence. Showing up ready for battle was bad manners, at least in Beithe Br¨ªd''s particular part of the afterlife. A shadow caught his attention, and he found that a hare dressed in a page''s livery had materialized in front of them. It bowed.

    "Your presence is honored and requested, Lord Ois¨ªn. Come."

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    The hare reached out a paw which Guthund placed his on top of and motioned for Ois¨ªn to do the same. As soon as his fingers brushed fur, they were gone from the castle courtyard. He found himself on one knee in a throne room lilting with song. A hundred birds fluttered between marble beams, singing a song that soothed the trouble in his heart. The tiles beneath him were checkered in gold and the same bright marble and led in a haphazard pattern towards a dais on which rested Beithe Br¨ªd. She sat lounging on a large pile of pillows and blankets, resplendent in a long primrose dress ornamented with small clear quartz beads.

    When she shifted to sit up straighter, the dress rippled and whispered in a way that was exactly a summer breeze. For a second, Ois¨ªn was whisked back in his mind to a particular day a few years prior, before Queen F¨®dla''s passing, when he and Fuiseog had snuck out of the castle. They''d hiked through the foothills surrounding the town and stopped in the shade of an old oak to eat. Though the air had been heavy and hot, Fuiseog had simply intertwined his fingers with Ois¨ªn''s and traced a small circle over and over on the back of his hand. Then, a light wind began to blow around them, light enough to cool them but not rob them of the sun''s heat entirely. Ois¨ªn had then opened the basket he carried, handing Fuiseog a small pastry he''d swiped from the kitchen. Fuiseog took one bite, smiled, and pressed himself to Ois¨ªn...

    "Remarkable."

    Beithe Br¨ªd''s soft voice broke him from his spell, and he felt tears joining the blood to stain his face. The taste of the pastry, muddled on Fuiseog''s mouth, was still fresh on his lips. A great shiver of longing ran through the core of his being. The goddess smiled.

    "You are healed, kin of F¨®dla, though you did not know you were broken."

    "Healed?" he asked hoarsely, finding himself weak suddenly.

    "Death robs mortals of their stronger emotions. But it is those emotions you will need on your quest."

    "You know of me, my lady?"

    "I have seen your kind pass this way before. And like them before, I will give you what I can to help. Be warned, for many of the other Tuath D¨¦ are not so...kind. There are rules, you see. Your people are known for their cleverness, but the gods are infinitely more so."

    Ois¨ªn made to ask about the rules, but the goddess shushed him.

    "Answers will come in time, dear Ois¨ªn. Each of the gods will have their tasks for you. You would be wise to heed them. Each is a treasured gift, if you will. And mine is patience." She gestured to the same hare that had summoned them to the audience chamber. "Gasta will show you to a room where you may refresh yourself and your garb. We will sit for a late lunch, and then I will hold you no longer."

    It was only then Ois¨ªn felt the deep hunger in his stomach. He had never known how hungry death could make a person. Gasta hopped past him with a nod, and he followed after bowing to the goddess. The hare led him through an ornate doorway he noted quickly was decorated with carved figures of leaping stags. Dejectedly, he rubbed at his own nubs of antlers. <i>I wish my antlers would just grow out already. At least I might look dignified then.</i> The hallway too was decorated with the carvings, and thin but vibrant vines framed the windows. Gasta did stop eventually, though Ois¨ªn had not been paying close enough attention to count doors.

    "Your suite, sir. Wash up, and I''ll have a change of clothes ready for you."

    Inside, there was a large tub set into the floor, looking as if it were carved from a single massive slab of granite and polished to an unnatural sheen. Along the edge, there was a jar of soap root and a cotton towel interwoven with golden swirls of stitching. The tub was already full and having stripped off his worn and slightly bloody clothes, Ois¨ªn discovered the water was still warm. He stepped in slowly, letting a deep sigh escape. Regardless, he wasted no time lathering the soap and scrubbing around his antlers and his face. The water swirled with muddy red as he rinsed. When he felt clean, he pulled himself back out and dried. As promised, a small vanity had appeared on one side of the room with a neat pile of folded garments on top; though, annoyingly, he found his own clothes and backpack gone. He considered his reflection. Nothing about him screamed that he was dead. There was still the same spark in his eyes, his skin hadn''t paled any, even the wound from where he''d been stabbed was gone. All that was changed were the antlers now sprouting from his temples. Though, he admitted to himself, they had grown considerably even since leaving the bath. The velvety bone had begun to branch out like those of the carved stags. <i>There''s one good thing, at least. </i>He unfolded the clothes and found a similar tunic and trousers to the ones he''d shed, albeit fancier. Underneath was a modified set of mithril chainmail, more similar to that worn by Fuiseog than Ois¨ªn''s own plate armor. It fit him perfectly though, and with matching leather boots, he almost felt complete. All that was missing were his sicas and Fuiseog.

    Gasta still waited outside the door, and at Ois¨ªn''s nod of approval, they were off. The audience chamber had been transformed in his short absence. The long floor was now lined with tables of light fare: berries still glistening with dew; glass pitchers of water already forming condensation from the afternoon heat; small crustless cucumber sandwiches. One low table spanned the whole center of the room, lined by animals sitting on cushions conversing quietly, and headed by the goddess herself picking at a plate with her fingers. She caught Ois¨ªn''s eye and waved him over. She motioned to the cushion beside her.

    "Take your place, lord, and dine. Gasta," she smiled at the hare, "Be merry and rest. Your duty is fulfilled."

    Without another word, the hare was off and joined his friends near the far end of the table. Ois¨ªn sat on his cushion and sighed. A plate was set before him, covered in exactly what he would have grabbed from the buffet. He ate, but his focus was far away. It would be a long journey still to reach Aengus, and he dreaded how long it would take to convince the god of love to take pity on him. He wondered what these tasks Beithe Br¨ªd spoke of from the other gods would be.

    "You still doubt," the goddess said softly.

    "Yes, my lady. Did the others before me even reach Aengus before their time expired?"

    "Some," she said, "Some not. Some discovered along the way they no longer desired to return to the living world. I warn you of the other gods, but it''s never them to worry over. Many will not hinder you any more than I have. It is Aengus you should cast your mind to, how best to convince him."

    "Has anyone succeeded?"

    "No."

    That single word sent a spike of anxiety through Ois¨ªn''s chest. No one?

    "As I said," Beithe Br¨ªd continued, "Many lost their purpose along the way. Your resolve to return to your liege must be steadfast, and the love in your heart stronger." She smiled at him. "I think you''ll be fine, personally. I have eyes through all the pets of the world, and Graystar has seen your undying love for Fuiseog. It is admirable, and rare."

    "Thank you, my lady. I will take your confidence as the second lesson."

    At that Beithe Br¨ªd laughed, a sound that filled the room and brought an unbidden smile to every animal''s face as well as Ois¨ªn''s. She didn''t say anything else, but Ois¨ªn knew he''d said the right thing. He continued to eat, licking the juice from his fingers as he bit into plump apricots and spreading lingonberry preserve on a thick crust of bread. When he was full, and the goddess had finished her plate, he rose from his cushion. She raised a single hand, and the whole of the chamber abruptly went silent. She rose as well and embraced Ois¨ªn.

    "Good luck, kin of F¨®dla. I have one final gift before you depart."

    She waved her hand once more. Guthund and a black cat with a crooked tail and dressed in a decidedly-human hooded cloak of sorts strode forward. Ois¨ªn knew, without having to ask, that this was the last time he would probably see the dog.

    "Guthund, as was his purpose, led you to me, but he cannot traverse past my lands. You would normally be on your own, but there is another who seeks Aengus. This is Nico, who left his human rather abruptly not long ago. He''s...not exactly on the same quest as you, but he does journey to Aengus. This is my final gift, so that neither of you journey alone into the dark."

    Ois¨ªn bowed. "Thank you, my lady. I promise I will watch his back as thoroughly as he would mine."

    The cat grinned. "That I will. Yes, siree."

    The goddess bid them farewell, and with a touch they were at the gates on the other side of the city. Ois¨ªn sighed, gave a weak smile to Nico, and started the next leg of his journey.

 3. The Black Hound Returns

    For the first time in living memory, it rained in the Kingdom of the Fae. At some point, in the days of Fuiseog''s seventeen-time-great grandfather, the weather was still variable and dictated by the laws of nature. The various rulers had come together and demanded uniformity for its people: eternal summer. Days not hot, but leaning towards humid, punctuated by cooling breezes, and lightly cloudy. And that''s the way it had always been there after. Now Fuiseog wanted rain, and his will would be done.

    The fae who normally wandered the streets rushed home, still screaming and laughing as they became drenched. The colorful pennants hung along the streets flapped wildly in the wind as best as they could now soaked thoroughly. From his perch on a castle balcony, Fuiseog watched his kingdom. He felt the cold rain on his face, but he ignored it. In every flash of lightning, he saw Ois¨ªn''s face, and in every peal of thunder his laugh. When Fuiseog would walk the halls of the castle, he would see Ois¨ªn''s silhouette duck around corners just out of reach. A sudden warmth would sometimes lie beside him in bed, only to be gone as soon as he turned over. The grief never let him rest. So neither would anyone else. Let them think this rain, too, was a novelty.

    By the end of that week, the people no longer skipped through puddles. They wove, in morbid procession, through the gray-stone streets to the market and returned home without ceremony. The servants in the castle, what few there were, moped as well. Fuiseog rarely made an appearance, preferring instead to go between only his bedchamber and the library except for the occasional prolonged stay on the balcony. By day he slept restlessly, tossing and turning until eventually his body succumbed to fatigue, though that came only when he''d gone for several days without resting. He spent the rest of his time staring into oblivion or reading. Though he''d had ample time to go through all the books his mother kept as he grew up, she''d often scolded him for pulling down any book on war. This usually led to them arguing over why she kept old military manuals if they were never meant to be used, and she would say that it was heritage not encouragement.

