They met again at the border between their realms, the great armies of the world of faerie. Brought together in the mist of early morning they came, bridles jangling, fairy bells caroling, the hooves of countless horses, both palest gray and deepest black, thundering over the soft earth. The deep trees of the Dubhlainn Sidhe whispered their respect, and the fields of the Tuatha hummed with excitement. A thousand pennants curled in the same breeze that wrapped fingers of mist around the horses.
And at the head of each army rode a monarch wearing a gleaming gold crown crafted by the first ones to carry the great stones of faerie, and their combined light warmed the morning air.
As was the tradition of the Dubhlainn Sidhe, the Captain of the Coimirceoiri rode just behind his king, and he was clad in the sleek leather armor that identified his clan and helmeted with a hard leather helm with its horse-shaped nose-guard. The great battle sword of the Dubhlainn Sidhe was strapped across his back. This day the Protector’s wife and helpmeet rode alongside him, clad in the shining bronze breastplate of the Tuatha and its winged helmet, her short sword at her hip and her bow across her back. None had questioned her for it.
As was the tradition of the Tuatha de Dannan, the princesses royals rode alongside their mother, though this day, there was but one, as one of her sisters had been stripped of her fairy strength, and the other now rode with the Dubhlainn Sidhe. Sorcha was also clad in the Tuatha armor, with the crest of the infantry on her arm, and she smiled as she met her sister and brought her horse to a halt alongside the queen’s.
“Well, then, Cathal,” Mab said in greeting, “she’s home, this great stone of ours.” She sat her pale gray horse with comfortable dignity, the great Coilin Stone gleaming crimson above her head. Her hair, that moon-pale silver that seemed all but ghostly in the early sun, flowed behind her like another battle flag. All who saw her felt the urge to bow.
Cathal, who looked younger since the return of his stone, smiled at the queen. “And it’s your daughters I must thank, Mab,” he said. “Later, when we finish this business, we must meet here for the celebration, and you can tell me how it came to be.”
Her smile was slow and satisfied. “Later I would be delighted to. For now, though, I have had speech with my daughter Orla, who is now of your clan, and she has convinced me that for the benefit of us both, the combined armies should be led by your Protector. My people are content with the judgment of their princess, of whom we are proud. She has also said that he will be agreeable to working with my daughters, who lead our own forces, Sorcha the infantry and Orla the cavalry.” Again the queen smiled. “I am to understand that a braw young Coimirceoiri named Faolán will take Orla’s place with her archers. We thank him.”
Cathal smiled back, and it seemed that the Dearann gleamed in agreement. “She is persuasive, is our new princess,” he said. “The battle tactics have already been worked out. It remains only for us to move forward to the place of our meeting with the dark lords.”
“There is one more thing, your worships,” came a voice from the core of the Dubhlainn Sidhe troop.
All turned to see Eibhear trotting forward on a pale white mare, neither clad in armor of any sort. The Stone Keeper wore his robes of office, though.
“Eibhear?” the king demanded. “Don’t you think there could be a better time for this?”
“Ah, well, no, you see, I don’t. And as the good Queen Mab’s own Stone Keeper can be after tellin’ you, we keepers must bestow our stones when the gods tell us, not when we’ve a whim for it.” He’d reached the border where the armies met face-to-face, and he sat at right angles to the monarchs. “And, well, isn’t that what’s to happen now, before this grand fight of ours?”
The king sighed. “Then be about it.”
In that moment, Eibhear became his office, his flighty, fancy bearing disappearing into utmost dignity.
“Orla, daughter of the Tuatha de Dannan, sister of the Dubhlainn Sidhe, I call you forward!” he cried out.
Orla turned to look up at her husband questioningly. Looking like a god himself with his battle sword strapped to his back, he just shrugged. “I wouldn’t keep them all waiting, my girl,” he whispered.
