The moment I split away from Rogan, I began to run. I hurtled through the night, then skidded to a stop in the wet loam when the path to the lough was blocked by a group of girls. The swan maidens stood together in a loose semicircle, clad in rippling, sparkling gowns. I scanned their faces—Chandi was the only one I knew by name. I counted as I kicked mud off my boots.
Eleven.
Eala wasn’t with them. I exhaled, disappointment and traitorous relief twisting through me.
“You’re in a hurry,” remarked Chandi. “What’s the rush?”
Making up for lost time, I wanted to say. Instead, I shrugged and tried to push past them. But the girls surrounded me in a giggling mass, pulling off my damp mantle and unbraiding my hair and even bending down to unlace my boots.
“Hey!” I protested. “What are you doing?”
“You’ve been spending too much time withhim.” Chandi nodded at the shadowy fortress. She lifted clusters of starflowers to braid against my scalp. “We claim you tonight.”
“But—”
“Girls only.” Chandi stepped back. My clothing shifted—wool and leather transforming into smooth fabric and stiff boning.
The kirtle Chandi imagined up for me was the most revealing gown I’d worn yet in Tír na nÓg. The slick, sultry fabric clung to my every contour, leaving my arms and most of my bosom bare. Black boning nipped in at a narrow waist and twined up around my torso like bare branches. My legs flashed white below a sheer emerald skirt.
“No.” I squeezed my eyes shut and wished vainly for my own clothes. “Absolutely not.”
“Please?” One of the other swan maidens pouted. She wore a blood-red dress slit to the thigh and heavy kohl around her eyes. “It’ll be fun.”
“We have so much to show you,” said another—a honey blonde with dimples. Her coin-bright gown glittered like serpents’ scales when she moved.
“The first full moon after Midsummer is when the Folk celebrate the Feis of the Wild Hunt.” Chandi braided more stinging flowers against my scalp and lowered her voice. “There is something I would show you.”
“What?” I breathed.
“Magic.” Her eyes were serious. “Magic we humans cannot touch.”
I stopped fighting her prickling fingers. “Why?”
“Just come with us. It might prove useful in breaking our geas.”
I wasn’t convinced. “The last Folk revel I attended nearly ended with my head on the ground.”
“That only happened because the Folk didn’t know who you were—only who you were with.” Chandi’s amber eyes regainedtheir mischievous light. “This time, everyone will know better than to try and harm you.”
“I don’t understand.”
The swan girls shared an unreadable look. One of the maidens in the back stepped forward and handed me a looking glass. The moon caught its edge and limned it in silver. I looked at my own reflection.
Chandi hadn’t just created me a gown—she’d created me a crown to match. Black branches and sheer green silk reared up from my hairline in an eerie botanical tiara. Real vines tangled with the fabric, reaching long, wicked thorns down the side of my face. Starflowers glittered like diamonds. I looked fearsome and beautiful and… regal.
I didn’t look like me. And not only because you couldn’t see my dark hair.
I understood. Tonight, they didn’t want me to be myself. They wanted me to beher.
Rancor tangled with temptation in my stomach. How many times had I wondered what Eala’s life must be like? Valued, protected, admired? Surrounded by sisters, friends, suitors? Dancing the night away at a Folk revel?
I was suddenly and ravenously curious.
“My eyes are different,” I pointed out, with a touch of disappointment.
The girls all laughed.
“Trust us,” said the one with flaming copper hair and a gown like midnight. “In that dress, no one will be looking at your eyes.”