    Now it was encouragement. Fuiseog still meant to do this correctly, albeit a way that the fae hadn''t considered for a long while. He''d imagined their prior warfare to be as boring and choreographed as their modern charade, but the gruesome guerilla tactics he found nestled into the pages of his books were enlightening. Had he been reading with a clearer mind, he would have found it overkill. It was nothing short of completely obliterating opponents, sending their souls through a shredder instead of passing peacefully. It was brutal, and exactly what he wanted. Already he''d heard news of soldiers and citizens flocking away from Duke Cailey. Few wanted to stand in the path of King Fuiseog, who they''d begun to call "The Butcher Bird" after his first all-out strike against his uncle. That battle had been a bloodbath, even to him. The duke''s forces, still expecting the king''s militia to fight fair, had been slaughtered mercilessly to a man.

    "I wish you''d give up on this whole thing, sah," Graystar said.

    The badger had snuck in at some point, and he jumped up on the table. He was the one person left in Fuiseog''s life after his mother and Ois¨ªn that he still trusted. The servants by then had realized Fuiseog was no longer the cordial royal he''d once been, and he had no desire to converse with them except for the occasional command. Graystar alone could pick his mind.

    "And what thing would that be?" Fuiseog replied. He closed his book and glared at the badger.

    "Your mother raised you better, sah. She raised you to solve your problems like a right proper fae, hmm?"

    "Of course. And she made the mistake of adopting a human knowing my nature would never change."

    "Maybe, or maybe she saw in you something you can no longer find, sah."

    "Don''t lecture me, you little rat. Cailey brought this on himself."

    "I won''t deny that. Let Cailey suffer, then, and spare his people."

    "And let them try the same? Evil should be pulled with its roots, like a weed."

    Graystar just shook his head. They''d had this argument every day since Fuiseog returned from his brutal campaign. And it ended the same way every time, with the two left fuming and calling for a strong drink. How the badger could stomach fae liquor¡ªfor it was too foreign to Fuiseog to be enjoyable¡ªwas anyone''s guess. He imagined, if nothing else, Graystar drank it for the same reason he did: it got the job done. By the second shot, neither one of them remembered what it was they were arguing about and instead shed tears over memories of simpler days. That night, however, some strange thought struck Fuiseog''s mind, and instead of summoning a servant with the glasses, he simply shut his book.

    "Fine," he said, and stared at the badger with a grimace, "Explain this plan of yours then, old friend."

    The badger''s head jerked, stunned at his liege''s sudden willingness to listen.

    "It''s, uh, it''s simple, sah. No one batted an eye at your duel with Ser Keir. It was unorthodox, for certain, but not unforgivable after losing your life partner."

    "So, you would have me duel Cailey? The man can hardly even stand."

    "Or use subterfuge, sah. Have him killed, as he had Ois¨ªn killed."

    "By whom exactly?"

    His mind now working, Fuiseog only barely saw the glint of the knife as it approached and threw himself back with just enough time for it to drive into his shoulder instead of his neck. His spear was in his hand instantaneously. He grimaced as he pulled the knife out and threw it at the feet of his assailant who was now motionless. He quickly spoke a word of healing, and the bleeding stopped.

    "You," Fuiseog spit as Keir stepped into the light, cocking their head at him, "You''re meant to be dead."

    "I was. Twice now, actually." Keir removed their helmet, revealing that same utterly ambiguous face. "Once by Cailey, and once by you."

    "Have you come for death three, then?"

    Keir shook their head and plopped down in one of the chairs. Graystar peeked hesitantly around once of the bookshelves, having scampered off as soon as he realized what was happening. The knight put their boots up on the table and leaned back as they crossed their arms.

    "To be honest, I imagine Cailey meant for me to assassinate you."

    "You''re a terrible assassin."

    Keir just scoffed. "If I wanted you dead, you would be, <i>my lord.</i> But Cailey made a grave mistake, if you recall."

    Fuiseog didn''t at first, wracking his mind for the details of his confrontation, and then it hit him. Keir nodded before he could say it.

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    "He said, ''Ser Keir, <i>at your service</i>.'' He didn''t even leave enough consciousness in my husk to realize it at the time. When he tore my soul back from the afterlife again, and gave me my new task, that''s when I noticed. His words didn''t have the same effect as before. I felt a thread of sorts tugging at me, leading me directly to you."

    "Yet you still insisted on stabbing me?"

    Keir grinned. "Couldn''t be too sure. But, as you noticed, my body wouldn''t obey. Instead of hitting you from behind, my feet carried me forward too many steps, and you saw my attack."

    "I see. Well then."

    Fuiseog lunged, driving his spear towards the place Keir''s chest ought to have been. Instead, the knight was suddenly behind him, bending so their backs touched.

    "As rash as ever, my lord. But that same trick won''t work twice."

    The king spun, swinging the spear around as fast as he could. Keir was gone, now sitting on the table across from him. Fuiseog growled under his breath, planting his spear in the floor and placing a hand on his hip.

    "So, what, you''ve come to plague me? To try and drive me mad?"

    Keir just shook their head. "No. If you can believe it, I stand before you of my own free-will. Though, as the duke so elegantly stated, I am at your service. So long as that service means we get to destroy Cailey. If that''s no longer your ambition, then please send my soul back. Gently, this time, if you don''t mind. I may be twice dead but that spear still hurts, my lord."

    Graystar bounded out fully then, jumping up beside Keir. He sniffed at the knight, circling them before climbing up in their lap and staring them in the eyes intently. Keir just raised an eyebrow.

    "What, um, what is it doing?"

    "A fair question. What are you doing?"

    The badger nodded a couple times and plopped down beside the knight.

    "They''re telling the truth, sah. They do mean to take up your service whole-heartedly to take down Cailey."

    Keir kept staring at Fuiseog, waiting for an answer. He sometimes forgot most people couldn''t understand what the badger was saying.

    "He says you''re telling the truth."

    "Well....I am."

    "Enlighten me, then. How would you have me take down Cailey? This one," Fuiseog pointed at Graystar, "is of a mind for me to challenge the duke directly the same way I did you."

    Keir sighed. "Gods, I <i>wish</i> it was that easy. I would pay an impressive amount of my non-existent wealth to watch you whip that obese shit to pieces. Alas, I can''t imagine now that you''ve shown your hand, he''ll ever let you that close again."

    Fuiseog shrugged at Graystar. "War it is then."

    The badger made to protest, but Keir spoke up first. "Even then, my lord, your chances are slim. Cailey has men all across the countryside, in places even I can''t fathom. You could chase him for the rest of both your lives and never step a single foot closer."

    "Then I repeat: enlighten me, Ser Keir."

    Over the following hour, Keir quietly explained all that they had learned of the duke in their years of service, and between Fuiseog''s own ideas and translating for Graystar''s interjections, they drew up a plan Fuiseog admitted he wouldn''t have come up with had he tried. Their main issue squared away, they got drunk.

    ---

    Keir, it seemed, was as lightweight as both the king and the badger when it came to drinking. They swayed back and forth, eyelids fluttering slowly, as they listened to the king recount another tale of himself and Ois¨ªn when they were young. The knight was no longer fighting to keep from rolling their eyes.

    "You''re not even <i>old</i>," they said, "You''re like, what, sixty-ish now?"

    Fuiseog nodded. "Sixty-five. I''d be a grandparent or even a great-grandparent by human standards."

    Keir just snorted. "But you''re not human anymore. Queen F¨®dla was almost three hundred when she passed on."

    Both of them reflexively crossed their hearts, an ancient ward against invoking the dead queen''s wrath at the mentioning of her name. Legend said fae, and royalty especially, had to respond when called. And though they knew it wasn''t true, neither of them in their inebriated states wished to find out if it was the case for the former queen''s spirit.

    "And you''re what," Fuiseog hiccoughed, "the same age."

    "Hard to say being dead and all. But yeah, I was a couple years older than you."

    The king laughed and licked at the rim of his glass. "How would you even know?"

    Keir sighed and leaned back in their chair. The room was silent except for Graystar intermittently snoring in a corner. The knight began to tear up suddenly, and their voice broke when they responded.

    "That''s the worst part, you know. You don''t even remember me."

    "Remember you?" Fuiseog''s brain would only let him echo.

    "Forget it." Keir turned away and closed their eyes.

    "Tell me."

    They let their head lull over and opened one eye to stare at Fuiseog.

    "We met both times. The first time, when you came as someone else, the queen gave you your name. You smiled so wide, and you ran off to play with the other children. I was younger than you then, our years aren''t the same as a human''s. I remember, I was sitting out because the older kids never wanted to let me join. I was different, kind of like you were. But you, you weren''t one of them. You saw me staring, watching, and you came over and grabbed my hand. All the other kids tried to protest, but you just stood there, already starting to transform. Your voice was like thunder.

    "What were they supposed to do? You were their new prince. Your words were law. So, you pulled me right on over, and you stood by me the whole time as we played so I didn''t get picked on. And then you were gone the next day. Nobody knew where you''d gone, and finally I plucked up the courage to ask your mother. I had become a page by then, and I was serving her table one night. I said to her, I said, ''My queen, can I ask you something?'' And the way she smiled, she must have known what I would say. ''He''ll be back,'' she said, without me asking anything, ''Bide your time, young one. For it will be a while yet. And when he returns, he will have need of a noble knight to protect him.''"

    "I didn''t..." Fuiseog started, but Keir just kept going, tears flowing freely now.

    "And I did. I trained day and night for all those years, until the Feast of Goibniu, until I was the best I felt I could be. I was there, in the courtyard, when you stepped out a fully-grown man, in the armor your mother had had crafted for you. You were...beautiful if you''ll forgive the odd compliment. I marched beside your palanquin down to the feast itself, and I stood just below the dais as your mother reminded you of your heritage."

    Kier gritted their teeth, punching the table hard enough to splinter the wood, and startling Graystar awake for a half a second before the badger went right back to snoring.

    "I served as your personal guard for <i>ten fucking years</i>, Fuiseog. I was the one who stopped Earl Hatusha''s assassins that night. And all I ever wanted was you to acknowledge me, to actually <i>see me</i> again like you had that first time. But you only had eyes for one person."