She barely had time to settle before her horse headed up on his own, letting her know in no uncertain terms that they didn’t have time to waste. Snotty know-it-all, she thought fondly, then forgot her new friend as she came to a stop facing Eibhear beside the rulers, so that the four formed a cross for all the armies to see.
“I am here, Eibhear.”
Giving her a glad smile, he lifted his right hand high over his head. “This is the day, then, when you are to be given your last stone, Orla. For haven’t we of both fairy realms seen that you deserve it, not only for protecting the personal safety of our beloved women, but the safety of the earth itself and the world of faerie she so loves? Come forth and receive your stone.”
Orla kept her gaze on him, no matter how much she wanted to see the stone. The last of who she was to be, bestowed on her by an alien god and his people. By her new, beloved family and the man who guarded them all. She shook with fear and wonder.
“It is the emerald of statecraft, Orla of the Clans,” Eibhear said. “For how better to remind you of the fragility of life, of the delicate balance of the earth and her children, of the frailty of the heart of each and every being who relies upon your judgment, your compassion, your wisdom? You have truly led these people, Orla, by tact and by perseverence and by guile and by force when necessary. And we all stand here today, joined as the clans have not been in the years of my life, because you have called us so. Wear the emerald to remind us all that we have a princess to come to when we need guidance and comfort.”
Slowly he lowered his hand. The broad valley was hushed, even the oak dryads watching closely. Orla saw the emerald glint in the sun and froze. Goddess, she already had the iolite and the moonstone. He couldn’t really mean to join them with the emerald.
“No, Stone Keeper,” she said, cowed by the sight of it. “For these are the stones of a queen. And I am no queen.”
She heard the clatter of protest behind her, bless the Dubhlainn Sidhe for their loyalty. Eibhear only smiled.
“Stone Keeper of the Tuatha de Dannan,” he called across to Sorcha, his focus on Orla. “Do you see any sin in this gift of the god Lugh? Will the earth crumble around us for it?”
And, oh, wasn’t Sorcha smiling at her? “Sure, hasn’t Orla earned this and more like it many times over? And wouldn’t she have to be the one who explains it to her own goddess, Danu, if she refuses?”
Orla was shaking now, frightened by the weight of that emerald.
“Daughter,” the queen said, and Orla turned to her mother, the queen’s last accusations ringing in her memory. For hadn’t she been right? She, Orla, had committed treason. She’d torn a nation apart, and brought war and death to her home. How could she be rewarded for redeeming herself?
“Lady, it is wrong.”
“Take the stone,” her mother said simply, and for the first time ever Orla saw there in the depths of that unearthly green something she had never thought to find. Pride. Her mother the queen truly thought she deserved to wear the same stones.
Orla had never been so shaken in her life. She almost closed her eyes, but knew it would be an insult to all there. Instead, she lifted her left hand, the heart hand, where her most important stone would live. And she extended it to the Stone Keeper.
The emerald-and-gold ring slid onto her third finger as if coming home. Orla immediately felt its warmth and life and light, and she knew that it matched her other rings, her moonstone and her iolite. And she was truly humbled by its presence.
“Well, then,” Eibhear said, his sly smile once again firmly in place. “Now that we have a full set of worthy leaders, I’m saying it’s time to get on with this war of ours.”
Unable to remain where all could focus attention on her, Orla trotted back to her place alongside her smiling husband.
“Ah, well, I’m in trouble now,” he said. “For how is a mere Protector to argue with a woman wearing the queen’s stones?”
She smiled back, but it was a bit wobbly. “Sure, I don’t deserve this, Liam.”
He reached out a gauntleted hand and stroked her cheek. “Ah, but you do, Orla. You humble me with what you’ve accomplished. Were you my queen, I would serve you with joy.”
She shook her head, taking hold of his hand and laying it against her heart. “Ah, no, now, there’ll be none of that. We two ride side-by-side or not at all.”