    "Ois¨ªn," the king whispered, feeling a whole lot more sober all of a sudden.

    "Ois¨ªn. The stable hand. And you know what I did? You know?"

    Fuiseog shook his head.

    "I bit my tongue and swallowed my pride. I was the one who helped Ois¨ªn sneak into your room at night. Didn''t you ever wonder why your guards never stopped some random servant from coming to see you without your direct command?"

    "I''m sorry."

    "I don''t want your pity." Keir poured themselves another shot. "I did what I thought was best for my liege lord. And then you and your companion became so proficient you didn''t need a bodyguard. The queen gave me a choice: stay but in a different guard position or return finally to where I had come from. I chose to leave. I never did make it back. Cailey had planned your downfall longer than most. I died somewhere on the road, and when I came to, I was his puppet. <b>His</b> Keir C¨², the p¨²ca who could slip in unseen. Until you came back for me."

    Fuiseog rose slowly.

    "I''m glad you killed me, actually. Even then, even as a soul strapped carelessly to a corpse, I fought every single ounce of the command to kill Ois¨ªn. But Cailey''s magic is strong, stronger than you can imagine. A man doesn''t come to have as much influence as Duke Cailey without having some strong tricks up his sleeve. And now I''m here. Oh, happy days."

    Keir downed the shot, and Fuiseog admitted to himself he needed another as well. At some point in the night, the two of them stumbled off into the palace, winding their way to Fuiseog''s chambers. The king collapsed into bed, the room spinning around him and the contents of his stomach ready to rise. Keir tried to pull up a chair, but couldn''t manage somehow to move it, and opted instead to just slump against the wall with one hand on their sword hilt.

    "I''ll keep watch, muhlord."

    Fuiseog just groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes, and reached out to grab the knight''s arm. Without much force needed, he pulled Keir into the bed.

    "Jus'' sleep," he slurred, "Sleep right here." And he fell asleep to Keir''s hitched breath, and the gentle rhythm of their fingers tracing his knuckles.

 4. War Wounds Never Heal

    The heat of the forge was becoming too much for Ois¨ªn, but he persisted. Goibniu, the god of smiths, struck at the anvil again and again, the ring of hammer on mithril drowning out all other sound; though, all the same, the ethereal metal sang. It was a song that reverberated violently through Ois¨ªn''s bones and soothed his aching spirit. It told a tale of soft morning light as it filtered through the curtains in his room, and an epic of a prince lost across the ocean of time from his love. The furnace cast the god as a dark silhouette to Ois¨ªn''s perspective, illuminated only in the fleeting light from each measured blow. Occasionally a spark fluttered up from the metal and caught in the god''s beard. Though, if Goibniu felt it, he gave no sign. When the mithril began to dim from a radiant cyan to that familiar dim steel-blue, the god would grunt, and Ois¨ªn would plunge the forming shape back into the furnace until once again he was given the signal to pull it out. For fear of losing his grip in the wake of the god''s powerful swings, Ois¨ªn dared not even reach up to wipe the sweat that had begun to sting his eyes. The smooth cloth of his tunic was now drenched and stuck to his back. He remained. It could have been minutes or hours they worked there in the darkness; however, this was the task he had been set by Goibniu, and so they continued.

    The god hollered suddenly, a wordless bellow that shook Ois¨ªn as surely as the mythril''s song. The door to the courtyard opened, bathing the two of them in light, and Nico padded in with a bucket of water. Goibniu paused long enough to take a large swig and hand it to Ois¨ªn to do the same. The god took the tongs from Ois¨ªn''s hands and plunged the mithril into a nearby vat of fragrant oil. He clapped the fae on the back and ushered him out with Nico. The rest of this process was not for the eyes of mortals, alive or dead. The outside air felt almost frigid, though Ois¨ªn knew it was the same clemency as always. When the forge doors once again slammed shut, he made his way to a pump set into one of the brick walls and stripped down to his undergarments. The temperate water made him shiver as it washed away the itch. He plunged his face under, scrubbing around his eyes and his antlers. The fatigue started to overpower whatever energy he''d gained from watching Goibniu work, and he laid in the sun without redressing. Nico joined him, curling up under one of his outstretched arms.

    The noise of the brass city reached them however faintly from so far above. The great clocktower, whose insistent ticking was loudest of all, dared not cast a shadow over the smith god''s small abode at the bottom of the pit. It amazed Ois¨ªn that, by some miracle, the sun still reached them. For half the day, he and Nico had descended the winding staircase that spanned the stone walls down to Goibniu, and still the courtyard was bathed in warm light. Below the clocktower, suspended on impossibly thin stilts, the city thrived. Long brass tubes ran haphazard this way and that, occupied by metal balls that rolled and tumbled about to take souls to their various destinations like a great marble maze. Others had shining wings that flapped just slow enough to keep them airborne. These were the inventors and the smiths and ingenious minds of mortals, adamant even in death to be at the forefront of technology. Elsewhere, Ois¨ªn knew, were corners of the city higher still among the clouds where the humans breathed life into silicon. They were things for which his only reference was the fantastical descriptions of Fuiseog and Nico. Imageries of life painted by concepts he had no basis for. Fuiseog had once laughed in his face, likening him to a fish being told what it was like to climb a tree.

    He wondered, briefly, what that challenge of Goibniu''s would entail exactly. A feeling in his gut told him it was more than simply helping forge a new sica. Though, it also did little good to worry over it. The god would make his designs known in time. Absently, Ois¨ªn''s fingers found purchase behind Nico''s ears, and the cat began to purr roughly. The fae closed his eyes. The light''s warmth had reached his bones and the sudden urge to sleep overtook him. He played in his mind over again his practiced argument to Aengus.

    "My life was not done," he whispered, "My lord still needs me. It was a foulness that took me, sneaking behind me where no decent fae would be. Death was a wrongful punishment."

    It sounded air-tight to Ois¨ªn. The others, he assumed, had lived long lives and died in natural ways. His case was different. In the courtyard, beneath the sun, he smiled. The only change he felt in the air was a sudden pressure between his ribs, and Nico pouncing out from underneath his arm. His eyes opened once more to see the smith god looming so close above, nose nearly pressed against Ois¨ªn''s. In looking down at himself, the fae saw the sica planted handle-deep in his chest. As before he felt distant from himself, though he was squarely still laid out on the warm stones.

    "Why?"

    "You are weak, Ois¨ªn kin of F¨®dla. You were weak in life and you are weak in death. A pity upon your people for their complacence."

    Ois¨ªn tried to rise, but the god kept him easily pinned. A certain desperation ate rapidly at his heart.

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    "I was strong, undefeated by all except my liege. I¡ª"

    "You were felled from behind by a weaker opponent."

    "A surprise attack. I couldn''t have known¡ª"

    "A pity on your people for their complacence, to think warfare ought to be ordered. War is chaos, and had you half the skill you think, none would take you by surprise. Would your lord have been taken from behind?"

    The thought had passed briefly through Ois¨ªn, though he''d dismissed it immediately.

    "Of course not. Fuiseog is not fae-born, he is not ingrained with our honor. What would you have of me? To forsake my people?"

    "My lesson," Goibniu growled and wrenched the dagger free, "is that of humility. Your people are weak. You are weak. All who have journeyed before you that died in battle said the same. <i>It was a foulness that took me, death was a wrongful punishment</i>.You know nothing of war as you play your battle games."

    The three of them were elsewhere then. The air reeked of iron thick enough to taste. The field around them what once should have been verdant was now painted in mottles of thick crimson. Moans and screeches tore through from every direction in a symphony of despair. Here and there, shapes dressed in blood-stained black coats picked through the heavy grass with long polearms which brought swift silence to the dying. Others, bare to the waist with tattoos that danced on their muscles as they worked, hauled the bodies to a growing wall that already burned. Around their new vantage, the wind picked up and the putridity of flesh melting forced Ois¨ªn to his knees retching.

    The scene shifted again. They were on a ship at sea, waves tossing them into the sky. Over the sound of raging water, a deafening crack split the air. A large black blur flew close enough to blow the god¡¯s hair to the side. More followed soon after. Ois¨ªn watched their trajectory as they tore through the hull of a neighboring ship. The water greedily lapped at the holes, tasting the acrid gunpowder residue left behind. Before long, the ship was sinking lower and lower as men rushed to bail out the sea and sunk beneath the foam never to rise again.

    They were on the ramparts of a castle as two soldiers tossed a prisoner in rags off the side. Ois¨ªn watched his body compress and explode as it came to rest on the stones below. They were flying high above a city of a thousand buildings as the sky turned to fire and the building crumpled to ash. Impressions were left where life had no time to flee, shadows of their very existence all that remained.  They watched from behind a tree as a man felled his brother with a stone, and as lightning struck that very spot to marr the man forever.

    Then without ceremony, they were back in the courtyard. Ois¨ªn stumbled back. This was war.

    ¡°What do you know?¡± the god rumbled.

    ¡°I know nothing. I am weak.¡±

    Goibniu only nodded.

    ¡°Do not mistake this lesson as punishment. Take it instead, I hope, as a courtesy. Others have come before the god of love claiming their death was unfair, and none so far have succeeded. ¡°

    ¡°I bow to your wisdom, lord.¡±

    ¡°And in doing so, you have lost another piece.¡±

    Ois¨ªn wobbled suddenly and fell flat on his back. His legs were those then of a fawn, brown with tan spots coloring his thigh and hooves where once he¡¯d had feet. The god offered a hand, pulling Ois¨ªn up just enough for Nico to scamper underneath and support him from behind. The fae fought to find his center of balance, but after a long moment of flailing he managed to stand on his own again.

    ¡°This is to happen every time I learn?¡± he asked. ¡°I was told it was gradual as my days expired.¡±

    ¡°One and the same. What is each day but a lesson? I imagine you will see yourself change in many ways before you may come before Aengus.¡±

    Goibniu retrieved the sica from his waistband. He pressed it into Ois¨ªn¡¯s palm.

    ¡°This belongs to you. May it serve you until your true end of days.¡±

    ¡°Then you think I will succeed where all others have failed? The same as Beithe Br¨ªd?¡±

    The god shrugged. ¡°I doubt it. I mean only that your soul is not truly dead. When the day comes that you meet the god of love, you will either pass back to the living or return to Cernunnos¡¯ woods. On that day, I will reclaim the knife.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°Let us speak of lighter things instead.¡±

    Goibniu led them to the city above where each of them donned those bronze-worked wings. High above the city, looking down even on the great clock tower, Ois¨ªn saw the world stretch out before him. In the far distance, like the smudge of a painter¡¯s thumb on the canvas, were the dense trees where his journey had begun. Beithe Br¨ªd¡¯s castle was all that was visible of the animal city, the size of a toy from that distance yet as rich in detail as if he could simply reach out and pluck it away. Further still he saw the lands of many gods as they came together. The deep purple waters of a river domain that spun and weaved a spider¡¯s nest until it ended abruptly at a field of purple lavender dominated by a single lonesome tower. A great tree rose up in another corner, topped in scarlet blooms that oozed their color into the ground. In the clouds he witnessed a castle of pure gold flicker in and out of sight as the sun¡¯s rays caught it floating past. It was to this Goibniu pointed.

    ¡°There is your next stop. The great hall of Rhiannon, first queen of the fae.¡±

    Ois¨ªn felt a shiver run through him at the name. Though he¡¯d been negligent beside Fuiseog in their studies, the tales of Rhiannon stuck plainly in the minds of every fae. The Mad Queen. She who had lived a thousand years and was said to send all wicked fae to their final torment. Though before Ois¨ªn could protest, Goibniu was sucking in a massive breath, and he blew the fae prince and the cat in one great gust towards the castle. Their wings let them soar unmoored for mere moments before some gravity took them in and brought them swiftly back down to the crumbling foundry of the castle¡¯s stairs.

    There waiting for them before the carved doors, as resplendent in azure and jewels as the day she¡¯d died, was Queen F¨®dla.

 5. A New Wind Rises

    The rain hushed finally to a trickle as Fuiseog woke. Through disordered curtains, the sunlight laid itself in a tight beam over the slow rise and fall of Keir¡¯s back beside him. Unbidden, Fuiseog felt a tightness constrict his chest. It wasn¡¯t Ois¨ªn any longer he would wake to find under his palm. He traced the length of Keir¡¯s fingers, and he noticed only as he reached the end of each that the nails on the knight¡¯s fingers were sawed down to the quick, raw and pink like uncooked meat. His only answer was a small shiver as he imagined the discomfort of using fingers like that. With his palm, he stroked down the length of Keir¡¯s spine, pausing only slightly in the sunbeam where the warmth was greater. To this, the knight released a satisfied sigh and nestled their face into Fuiseog¡¯s side.

    ¡°G¡¯morning, my lord,¡± they sighed and stretched.

    Fuiseog merely hummed under his breath, continuing his pilgrimage over Keir¡¯s body. Their shoulders, their mess of curly black hair, the space in the base of their spine where lumbar met hips. Keir stifled a snort as Fuiseog¡¯s fingers cut across the space of their ribs, and they flipped over when Fuiseog motioned. He felt the small flat bones of their chest, down to the dip below their sternum, the soft down of hair around their navel, the sharp curve of their jaw, the pointed ears, the small round nose.

    ¡°Should I be worried?¡± Keir whispered, ¡°Are you looking for something in particular?¡±

    ¡°I met another p¨²ca, a few years back, in a village far to the west beyond the redwoods. They¡¯d been beaten with a switch and hung up in a cage for all to see.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°It was one of the few times, actually, that Ois¨ªn and I were of a mind on how I should use my power. I suppose¡­after you, he had a soft spot. We left the village in ash, and the villagers in chains.  Now my <i>mother </i>on the other hand¡ª¡±

    ¡°I can imagine. What happened to them?¡±

    ¡°She wanted them returned, I managed to work it up to a year and a day of service to the crown. It was the most <i>fruitful</i> berry harvest we ever had, ha.¡±

    Keir just rolled their eyes. ¡°And the p¨²ca?¡±

    Fuiseog shook their head. ¡°Disappeared into the night when we made camp the next day. But I remembered, when I took them down from the cage, their skin was¡­rough to the touch. Like tree bark instead of actual flesh. Yours is smooth. ¡±

    Keir grinned and bowed as elegantly as they could while half-propped up in bed.

    ¡°All for you, my lord. It takes a lot of practice to mimic you.¡±

    ¡°Are there limits to what you can become?¡±

    ¡°A p¨²ca is only as limited as their imagination and memory. Fae and humans are the hardest, though it¡¯s much easier if I keep¡­ well pieces, I guess, of animals.¡±

    Fuiseog hummed again and raised an eyebrow. Keir blushed slightly, moving so they now sat up, and pulled the covers back the rest of the way. It was the first time Fuiseog had seen them without their armor. The knight¡¯s legs, revealed to the knee, were lithe and black-furred, ending in thick paws. These too the king reached out to feel. The fur bristled outwards, but it was impossibly soft under his fingers. He looked to Keir for approval before handling their paws. Though the pawpads were rough to the touch, from what little Graystar had said about maintaining the delicate cushioning while constantly traveling, they were well taken care of. Keir jerked suddenly when Fuiseog ran his fingers up the sole.

    ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°I just wasn¡¯t expecting it. Anyway, you¡¯ll have to take my word it goes up to my waist. I¡¯m not undressing for you.¡±

    Fuiseog just shrugged. ¡°So this and the black hound?¡±

    ¡°Besides those, I really only use a nightingale and a hake. There¡¯s no need for anything else.¡±

    The king nodded. He stood up and brushed the curtains aside the rest of the way. Clouds still dotted the sky, sprinkling the crops and bouncing drops off puddles, but the sun stood full force in the center. From what little of the town below he could see from his vantage, the streets were once again full as citizens celebrated the return of good weather for their morning errands. It was an odd feeling that festered in his chest then, his body preparing for the happiness he knew he should have felt yet nothing came. Still, he found he harbored no ill intent towards his own citizens at that moment. Let them be happy for a time.

    He heard Keir rise as well, clinking just audibly enough for him to guess the knight was redressing. Fuiseog made to summon his own servant, but Keir cleared their throat suddenly. They gestured towards the wardrobe across the room.

    ¡°My lord?¡±

    Fuiseog nodded and joined them. He chose a set of pastel breeches that reminded one of spring flowers and a shirt the same aethereal blue as the chainmetal he slid on overtop of it. He did smile, an emptiness to his features, when he noticed his new pair of boots had come. Unlike his previous leather ones, these were mithril mail as well, heavy pieces that made a satisfying thud with every step. Aesthetics, Fuiseog understood, defined a fae. No longer could anyone say he was the silent lark. He would be the shrill shrike his heart demanded. To add the final flair, he fastened a long crimson cape to his lapel.

    ¡°Well?¡± he said, turning for Keir to get a better look.

    ¡°Quite the image, my lord. Your mother would be¡­well, more than likely disappointed, but regardless. I think you look commanding.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°I hate to cut your ego short, but can we breakfast now? You might not have to eat, but I certainly do.¡±

    Fuiseog smiled and ruffled Keir¡¯s hair. ¡°Oh, you lesser creatures and your <i>needs</i>. Very well. Go on ahead, I have one last piece of business to take care of.¡±

    Keir just rolled their eyes, mirroring the same smile, and left towards the dining hall. The king waited for them to disappear before striding out onto the balcony. The sun felt good on his skin after the long rain, and he closed his eyes to take in the warmth. Something that Keir had said still irked him, that Cailey would never let him that close again. He reached out his consciousness, feeling for the duke¡¯s distinctive energy signature. It was, he admitted, a cheap trick. Most fae, as he¡¯d come to understand, teleported to a place based on their memory. There were even specific outposts in the major cities where large sigils decorated the central chamber that any visitor could memorize for later travel. Reaching for a specific person was a trick all his own. One his mother had forbid outright for fear of the consequences. It was risky. Unlike a place, telelporting to a person could put him anywhere. If they happened to be in tight quarters, he could even appear inside a wall.

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    But it was his trick, one no one else could replicate, and so he persisted. He felt Cailey finally, somewhere far to the west. Based on the map in his head, Fuiseog estimated the duke to be just inside his duchy¡¯s borders. He was tempted, briefly, to try and shift his being straight there again, just to prove Keir wrong. But the longer he looked, the more a sense of dread hammered itself deeper into his chest. The signature was Cailey, no doubt, but it was also pestilential and stagnant. He realized suddenly the energy was completely still, as if the duke was paralyzed, and there were no other energies nearby. Fuiseog only barely snatched his consciousness back to himself before he doubled over retching. To separate one¡¯s very essence from themselves, discarded on the side of a road like a dung heap. What little hunger he had had was now gone.

    In the dining hall, he found Keir alone tearing into a plate piled high with breakfast. Eggs of different sorts, bread with jam, sausages, pastrys. The table was still laden with food, though there seemed to be nothing the knight hadn¡¯t grabbed some helping of. Fuiseog merely took his own place at the head of the table. He helped himself only to a spot of peppermint tea, hoping to quiet the roiling in his guts. Keir continued unabated, shoveling in food as if it were the last meal they¡¯d ever have.

    ¡°Cailey didn¡¯t feed you?¡± he mused.

    ¡°Catch or be caught. I ate only what my jaws sunk into, and let me tell you, my lord. I got tired of venison fast. A real breakfast like this¡­it¡¯s been almost¡­gods, fifteen years.¡±

    Fuiseog winced. Had it really been that long since the knight had left? One grace of fae liquor was a strong drunk but no hangover, and so the minute details of the night before flooded through him again. Fifteen years that he and Ois¨ªn had been self-sufficient, watching each other¡¯s backs. Almost five years since he was coronated on his mother¡¯s death. How many years had it been since he was human? He dismissed the thought for fear of spiraling into a depression again. Rather he forced himself to take an apricot from a nearby bowl and began to take small bites. It was true a fae had no need for eating, but it was still a ritualistic behavior all of them partook in, and Fuiseog had never broken the phantom sense of hunger his formerly-human body felt.