Leaning over far enough for his saddle to creak in protest and his horse to sidestep a bit, Liam kissed her to again seal their personal pact. Orla was awed by his strength, for didn’t she know that he would always fear for her? But he’d given her the great gift of letting her do what she must right beside him, and she would love him for it until the day memory failed the earth.
“Let’s make Deirdre proud of her parents, then, shall we?” she asked.
Liam rolled his eyes. “Faith, she’ll be impossible to live with after you return with your war victory. She’ll be begging for a place in the Coimirceoiri, all right.”
“And would that be so wrong for her when she grows?”
“Well, I imagine the women will be telling me it will be nothing of the kind. But when she’s grown. Not next moon.”
The time for conversation was over. The monarchs had turned their horses to ride alongside each other, and the fairy armies fell in behind, a great forest that swept over the land. And Orla, whose first stone gifts had been solitary ones, selfish at best, couldn’t help but thrill that she rode just behind the glory of the fairy stones and the combined force of the clans. She couldn’t envision fighting anywhere but alongside her husband. She couldn’t imagine having a heart more full.
“One more thing,” she said as she trotted alongside her husband. “Just so you know.”
“You love me?” he asked, grinning.
“Ah, faith, everybody knows that. What they don’t know is that I’ve baked up a great, delicious cake to celebrate when we arrive back home.”
“And I love you,” he said, then paused in consideration. “A cake,” he said, then frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good thing?”
It was a great victory. Seduced by the imbalance brought by the loss of the stones, the dark lords had grown greedy, thinking that it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have control over other realms. With a crushing setdown, the armies of faerie told them no. The fighting was long and brutal, but in the end, the intruders were pushed back to their dark home.
When the last portal had been forced shut past the bodies of the enemy, and the frontier lay silent and calm once again, the king and queen retreated to their lands to care for their injured and bury their dead. But in the fullness of time, they returned to the border where their armies had joined to celebrate not only the victory, but the marriage that had brought it about.
For Orla’s part, she was deliriously happy simply because those she knew had returned home safe, although her husband, never content to lead, had waded into the thickest of the fighting with a war cry that had sent a goodly number of the enemy fleeing and come away with another couple of scars as trophies.
It was a good thing, she thought, watching him recreate one of the fights as he shared a bit of whiskey with his counterparts, that she didn’t mind a scar or two. Faith, she should blush at what she’d done with the ones he bore the night after the final battle. Who knew bravery could taste so earthy?
And, well, to be perfectly truthful, Liam had relished hers, collected in the mad cavalry charge that had crushed a line of ghostlords.
But all were safe. The border was secure for the moment, and she was being rewarded with a visit with both her sisters, even Nuala, who had forfeited her life as a fairy for the man she loved.
Upon seeing her, Orla had shrieked and hugged her until both were laughing and crying at once. Then she’d begged her sister’s forgiveness for the person she’d been, and they’d fallen to hugging again. It was only the needed introduction of Orla’s new niece, Brigid, to Orla’s new family that broke it up.
After that she cornered Sorcha and repeated the ritual, and it was even sweeter, for hadn’t Sorcha offered to defend her when she’d thought her in danger? Her, who had never had a kind word to say to the sisters she’d thought weak and unworthy of fairy gifts? The sisters she knew now were more precious than stones or armies or realms.
It was only left to meet Sorcha’s handsome new husband, Harry, and his funny, white-haired granny, which would happen after Cathal finished his own greeting of the family he’d forgotten. Faith, if that old woman didn’t keep laughing out loud and then poking poor Harry, saying, “See? Didn’t I tell you?”
And goddess, if Sorcha hadn’t been right. Harry looked more like Cathal than Cathal’s acknowledged son, Owain. It was all right, though. Owain was as delighted as the rest of them with the turn of events. The horsemaster was particularly pleased, since it seemed that Harry was also freeing him up for the West.
“Can you believe Cathal really had no memory of thirty years in the land of mortal?” Sorcha said with a shake of her head as she saw the king of the Dubhlainn Sidhe nose-to-nose with her husband, Harry, and the newest in his line, baby Niall.