    He waited instead for Keir to lean back with a satisfied sigh before he discarded the remainder of the fruit. He finished his tea with a gulp. At his rise, the knight rose as well. Fuiseog realized it had been a long time since he had left the castle. Whatever distant fog had ridden through his mind before, he yearned now to walk through the market and sample the wares like he would have with Ois¨ªn.

    As the descended the long road down from the castle, Keir shifted into their hound form. It was strategic, they said, to best protect the king from his enemies. A dog was better able to sense any change in atmosphere or smell as assassin from a street away. Fuiseog made no comment other than to scratch gently behind the knight¡¯s ears which illicted a light growl.

    If the townsfolk found it strange the king had come out at last, they made no sign. No one looked twice at their liege and his hound walking among them as they went about their shopping. Fuiseog stopped, of course, at his favorite stall first. The farmers to the East had long since bound themselves to growing whatever plant had captured the appreciation of their monarch. When it was his mother, they had grown long copses of yew trees and fashioned every part into something beautiful: long red-gold bows, berry jam, wreathes from the leaves. The handle of the spear his mother had long carried was hewn from a yew tree that had grown on the castle grounds for centuries, struck down by a rogue lightning strike and fashioned by the same family that owned the farms as a gift.

    Now, they grew lavender. From high up in the hills, Fuiseog knew you could look down on the nearly endless fields of purple. The farmers were proud of their work, cultivating their buds until they grew larger than their natural cousins. And those buds became resplendent whorled flowers that could be ground down for their oil or sprinkled into pastry dough. These were the small things he¡¯d come to sample. A lavender parfum was the last piece of his aesthetic, a piece he¡¯d been missing since Ois¨ªn¡¯s passing. Now, though, where the scent before had been an indication of royalty and grace, he hoped it would be seen as devotion to his cause.

    In the midst of him biting into a lavender handpie, a servant appeared at his elbow. Keir bristled, baring his fangs at the sudden intrusion. Fuiseog merely held up a finger, and he finished his pastry quickly. He motioned then for the servant to continue.

    ¡°A message, my lord, from a noble near the Great Shore.¡±

    The servant handed over a letter found by a strange red wax seal depicting a crest the king had never seen. He broke it carefully, preserving the strange design so as to look at it later. The writing inside was thin and cramped, the words nearly running into each other in their haste to be written.

    <i> To the Honorable King Fuiseog macF¨®dla of the Fae,</i>

    <i>       You are running, my lord, from a fight you ought rightfully to take. Your people are long overdue for a change, so say the winds of fate. Your choice is moot. You will fight, and you will win, and We will help you. You need only ask, from one leader to another. I will wait within the star-struck plains for your answer, so don¡¯t be late. </i>

    <i>Peace and prosperity,</i>

    <i>Lord Kerres Va Kosh </i>

    Fuiseog held the letter down long enough for Keir to read it as well. The servant bowed and disappeared again into the crowd, the king¡¯s message clear that there would be no returned message. When the knight too had read it, they sighed. Kerres Va Kosh, it was a name that only just begun to grace the lips of the various nobles across the land. An empress from a foreign land far across the seas that no fae knew. The histories spoke of far lands, but no one in thousands of years had thought to travel off the Blessed Isles. Even Fuiseog, who had no need of seeing the lands to travel, could not stretch his mind that far. When a peoples had arose and how they had stayed undetected for eons was a mystery many gave up seeking. The various barons and dukes had simply acquiesced under the king¡¯s decision to leave well enough alone.

    The empress had thus far caused little harm, seemingly on a sight-seeing tour in her wagon entourage to see Fuiseog¡¯s lands. Some accusations had arisen of dark magics or people disappearing, but having read the reports himself, the king saw no reason to pin them on these strangers. Va Kosh did not, however, move unseen. Having an army behind her of at least five hundred armed soldiers, it was prudent if nothing else to keep tabs on her position. As she had said, the fae were unaccustomed to war, and so if she were to launch any kind of assault it would be a hard-pressed effort to countermand her.

    ¡°I suppose she means for us to meet her where she is,¡± Keir said, shifting back to their fae form. ¡°I see minimal harm. She¡¯s unlikely to stop us if we need to flee.¡±

    ¡°If nothing else, she¡¯s piqued my curiosity. ¡®Your choice is moot.¡¯ How interesting.¡±

    Fuiseog purchased a half dozen more of the small lavender pies before retreating back to the castle to consider his options. It was true he saw little harm in meeting with her, if for no reason beyond ascertaining her purpose. And with Keir at his back now, he had little doubt they couldn¡¯t fight their way out if necessary. Rather, Fuiseog spent the time only to find Graystar before he sent out a message to the steward of his estates on the Great Shore that they would be arriving shortly, and there might be guests.

 6. In the Hall of the Mad Queen

    Below him was a sea of clouds as far as Ois¨ªn could see. It was as if the entirety of existence had faded away, and all that remained were him and Queen Rhiannon¡¯s floating castle. The distant sun was felt but did not appear. Light danced on the gold-flecked stonework in complex patterns his eyes couldn¡¯t follow. Silence. The clouds danced and crashed in waves below, as if manipulated by a powerful wind, yet there was none and the vast white made no noise.

    ¡°It¡¯s a sight, once, that drove fae mad. Chained to the battlements as they awaited the queen¡¯s justice.¡±

    Queen F¨®dla appeared at his elbow. Her features betrayed a youth he had never seen in her, whatever small time he had known her as a stablehand and later as her son¡¯s consort. Her face had been marred then by wrinkles and hard lines that spoke of a tenuous reign. Until he had embraced her again on the steps of the castle, he¡¯d known her only at peace the moment before her soul fled to Tir na n¨®g and her body grew into a yew tree.

    ¡°Do you wonder,¡± she said, ¡°What Fuiseog has been doing in your absence?¡±

    ¡°Not once. I know for certain he¡¯s doing everything in his power to avenge me. As I would have, were our positions reversed.¡±

    ¡°We ought to pray then. I wouldn¡¯t wish an all-out war on my brother Cailey with anyone. You¡¯ve seen for yourself the lengths he¡¯ll take.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Ois¨ªn mused.

    ¡°That man is ruthless. Ever since we were children, he¡¯s done anything he can to gain the advantage.¡± She laughed suddenly. ¡°I remember, he used to do this small trick with a firefly. It would appear from between his fingers, land on my nose, then flash so bright I couldn¡¯t see anything for a minute. He¡¯d switch all the pieces on the chessboard around while I was blinded.¡±

    ¡°And you let him?¡±

    The queen shrugged. ¡°It was harmless. And he still lost half the time. A clever man, but not spectacularly brilliant.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll pray the odds are in Fuiseog¡¯s favor then.¡±

    ¡°To whom I wonder.¡±

    ¡°Anyone. Everyone. Lord Cernunnos, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Innsidh na ge¨°idh as t-fhogar e.¡± <i>The goose will tell it in autumn.</i>

    Ois¨ªn simply nodded. There was little either of them could do from the afterlife. Queen F¨®dla pulled on his arm, beckoning him back to the festivities, and he begrudgingly allowed himself to be led down the winding stairs to the main hall. Whether or not every former fae noble lived in the castle, F¨®dla had declined to answer, but they were certainly all in attendance. He¡¯d made the rounds already after he and Nico had arrived: Queen Rhiannon, the first monarch to bring the fae together as one people; her husband, King Pwyll, and her son, King Pryderi, who had died young; on and on through names and family trees Ois¨ªn only vaguely remembered from his history lessons, down to F¨®dla¡¯s parents and her older sister, Princess Luneigh, who had died before Ois¨ªn was born. He almost wished he¡¯d paid attention in his lessons like Fuiseog so he could know who to ask what. As it was, he got by on small talk and remarking on his life as prince-consort.

    It was all rather banal. The dead nobles, long since having exhausted all novel stories after endless such parties, spoke of nothing at all. It almost seemed to be a game between many of then to see who could speak the longest without saying anything at all. It drove Ois¨ªn¡¯s mind to fits, and so he¡¯d escaped to the roof to at least suffer in silence. He looked around then, now returned to the nightmare, for Nico, hoping the cat at least would assuage him. Though, he found the chubby Bombay swaying in a corner clearly inebriated. The other guests had left him a wide berth.

    Ois¨ªn took it on himself, then, to at least see the cat to a bedroom to sleep it off. He¡¯d never imagined animals could even stomach fae liquor, but anything was possible in Tir na n¨®g he supposed. F¨®dla had shown them their rooms sometime between the long introductions and his flight to the roof. As soon as his hooves made contact with the stones of the hallway, the room came to an abrupt eerie silence. Suddenly, the blood thundered in his ears, and he found himself paralyzed.

    ¡°Ois¨ªn kin of F¨®dla and Fuiseog,¡± Queen Rhiannon¡¯s voice blared out. ¡°You leave again so soon?¡±

    He couldn¡¯t turn to look at her, though his lips did seem to work again.

    ¡°My companion is ill, majesty. I will see him to bed and return.¡±

    Her approach was audible, every graceful step resonating in the still air of the chamber. ¡°<i>Twice</i> you have strayed without my permission. Do you <i>seek</i> to disrespect me, child?¡±

    ¡°No, majesty, I¡ª¡± His body spun around on its own to face the queen.

    ¡°Face me when you speak. Did F¨®dla teach you nothing? Nor your husband? Even that human would know better manners. Well?¡±

    ¡°As I said, I¡¯m only taking my friend¡ª¡±

    ¡°<i>Insolence</i>!¡± Rhiannon¡¯s face was a terrifying mask of ferocity, lips curled up to reveal rows of teeth filed to points and her hair dancing on some unfelt breeze. ¡°F¨®dla!¡± The other queen was thrust forward with a stumble to Rhiannon¡¯s side. ¡°Teach this¡­this <i>indignant cur</i> the proper manners or you are <i>both</i> out on the ramparts until you do. Dismissed!¡±

    The room sprang back to life as if nothing had occurred, and Ois¨ªn was free to move again. F¨®dla still stood before him, face barely containing her own rage and shock at being thrown center-stage. She said nothing as she grabbed him by the shoulder roughly and directed him down the hall. WHen they were safely in her own chambers, the queen released him and collapsed onto the bed. Her entire air of confidence deflated. Ois¨ªn laid Nico, now asleep, onto one of the couches and sat at his head. They remained like that for a long while, stewing in their own minds.