“Well, now that you’ve met the ghostlords, you can understand,” Orla said, wine in one hand and cake—not hers, sadly—in the other. “He’d evidently separated from his men to take the stone to safety, then returned to the field of battle in the Seventh Realm. The rest is a mystery.”
“I still don’t understand how he wasn’t missed when he was gone thirty years,” her sister Nuala’s husband, Zeke, said.
Orla smiled on him. “Ah, faith, you know that fairy time is different from mortal, so. And how’s that new baby of yours? Casting spells yet?”
He grinned. Sure, she couldn’t think of him without remembering that she’d once tried to seduce him. She’d failed, because he’d been honorable and in love with her sister Nuala. She hadn’t understood then. She did now.
“The baby is grand,” Nuala herself said, walking up in her peacock fairy dress to put her arm through Zeke’s.
Orla still couldn’t believe that Mab had allowed Nuala to come home from the land of mortals for the celebration. She just wished it could be a longer visit, and one to be repeated.
“I’m so happy for you, Nuala,” she said, wanting to hug her again. She’d done it twenty times at least already. “I can’t tell you how glad I am you found what you wanted.”
Nuala seemed to have trouble taking her eyes from her husband. “Oh, aye,” she said. “I did. I just wish I could have helped back here with the realms. But wasn’t I busy having my lovely Brigid?”
Orla looked over, along with her sisters, to see Mab cradling the infant in her arms and looking strangely awed.
“Faith,” Nuala said. “I should have brought her one of those years ago. It might have softened her up a bit.”
Orla gaped. “Is she actually saying, ‘Cootchy cootchy’?”
Then, without having to turn to see him, she knew her husband was approaching. Ah, didn’t she feel the heat of him at her back?
“Did you thank Sorcha for bringing a Cherished One to see us?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her. She wrapped her own arms around his and nestled back against him.
“Little Lilly,” Sorcha said with a huge smile. “It’s such a treat to be able to have her and the other children over from the other side. I think it’s that grandmother thing that allowed it. Mab’s suddenly mad for all things small.”
“Well, sure, Lilly’s got her wrapped around her finger,” Orla agreed, leaning her head back against her husband’s heart. It was a rare treat to have a Cherished One among them, and she and Liam had been enjoying her. Mortals would have said the girl had Down Syndrome. The fairies knew she was blessed with eternal joy. And faith, wasn’t she giggling again, giving the new baby a smacking kiss on the forehead? And, of course, she’d had Deirdre and Kieran both by the hand the entire party.
“I’m so glad we’re all together,” Orla said, tears again in her eyes. Goddess, she’d wasted so much time with her sisters. “If I weren’t caught in the fierce trap of my husband’s arms, sure, I’d hug you all over again.”
“I’m glad, too,” Sorcha said, “for don’t we have a surprise for you?”
Orla blinked. “For me?”
“Oh, aye. It’s time to give you your new dress color.”
Dress color? Sweet Danu, she hadn’t thought of it. She was still in her wren dress.
“Oh, thank the good goddess,” she said, straightening. “I swear, if I have to wear this brown one more day I’ll strangle my Stone Keeper. Where is the little man, then?”
“It looks like he’s gathering everyone up. Faith, I’ve never seen a sheepdog dressed in silver before.”
Everybody turned to see Eibhear scurrying about, pushing the councils from both clans toward where the great high tables had been set up and still groaned with food and drink.
“Well, come on, then,” Sorcha said, heading toward her Harry, who had just turned to look for her.
Orla liked him, too. He was perfect for her quiet, homebody sister, a mortal with more fairy blood than not, who’d finally gotten to come home where his heart lived.
“Well?” Liam asked above her, reminding her where her heart lived.
Nuala and Zeke had followed Sorcha. Orla could see the people gathering. Mab handed off her granddaughter and straightened herself, assuming her queen’s posture. Kieran, always watching, grinned over at her. Lilly let go of his hand long enough to wave. And suddenly Orla was afraid.
“They’re bringing the crowns, Liam.”
The Coilin Stone throbbed through the air as the Dearann Stone sang.
“Well, it seems something big’s happening,” he said. “We might as well get up there so they can get to it. Then you can get your new dress.” He sighed. “And here I was just getting used to brown.”
“You were not. Goddess, I’m afraid to see—”
He spun her around so she had to look up into his dear deep eyes. He wasn’t smiling.
“What?”
“Didn’t I just want to look at you a bit before you change all beyond my recognition?”
She huffed. “Don’t be daft. It’s a dress, not a disguise. I’ll be nothing different.”
His smile settled deep in her chest where her heart had finally come to life, where it hung on his words and the benediction of his love.
“I love you, mo mhuirnin,” he said, his eyes soft and sweet.
“Ah, mo stor, and don’t I love you even more.”
Liam answered her with a kiss. A deep, melding kiss that was like nourishment to her, a fierce mating of a kiss, an unbearable sweetness of a kiss, for couldn’t she soar on nothing more than the softness of his mouth?
And then, as quickly as he kissed her, he gently set her back. He smiled just for her, then took her hand and led her to where the clans had gathered.
“Let’s forget the dress,” she said, still a bit breathless. “There’s a grand little river down the glen a ways we could christen.”
“Ah, no, girl,” he said. “Face up to your new self first.”
She sighed. Her new self. Ah, well, it was true. She was new. She’d changed, just as she’d heard snakes shed their skin, leaving that dead thing back in Gleann Fia. She was a new person, and wasn’t it the man next to her who’d helped her discover who she was? Wasn’t he the catalyst, the comfort, the endless delight that illuminated her? She didn’t really need a new dress to know her true colors.
“Well, it’s about time,” Eibhear groused as she reached him. “Sure, we have business before the music, and aren’t the pipers a bit impatient, now?”
And wasn’t Sorcha standing next to him in her own Stone Keeper robes, and both monarchs in their crowns? Ah, so it was a joint ceremony.
“Stone Keeper,” Cathal warned.
The great king stood alongside Mab, just as he had when they’d gone into battle, the great stones shining. Orla saw it and felt a frisson up her back.
“We bring you here, Orla of the Clans,” Eibhear intoned, “to present you with the color of your robes. And on this day when we celebrate together, sure, your own sister would like to present them.”
Orla turned to see tears welling in Sorcha’s eyes. Ah goddess, don’t do that, she thought. She would never get through the thing without sobbing herself, else.
“The color of a person’s robes ties the stone colors together and shows the direction of the person’s life,” Sorcha said in her ritual voice. “Orla of the Clans, you have earned a color that is rare and precious. And I for one know you’ll do it justice.”
Orla saw the copper-haired Kieran approach through the crowd. She saw that he carried something.
White.
Instinctively Orla reached back for Liam. He took her hand in his.
No. I can’t.
Her mother must have heard her, for she approached, her face serene, her eyes bright. She came to stand next to Sorcha. Kieran reached her other side, and finally the gathered fairies saw the color of the gown. A gasp went up, followed by a moment of profound silence.
“Orla,” Sorcha said, and her voice was a bit wavery, “each stone you wear is for a different skill, but their powers weave together to show leadership—just as you have shown, in the most dire time in our history. It is time to complete the color naming. Come take your robes, Orla, and wear them with pride.”
She couldn’t move. She held on to Liam as if he were the only thing keeping her upright. She had a suspicion he was.
What do I do? she asked in her head.
She could hear him laughing. You accept, you daft woman.
She turned. She saw that, goddess, there were tears in his eyes, too.