    ¡°You¡¯ve made a grave mistake,¡± she finally whispered.

    ¡°So I saw.¡±

    ¡°Queen Rhiannon is, well, fickle at the best of times. For her to declare your disrespect publicly¡­¡±

    ¡°Did you not raise Fuiseog to treat all nobility as equal? That no fae ruler stood above another, nor any duke, earl, whatever?¡±

    F¨®dla sat up suddenly and glared at him.

    ¡°And I have bragged to all you were my son¡¯s reasoning. Think, Ois¨ªn. You are not Fuiseog, you¡¯re not even nobility. A king¡¯s consort carries no weight beyond the grave.¡±

    ¡°What would you suggest then? I grovel and apologize? Beg for forgiveness? I won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You must!¡± she cried. ¡°Or Rhiannon will see to it that you¡¯ll never even lay eyes on Aengus, let alone any Tuath D¨¦ that could help. You¡¯ll wither away on the ramparts until Cernunnos recalls your soul.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t. I made a promise I would see this through, and that I would deliver Nico there as well. I refuse to lose my dignity among all things.¡±

    ¡°What is dignity but a hindrance? Don¡¯t you understand? She¡¯ll never let you leave if you don¡¯t do as she says.¡±

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll have to show her reason then.¡±

    F¨®dla sighed. ¡°It¡¯s often a fae¡¯s mouth that breaks their nose.¡±

    ¡°Is that where Fuiseog got the phrase? An egg can¡¯t be broken before it has cracked.¡±

    ¡°Yet still you¡¯re left to clean the mess when it falls.¡±

    ¡°The truth never choked a man.¡±

    ¡°No, but a wise head can¡¯t be placed on young shoulders, and small lies lay more sweet on the tongue than bitter truth.¡±

    ¡°Beautiful trees have grown in shallow soil.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not standing here and having a battle of wits with you, Ois¨ªn. The fact is, Queen Rhiannon does not see reason. You think she¡¯s called ¡®Mad Queen¡¯ for her love of logic?¡±

    ¡°Still, I have to try. I can¡¯t cower yet, not until I reach Aengus.¡±

    ¡°You heard her though? She¡¯ll have both our heads if you fail.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t fail.¡±

    ¡°I hope not.¡± She rose slowly and came over to wrap him in a hug. ¡°What happened to that awkward stablehand that courted my son? Who couldn¡¯t even look me in the eyes the first time we met?¡±

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    ¡°Fuiseog never told you how he got the scar under his ribs, did he?¡±

    ¡°He told me you two were horseplaying and slipped onto one of your knives. I knew it wasn¡¯t the truth, but a noble is entitled to their secrets. I kept many.¡±

    ¡°You did. It seems every time Fuiseog or I encountered a problem, it was because you didn¡¯t tell us something.¡±

    ¡°I am sorry.¡±

    ¡°The scar.¡±

    ¡°Right, go on.¡±

    ¡°We were visiting one of the mountain villages, to the south where Duke Liam ruled. Fuiseog wanted to go in disguise, to ¡®better assess the common impression of the nobility¡¯ he said. I never could tell him no. To make a long story short, Fuiseog got along just fine, but I was awkward as you said, even among commoners. One of the bar patrons where we ended the night, he decided my shyness was an ego, that I thought I was better than him. I could barely hit the side of a house with a knife, let alone another fae. The man came at me with a sword drawn, and I managed to barely dodge the first swing. Fuiseog was between us before I knew it, and the patron was already swinging again. Somehow, Fuiseog talked the man down, even while pouring blood out where his hand covered the wound. We left right after that and camped instead. I tried to heal Fuiseog, but my magic wasn¡¯t powerful enough to completely do it. He just smiled and called the scar a badge of his love for me. He made me swear not to tell you we¡¯d run into trouble.¡±

    ¡°Oh, my little Fuiseog. So ambitious, but he never plans for the future.¡±

    ¡°I promised myself then and there I wouldn¡¯t make Fuiseog worry about me anymore. I practiced until I was one of the best fighters in the land. I stood my ground and fought my own battles. I did everything I could to make Fuiseog happy, and I filled in all the places he was weak.¡±

    ¡°And you did, dear, you did.¡±

    ¡°So you see?  I refused to bow in life, to never bring shame onto Fuiseog. I already failed him by dying to some unknown knight. I can¡¯t fail him now. I can¡¯t show weakness.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s my fault. I sent Keir home, and I knew Cailey took them, but I never told either of you.¡±

    ¡°Keir? Who, the knight?¡±

    F¨®dla smiled sadly. ¡°You and Fuiseog met at night, right? When you first tried to court him?¡± Ois¨ªn nodded. ¡°Keir was his personal guard for¡­well, until you two got so strong you had no need for a guard. I gave Keir an easy choice: stay on in the castle as a knight, close but always suffering watching you two go on without them, or return to their home beyond the mists. I meant for Keir to train with their people, to learn to harness their powers until they stood on the same level as you and Fuiseog.¡±

    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t remember.¡±

    ¡°Your magic was never as strong as Fuiseog¡¯s. It¡¯s no wonder that¡¯s not enough.¡± She placed a hand on his head. ¡°My doing. I always did rely too much on memory manipulation.¡±

    There was only the barest trickle of magic coming from her fingers, and then Ois¨ªn did remember. Keir, the black hound, who had faithfully protected the two of them from the shadows. Who had found Ois¨ªn in the stables that day to offer him a hand in friendship, and who helped him sneak in every night to see the prince.¡±

    ¡°Keir.¡± The name tore roughly through his heart. ¡°Cailey took them? And you¡­.¡±

    ¡°I was going to tell you one day, but I¡¯d thought it easier to simply erase the memories then.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Cailey caught them on the road. A simple but effective trap. He killed them and raised them as a revenant, an undead servant bound to his will. It was this revenant that killed you. If I had just told you the truth, if you had known there was a shadow possibly hunting you, well¡­.¡±

    ¡°If you had told us, we would have confronted Cailey then to free Keir. We would have never gone to war because your brother would be dead.¡± He felt his anger rising silently. ¡°We could have seen Keir safely to the mists, where no one would have found them. If you had told us. Why, F¨®dla? Why do our problems always start with you not saying something?¡± He was on his feet now, looking down on the former queen as he towered over her.

    ¡°I am sorry, my child. We fae only have death in which to weigh our past choices.¡±

    ¡°What else aren¡¯t you telling me? What else have you lied to Fuiseog about?¡±

    ¡°We could be here the rest of your thirteen days and longer if I spilled every secret I ever had, all that I decided was not important for you two to know.¡±

    He stared at her for a long moment. ¡°One day, I will know. I won¡¯t fail him again.¡±

    ¡°Then go. I¡¯ll watch your charge.¡±

    She stroked Nico¡¯s chin, to which the cat gave a satisfied purr. In any other circumstance, Ois¨ªn would have found it a sweet gesture for her to offer her protection. But the seething rage he felt boiled under his skin, and so he stormed off and paced the hallway. Regardless of his feelings, he needed to confront Queen Rhiannon with a clear head. He remembered a trick Fuiseog had taught him, a matter of focusing one¡¯s mind around something unrelated to calm down. <i>The fire dances, the water rushes, the wind blows, and they carry my thoughts away. </i>He repeated it to himself over and over, letting the elements in his mind take his anger. After a moment and a lot of deep breaths, he sighed and deemed himself calm enough.

    Evidently the party had disbanded sometime after his leaving. The hall was swept clean, not a single crumb left to indicate people had been there. Through the large glass dome that served as the ceiling, Ois¨ªn watched the sky change colors as the sun set. He felt unnerved suddenly as a single shadow parted the heavens. It was a small thing, a single flight silhouetted by the radiant backdrop. Something in the act called his attention, and he realized until that moment he hadn¡¯t seen any birds in the afterlife.

    He raced up the stairs, briefly forgetting his meeting with the queen. He watched the bird from the vantage of the roof stumble through the air. It cut back and forth through the air on a broken wing that flapped once for every three of the other. On some breeze, it hit the sucking downdraft and was pulled violently down towards Ois¨ªn. By sheer luck, he managed to take a step forwards and catch the heavy body of the bird before it hit the stones. He almost then dropped it entirely when it chirped, and he finally saw the creature up close. It was a lark. The bird flailed back and forth in his hands, tweeting the whole while. Some notes translated themselves in his mind, but the majority remained indiscernible.

    ¡°King¡­danger¡­speak¡­Rhiannon¡­¡±

    Ois¨ªn wasted no time descending back to the hall. The throne room, he knew, was behind the large ornate golden doors behind the dais where Rhiannon had rested during the feast. The metal was warm to the touch, and they parted with a single light push. The scene beyond, as he ascended a set of marble steps, was utterly breathtaking. Though past dusk outside, the room was completely illuminated by a shining artificial star that hung from the vaulted ceiling a hundred feet above and bathed the room in the warmth of a modest summer day. The walls were nothing but interspersed gold pillars consumed by flowering ivy, and further out it looked as if the throne room was one outcropping in an endless terrain of pathed grasslands.

    Whatever emotions Ois¨ªn had entered with, the throne room took and replaced with a grand serenity. The whole atmosphere made him want to lay down and nap, owaking only to refresh himself with a long cold swallow of water. Then the lark chirped again. He advanced towards Queen Rhiannon who lounged on a cushioned wicker chaise as she picked fruit from a small plate balanced on her knee. He stopped a couple paces short of her and simply held out the bird so it could cross the short distance on its own.

    It gave a good strong flap and landed heavily on the queen¡¯s shoulder. To Ois¨ªn, again, it was just birdsong, but Rhiannon closed her eyes and nodded along as the bird delivered its message. When it finished, the queen drew one finger down the length of the lark¡¯s broken wing. She gave a short whistle, and the bird took off confidently between the pillars into the endless fields.

    ¡°You do not understand birds.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question.

    ¡°No, majesty. I didn¡¯t even speak to beasts until I accepted this torc.¡±

    ¡°A pity. Larks especially have a way with words.¡±

    ¡°I can imagine.¡±

    ¡°I had heard your Fuiseog is a wordsmith to match his namesake. My birds say otherwise though.¡±

    ¡°Majesty?¡±

    ¡°One matter at a time. I await your apology, Ois¨ªn, for your earlier disrespect. I will not wait much longer.¡±

    ¡°You will. I haven¡¯t come to apologize, majesty.¡±

    Rhiannon set her plate aside and sat up.

    ¡°Then you have come only to annoy me further. You are not the first child to rebel.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand. I made a promise¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, you do not understand, kin of F¨®dla.¡± The queen rose to her full height, though her voice remained low. The tranquility of the throne room seemed to quell her own wild emotions as much as they did Ois¨ªn¡¯s. ¡°I am Rhiannon, first queen of the Fae, whose line birthed a dynasty. I am she of the eternal summer, who set the seasons in their place. Descendant of the Tuath D¨¦ through ¨¦ire and the fae leader Aeglinn. Who are you, child?¡±

    ¡°I am Ois¨ªn, kin of F¨®dla of your royal line, and consort to King Fuiseog. I am he of the piercing dagger, who faced the armies alone. Descendant of King Pryderi and his mistress by sixteen generations of common blood. Let me pass.¡±

    ¡°How drunk was your father when he told you that lie? My son had but one child, by his wife the Lady Adelaide, and they were king after his death. You are common mud, descendant of no one. ¡°

    ¡°I must return to my king. Our business isn¡¯t finished.¡±

    Rhiannon grinned and sat back down. ¡°Do you know what my birds tell me, child? They speak of your king and dub him ¡®<i>Scread</i>¡¯, butcher bird. He has taken to slaughtering his uncle¡¯s forces and fraternizing with the very demon who murdered you.¡±

    ¡°Then they sing of another. Fuiseog is no butcher. He was raised with the same fae values as all of us.¡±

    She spoke again through a mouthful of fruit. ¡°Do not take my rankling as condemnation. It was time for my people to wake from their delusion of peace. War is inevitable, only more so after nearly five thousand years. It sometimes takes only the rage of a lover to jumpstart a revolution.¡±

    ¡°He is not a butcher.¡±

    ¡°Then go to Aengus, foolish Ois¨ªn. Go to the lord of love and proclaim yourself so he can knock some sense into you. You will fail, as all have before you, and in death you will discover the truth.¡±

    ¡°Bah, you lie. What words can be trusted from the Mad Queen herself?¡± He tried to stop the words, but they came out against his better judgement.

    ¡°You seek your doom so early? So be it.¡±

    The queen began to weave a complex stream of magic in front of herself that made Ois¨ªn¡¯s head spin. Colors danced along the razor-thin threads in patterns he barely recognized, some he had only read of in his studies. Individually they were nonsensical, but put together they served a purpose he could only guess at.

    ¡°You are lucky in some way,¡± she said, ¡°On account of that torc, I can¡¯t truly do anything viscous. But by the terms of your pact, I can certainly keep you here.¡±

    Her fingers tied off the ends of the magic tapestry, and with a single flick of her wrist it hurtled towards him. There was no time to dodge, and it slammed into him with enough force to knock his breath away. The room fizzled out around him. Once again he stood on the  battlements overlooking the sea of clouds. He saw the magical threads all around him caught in the moonlight like spider silk. A small gasp was his only warning as the form of Queen F¨®dla still cradling Nico fell on top of him. All three them impacted the stones with force enough to throw up a shower of dust.

    ¡°Ois¨ªn, what¡­¡±

    ¡°Rhiannon¡¯s doing. She didn¡¯t like my argument as much as I hoped, what little of it I got out anyway.¡±

    F¨®dla rose and approached one of the strands of magic. At a single touch, the whole web pulsed and threw her back to where they¡¯d fallen. Magic as well seemed to have the same effect, repulsing Ois¨ªn as soon as he reached out with a tendril. They set to work immediately, as if of a shared unspoken mind, to test the whole perimeter. By dawn, not a single part bulged, and the entrance back into the castle revealed itself to be covered in the same strands.

    ¡°What now?¡± F¨®dla sighed.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I really don¡¯t.¡±

 7. No Love in the East

    Having already stopped at his estates, Fuiseog stood then on the precipice of the star-struck lands. The ground, still loose, occasionally broke off the edge and spiraled down into the abyss. Wooden stairs, long dilapidated, spiraled down until they too disappeared into the darkness. The way was treacherous with any one stair as likely to snap as hold one¡¯s weight. Fuiseog himself had never seen the bottom. He knew no one who had. Fae legend said the star that had created the leviathan crater had been the same that gave them their powers; though, fae had long since given up the pilgrimage to the site. Once, they had come from far away to brave the descent in the hopes of squeezing some hidden reserve of magic out. Few ever returned, and those that did seemed in some way drained of life, going on to live as shadows of their former selves and dying young.

    In any case, Fuiseog¡¯s own curiosity about the contents had been sufficiently tamped down by his mother. Of the many things she had forbidden, few had carried the same weight of certain death. Even the air, which rose from the abyss in sputtering zephyrs like some great beast respirating, made his skin crawl. It was malodorous and rank as if each rotting fae carcass was still festering at the bottom waiting to be reclaimed. Keir beside him once again a hound bristled as the foul winds washed over them.

    ¡°Is she¡­down there?¡± they growled.

    Fuiseog shook his head and hiked a thumb behind him to the trailhead that led further towards the coast. ¡°About a half-mile out still, I think. I feel some strong pull from that direction.¡±

    ¡°I guess we¡¯ll smell the smoke, though if they¡¯re only a half-mile away we should at least see it, no?¡±

    ¡°We should.¡±

    Keir pawed at the dirt. Regardless, the hound went on in the direction Fuiseog had indicated. Though moss-grown, the area was otherwise barren. The forest had been obliterated in the impact, and had kept its distance ever since. The flowers too had avoided growing, the birds detoured so as not to fly over, and the rabbits did not nibble in the crater¡¯s fields. No living thing, save fae and the pale-pink lichen, dared approach. That unseen force kept Fuiseog¡¯s eyes on the pit, a poignant unheard song that entranced his being, and he was

    rooted to that spot overlooking the abyss swirling below. It took a great shove from Keir to break the spell.

    ¡°Are we going or what?¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­let¡¯s go.¡±

    He fought to avoid a parting glance before following the black hound towards the path. By his own estimates, if the empress did in fact have an army of five hundred at her back, there was only one place they could have set camp within a half dozen leagues. The woods rarely left space for anything that refused to coexist. On point, they spotted the first sentries just outside the clearing.

    As reports had said, the soldiers both wore odd masks shaped vaguely like screaming faces and armor of overlapping golden-bronze plate. Each carried a long pike twice their height. They made no sound, not even to breath, just standing at the side of the path to watch Fuiseog and Keir pass. The camp itself filled the clearing. Along the wooded edges, large stakewalls had been erected, and every other inch save a central path through was carpeted with low-strung beige tents, no room even for cooking fires or gatherings of soldiers to take time off between marching. It was bleak by Fuiseog¡¯s own standards. Fae camps were often large and extravagant, with retinues that trailed behind and set up just outside for those with more uncouth tastes. Fuiseog had let it continue in the hopes of keeping morals high on his crusade.

    The rest of the empress¡¯s soldiers crowded together in the center of the whole thing, shoulder to shoulder in countless ranks leaving only enough room for Fuieog to pass through with Keir on his heels to the large wagons that stood like cathedrals among all the tents. He stopped a few feet away and looked up at Kerres va Kosh. The lord was a small pale thing, slender but lacking the sharp angles of many fae. Her hair was as long as she was, a blush of red like a garden of hibiscus and intricately braided so it formed a crown of sorts before spiraling down behind her. Her eyes were a pallid blue without pupils as if she were blind, but she stared directly at Fuiseog. He inclined his head slightly.

    ¡°Lord Kerres va Kosh, empress of the lands across the endless seas and commander of the silent legion. I hope I¡¯m not too late.¡±

    ¡°Perfectly on time, as expected.¡± Her voice was simultaneously quiet and unbreakably commanding. ¡°You have brought yourself and your loyal hound, but I wonder what knowledge you yet carry. Come.¡±

    She rose silently and padded into the center wagon. It was the largest of the five, an astonishing work of art carved from oak and leafed with golden spirals, and the redolence of the wood was still palpable even on Fuiseog¡¯s tongue; oak specifically evoked a memory in his mind of the first time he¡¯d met Keir, a memory he¡¯d thought lost. The very same story the knight had recounted in the library, of dragging them into the mess of playing children, of accompanying them to a table just below the queen so they could satisfy the intense growling of their stomach, of heaping the food on their plate to the scowls of the other fae. Fuiseog placed his boot on the first step of the wagon.

    The flood hit. Keir watching with sad eyes as Fuiseog was whisked away by his mother and made to sit beside her. Keir, much older, sitting astride a silver-dapple stallion as Fuiseog stepped into the light of the fae sun once again and ascended to his palanquin, and the knight confidently keeping pace beside him as they descended towards the festival below. Fuiseog feeling the weight of his crown and the mantle around his shoulders, sweating profusely under the sun reflected through a thousand pieces of painted glass in the throne room atrium as Keir kneeled before him and swore themselves to his service and protection. Keir¡¯s face in so many shadows as Fuiseog went through the town below the palace, watching for trouble. The candle Keir cradled as they cracked the door to Fuiseog¡¯s bedchamber and ushered in Ois¨ªn. The look of grief on the knight¡¯s face when they bid goodbye to the betrothed prince and his new consort. All three of their hands now intertwined, him and Ois¨ªn and Keir swearing to meet again once the shapeshifter had learned what they could from their own people. The three of them together as an unstoppable force, with Fuiseog as the brains and Ois¨ªn as the reason and Keir as the blade. Then he saw the mist that crept through the palace grounds in the wake of Keir¡¯s death, curling so delicately around him and Ois¨ªn in their bed, slowly erasing all memory of them.