“You thought I’d sent you to exile to punish you,” Mab said, bringing Orla’s attention back again. “Just as Sorcha thought her task was punishment, and Nuala thought my challenge to her husband was punishment for her.” She shot a quick look at Kieran. “Why, didn’t even the seer doubt the queen’s wisdom? It was in peril, I’ll not deny it. But didn’t I know that the world was at risk and that only the strongest of us could be leaders? Didn’t I know that the test had to be severe?” And finally, unbelievably, she smiled, and it was happy. “And didn’t each of my daughters succeed even beyond what I’d hoped?”
“A test?” was all Orla could think to say.
The queen’s smile grew sly. “Well, maybe a little punishment. But you can’t look at your husband and tell me he was a punishment. And sure, don’t I think he feels the same about you? And as pure benefit for us all, didn’t you prove to the entire realm of faerie that you are worthy of being queen?”
Orla couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be happening.
Mab spread her arms. “Even better,” she said, “my good friend Cathal has agreed to my request that I have my daughter back.”
There was a rustling among the Dubhlainn Sidhe. “To keep the balance we fought so hard to find,” Cathal said, “we need a strong queen of the Tuatha de Dannan. Come get your robes, girl.”
Orla still wouldn’t have moved if Liam hadn’t pushed her.
But there were Sorcha and Nuala ready to help her change right there on the border where she’d lost her last colors so long ago, it seemed. And here with her this time was her Liam, who’d helped her gain these.
“I go to the West as soon as I introduce my daughter Orla to her new office,” the queen said. “It is my time. And a time now for a new Mab. I name Orla of the Clans to be queen after me.”
For a second the silence held. Orla kept her gaze locked with Liam’s. It was too much. She wasn’t sure anymore that she even wanted it.
But there in his eyes was the answer. He believed she could do it. He would support her and protect her and let her stand alone as she needed.
The robes slipped over her head as if they’d only been gone a bit. She looked down and was dazzled by them, a silvery sheen to the white that caught the eye in the late-afternoon sun. She brushed her hands over the silken material, and her rings flashed green, blue and that wonderful milky white. And then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she stepped away from her sisters.
The fairies all waited. Even the trees waited, and the winds from the mountains. Orla straightened. She turned to her mother.
“If it is your will, my lady, I will accept.” The crowd readied itself to celebrate. “But on one condition.”
Even Mab was slack-jawed. “A condition, is it?”
Orla smiled at her mother. “Well, aren’t you the one who sent me to learn the lessons of statecraft with another clan, then?”
The queen wasn’t nearly as amused as Orla. “And the lesson you brought back demands a condition?”
“Balance,” Orla said. “Sure, haven’t we all seen the cost of imbalance, be it in our realm or in our clan? Haven’t we suffered too much from it already? Well, just as I’d want my husband to consider me his equal in all things, so do I consider him my equal. I will not rule the Tuatha de Dannan if Liam the Protector does not rule alongside me. Equally. And I sincerely hope that when my lord Cathal follows you to the West, his son will have Aifric stand at his side as he guides the Dubhlainn Sidhe.”
She heard Liam draw a surprised breath behind her, but she ignored him. He had no choice, really. She would tell him why when they were alone. For now, she just held on to his hand with her suddenly damp one.
Mab looked at Cathal. Cathal looked at Owain. Aifric just looked stunned. Finally Mab shook her head, looking pleased. “Well, didn’t you learn more over there than even I’d anticipated? The throne is yours to do with as you want, girl. I wouldn’t have handed it over if I didn’t trust you to care well for it. And as my gift to you, I’ve left your sisters who can help, for won’t Sorcha act as adviser and Nuala as plenipotentiary to the realm of mortals, who we might just need, as well?”
Orla’s head was spinning. “You’ll let Nuala go back and forth? Is it possible?”
The queen gave her a dry smile. “Sure, don’t we have a seer who’s doing it already?”
Orla turned to Cathal. “And the amity between the two clans is restored? We both can come and go as we please?” She looked back at Liam, then at Aifric and Tullia, and at all the women she’d met and grown to love in her husband’s world. “Sure, there’s too much to learn from each other to stay apart, don’t you think?”
Cathal, still a bit distracted, nodded. “I do. We welcome the Tuatha and hope they do the same for us.”
Orla was smiling at Aifric now. “They will. You can be sure of it.”
And that was it. She was to be queen. She was to be the Mab, her lifelong dream. Her obsession. But what she had once thought she would feel at this moment was missing. There was no pride. No triumph. But sure, wasn’t she surprised at how many times a person could feel humbled and not resent it? And, she guessed, that was probably a good thing, especially for a queen.
Goddess. A queen!
She didn’t even notice when the cheering started, for she’d already turned back to Liam to step into his arms. His smile was as big as those mountains he’d patrolled as he returned the favor.
“Will you come with me into my world, Liam?” she asked.
He laughed. “Ah sure, now you ask. What if I’m wanting to wander those lonely mountains with Faolán and the lads?”
She tilted her head. “As long as you come back to me. I can’t do this alone, Liam. I can’t do it without you.”
“But why as equals?” he asked, and Orla saw that he was sincerely perplexed. “The office is yours, and haven’t you earned it?”
And it was because he was perplexed that she knew her decision was right. Faith, how could you not love a man who seemed confused by your thinking he was the best man in two realms?
So she reached up her ring-bedecked hands and cupped his dear, harshly crafted face between them. And while the rest of the fairy realm began the celebration they’d really come here for, she had eyes only for him.
“Because I love you,” she said.
“That’s not enough, and you know it, mo stor.”
“And because I trust you,” she answered, knowing her heart was in her eyes. “I trust you with my life. More important, mo chuisla, with my honor and my heart. And with my people.”
Never had she seen such a light in a man’s eyes. At once glad and overwhelmed and awed. Never had she thought she would see that light turned on her. Tears filled her own eyes and slid down her cheeks even as she smiled, as he laid his hands against her own to hold her to him. As he slowly, never looking away, enfolded her once again in his powerful arms and held her gently, as a good man did. As he tried three times to get the words out.
“Ah, well, I guess we’re going to be after moving soon.” He sighed, and she heard the wicked amusement. “And we’d just gotten the place decorated.”
Orla couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Sure, we’ll just bring it all along with us. Besides, Deirdre’s begun working on her own stone gifts, and trust me, husband, they’re no better than mine.”
“She wants to be horsemaster.”
“She’ll be mother to the next Dubhlainn king.”
Liam pulled back. “What?”
And Orla smiled, certain. “Ah, well, I must have the gift of the sight, after all. For can’t I see her directing everyone in that great hall with her children smiling on?”
Liam shook his head. “Well, that’s a worry for another day. Today, it’s time to acknowledge your colors, for they were well earned, girl, and you deserve a celebration.”
Orla peeked around Liam’s shoulder to see the population of both clans spinning in a mad dance to the sound of the pipes and fiddles and whistles. Whiskey flowed, and children clustered around the bean tighe, who was telling them stories. There was laughter and joy and the satisfaction of a peace hard won.
Aye, she would join them, for it was her triumph, too. But later. For now, she had only one person she wanted to celebrate with.
Turning back to her husband, she smiled. He smiled back.
“The river?” he asked.
Her smile was pure seduction. “The river.”
That night, in the world of mortals, strange music was heard in the glens near Lisdoonvarna. Lights flitted along old fairy paths, and startled animals wandered over to the noise. The trees whispered among themselves, and a couple who wandered down by the river swore later they heard giggling and splashing. But there was nothing for the mortals to see, so they shook their heads, went inside and closed their doors.
In the land of faerie, the celebration went on through the night and many more to come. A queen had been crowned. An old one stepped through the portal to the seas to the West, and a new generation was welcomed. The realms had been once again secured, and the great creator stones returned. The life of faerie went on. And out along the sharp spines of the MacGillicuddy Reeks, men of the Coimirceoiri stood their watch alongside Tuatha warriors, for that was the price paid for the endless fairy dance.