    He tripped, slamming his knees into the next step of the wagon. Keir¡¯s arm was the only thing that stopped his face from impacting next. That strong grip was all that reminded him where they were at that moment. A flood of anger crashed in his heart, washing away the sudden grief and shock. It took the pressure of the knight helping him back to his feet, and every ounce of willpower he could muster to swallow the rage and pack it away to be released later. They still had a mission.

    He took the third and fourth step shakily, but found himself finally on the main platform of the wagon staring at the curtain Lord va Kosh had disappeared into. Keir stepped forward to part the fabric, taking a quick glance before ushering their liege through. The empress sat upon a single pillow arranged with three others in a diamond shape. She made no gesture for them to sit, but Fuiseog plopped down on the opposite cushion regardless. Keir took another.

    ¡°We¡¯ve come. I would know what help you offer, Lord va Kosh, before I make any deals.¡±

    ¡°A moment,¡± she whispered. The air became charged, raising the hair of Fuiseog¡¯s arms, and the shadows separated from the walls. They swirled and grew and coalesced finally into the vague shape of a man behind the empress. The figure that took their place was like none he¡¯d ever encountered. The man, or thing really, was tall and thin to the point of seeing the very bones of their fingers under leathery gray skin, one of the only parts that showed through the thick cotton bandages that wrapped them head to toe. The only other part that struck him were piercing red eyes, only visible by their haunting glow in the dimness of the wagon¡¯s interior. A smell of rot and of water-soaked parchment filled the king¡¯s senses.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°Ten, my closest advisor,¡± the empress said with a small wave over her shoulder. ¡°Now we can begin, King Fuiseog.¡±

    ¡°What are your terms, Lord va Kosh?¡±

    ¡°No terms. We will help you in your war against your uncle, the Duke Cailey, so long as you ask. We will give you the tools you still lack.¡±

    ¡°In exchange for what exactly? Forgive my skepticism, but I don¡¯t know any person of power to help for nothing.¡±

    ¡°And yet¡­¡±

    ¡°We must,¡± Ten said in a voice like a cat¡¯s hiss. ¡°We must help as much as you must succeed.¡±

    ¡°And then what?¡±

    The empress smiled finally and giggled. ¡°And then you die.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Keir placed a hand on their sword handle.

    Ten spoke up again. ¡°The fates have already been written. Our empire has arrived at the exact moment we are needed, at the exact moment you are set to cast down the duke. You will kill him, and then we will take what is ours.¡±

    ¡°Which is¡­? I¡¯m sorry, you¡¯ve lost me.¡±

    ¡°These lands are mine by right. I am the lost empress, who has rebuilt herself across the waves. Who descended from the people you no longer remember. From the line of Aeglinn who begot Rhiannon.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit,¡± he growled, the rage still bubbling away.

    ¡°We are¡­wait, what?¡± The empress recoiled slightly.

    ¡°Bullshit. I don¡¯t believe you. You¡¯re no more from the line of Aeglinn than I am. I read the histories as much as anyone. Rhiannon killed every member of her family, that¡¯s why they called her the mad queen. She made sure no one would ever be able to challenge her right to rule.¡±

    ¡°Well, that doesn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you for a second. Or your shadowy advisor, talking of the fates. You think he knows the future more than the rest of us?¡±

    ¡°I know he knows the future. All he has said has come to pass.¡±

    Fuiseog rose to his feet slowly and brushed himself off. ¡°Because he managed to predict a couple things? Anyone with a decent education can make guesses at the future and occasionally be right.¡±

    ¡°Then you will not ask?¡±

    The king smiled. ¡°Lord Kerres va Kosh, I formally ask as king of these lands and their people, aid me in my war against my uncle, Duke Cailey. I would be a fool to refuse any advantage, but if you think I will simply keel over when it ends, your advisor is blowing smoke up your ass.¡±

    Kerres shrugged and smiled back. ¡°Whatever. Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you, King Fuiseog macF¨®dla.¡±

    ¡°What do I need to do?¡±

    Ten moved forwards, and pointed to Keir. ¡°Finish what was started. Your companion has never finished their journey. Even in death, duty binds them to you. Finish it, go to the lands beyond the Mist, and learn the secrets of the P¨²ca.¡±

    Keir rose as well but remained silent as they glanced at Fuiseog¡¯s dark expression. The empress did not rise, she simply waved them out of the wagon. Ten glared from the shadows, the glow of his eyes imprinting themself in Fuiseog¡¯s mind. The rage seethed stronger at the reminder. The king was silent on the hike back to his estates, Keir loping behind him sniffing at the air. They tried to nuzzle his hand, to ask if everything was alright, but Fuiseog ignored them. The rage he felt still boiled under the surface, threatening to spill over if he thought about it. Thought about her. He kept his entire focus on putting one foot in front of the other and pushing his rage down. He couldn¡¯t, wouldn¡¯t, explode before they were away from the empress. He made it to the field overlooking the crater before even his own will couldn¡¯t control it.

    ¡°FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.¡± He punched the ground as hard as he could, hearing the satisfying crack of both his own knuckles and the stone underneath. He punched again, and again, and again. He punched until his entire hand ached and his hands were more blood than flesh. Not enough. He screamed over and over, to the heavens to the ground to the roiling abyss at the bottom of the crater, whatever would listen. Keir perched far across the plain, keeping well clear of their liege. Fuiseog didn¡¯t care to look at them then, didn¡¯t care to see their very being tremble as he let his magic run wild, splintering the ground and igniting the lichen so it burned in a ring around him. The clouds overhead came together and a hard wind arose. Lightning rolled across the horizon as thunder blitzed their ears. The rains returned in force, no longer a gentle wash, but a torrential downpour, extinguishing the flames and soaking Fuiseog to the bones in seconds. It filled in the craters left by his outburst and blew leaves off the trees in bursts. It was only when Fuiseog finally collapsed into a heap that the storm eased, and Keir came running.

    Fuiseog¡¯s mind was a torrent of activity. Everything everything everything came back to his mother. His childhood taken from him and his life as a human tainted by her influence, forcing him and Ois¨ªn to push themselves to get stronger, for trying to send Keir away. For erasing the memory of his most loyal knight from his mind, and countless other memories he¡¯d had to dig up over the years. For lying about Cailey, for constantly making excuses. It was her fault Ois¨ªn was dead. If they¡¯d known Keir was still out there, if F¨®dla had let them confront her brother, if they hadn¡¯t had to grow stronger so fast. He felt Keir¡¯s cold nose brush against his cheek, and it started to overwhelm him. Where the rain stopped and tears began, he couldn¡¯t tell, but he cried. Then Keir¡¯s arms were around his shoulders, cradling him close. He wished it was Ois¨ªn.

    ¡°What happened out there, Fuiseog? You took one step on the wagon and almost face-planted. And now you¡¯re curled up in a thunderstorm.¡±

    He tried to find the words to explain, to tell Keir that it was his mother that had separated them, but none came. Keir just rubbed his back as he sobbed.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to say anything. I know that face. You¡¯re hurting, and even if I don¡¯t know why, I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re dead,¡± Fuiseog croaked.

    ¡°Not yet. You heard that freaky shadow thing. My duty isn¡¯t done.¡±

    ¡°And what about after that? After Cailey is gone? When you¡¯re free¡­¡±

    ¡°Bite me.¡±

    Fuiseog snorted. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You heard me. Bite me. You think I¡¯m going to let something stupid like that send me onto the afterlife? I¡¯m flesh and blood, I¡¯m alive again. I haven¡¯t felt this good in a long time. So no, I¡±m not leaving you just because you kill Cailey.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you¡­have to?¡± Fuiseog wiped his nose on his sleeve, looking up into Keir¡¯s face blankly.

    ¡°Nah. Gods are stupid. They probably don¡¯t even realize I¡¯m still down here. And, technically, Cailey declared I¡¯m at your service. So as long as you still need me once he¡¯s gone, I can¡¯t right well go anywhere, yeah?¡±

    Fuiseog laughed. ¡°Yeah, I guess not.¡±

    ¡°So what¡¯s going on? Why are you so¡­.destructive today?¡±

    ¡°I remembered. I remembered everything about you. And she¡ªmy mother¡ªshe lied the whole time and kept you locked away in my fucking head. Something in the wagon reminded me, and it broke the seal. Even after her death, I¡¯m still dealing with her goddamn mistakes.¡±

    ¡°Oh, well that¡¯s¡­.I mean, exactly like her, but still shitty.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, that¡¯s my life.¡±

    ¡°I bet. But hey, you¡¯re not dealing with it alone, you know? I¡¯m still here.¡±

    ¡°You are.¡±

    ¡°It hurts to see you in pain. I don¡¯t want you to have to deal with your pain alone anymore.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Plus now you¡¯ve pretty much destroyed one of your hands. Can you, like, heal that, or no?¡±

    The king shook his head. ¡°I can do a bit, but this is beyond me. It¡¯s just going to have to heal on its own.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no other healers in this whole goddamn land?¡±

    Fuiseog shrugged. ¡°Never thought we¡¯d need them. Fae don¡¯t usually get injured. They either live or they die.¡±

    ¡°Gods, you people suck.¡±

    ¡°Whatever. At least I don¡¯t have to eat.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t seem to care about warmth either, my lord.¡± They shivered. ¡°Cause I¡¯m freezing to death in this rain.¡±

    Fuiseog sniffled and smiled. ¡°Well, let¡¯s get you home then, puppy.¡±

    Keir growled. ¡°Don¡¯t fucking call me that, or I¡¯ll tear up your other hand.¡±

    ¡°Whatever you say, puppy.¡±

    Fuiseog dodged the first lunge with a chuckle as Keir shifted back to their hound form, and he took off running across the pock-marked field with them on his heels towards his estates.