“But while the Septs deliberated, the king grew impatient. Heattempted to steal one of the Treasures for himself. He almost succeeded. But he was caught as he tried to flee with his prize. In the resulting struggle, the Treasure of the Sept of Antlers was lost, the wildness of its elemental magic freed. The furious Septs retaliated swiftly, executing the king for his crime.”
This was a new twist. I knew the anxious, pregnant queen had awaited her husband for long months, even as strange things happened throughout Fódla. Forest fires that were unquenchable but by tears. Tidal waves that devoured fishermen but spared their boats. Then King Rían’s carcass simply appeared in the kitchen hearth of Rath na Mara. His clothes were kindling for the cook fire. His whitened bones had been fashioned into ladles. And his skull was a cauldron wet with bubbling blood. The horrific sight sent Eithne into early labor and solidified her hatred of the Folk.
But now I knew the reason for his death. He’d been executed because he’d tried to steal aTreasure. Creeping thorns of fear bit into my heart.
“Then Mother declared war upon the Folk and began attacking through the Gates,” I supplied, through my cold, clenching throat.
Eala nodded. “But the destruction of one of the four Treasures upset the balance of magic in Tír na nÓg as it had existed for ages. Suddenly, wild magic could be accessed by any who chose it, and the Folk tasted what they could do—whatpowerthey could wield—when unfettered by the Septs’ antiquated strictures.”
Rogan had spoken of an uprising. I could guess what happened next.
“With their supremacy threatened, the three remaining Septs retreated to their strongholds and left their own people to die in the Gate War. Even as they suffered heavy losses from the human attacks, factions among the Gentry staged a coup against the Septs.”
“And those factions took the Gates and named themselves bardaí.” Disgust warred with fascination. “I entered Tír na nÓg through the Willow Gate… Where are we now?”
“The Elder Gate. Geata Ruish.” Eala looked impressed by my knowledge. She tilted her head toward a silver-haired bantiarna who sat in a position of prominence atop the dais. She wore the thick, gleaming pelt of a white wolf like a cape, and the savage torc glittering at her throat looked fashioned from the long, sharp teeth of the same beast. Except…wasit a cape? The white fur rippled as she moved, as if muscles slid beneath it. And that was no torc—the teeth were embedded in her skin, pointing outward in a terrifying gorget. “The lair of Almha, the Silver She-Wolf.”
I suppressed a shiver. My eyes traveled unwillingly toward Eala’s dark-haired captor. I was beginning to guess why he sat apart from all the other Gentry lords and ladies, why his eyes roved, predatory, over the Folk host. “The Septs were taken by surprise. Their scions were felled. And the once-powerful Treasures of the Septs were destroyed. All but one.”
“Perhaps the Septs had foreseen their bloody end, for one of them had hidden its heir apparent until he could come of age,” confirmed Eala. “He survived the cull and inherited the Treasure his family had guarded so jealously. But he was afraid. Afraid if the bardaí caught him, they would slay him and destroy his Treasure too. So he used the vast power of his inheritance to build a domain of his own, where he might safely reign, away from those who wished to destroy him. And he lured twelve human maidens into Tír na nÓg, binding them with geasa so they might not leave of their own free will.”
“Why? What purpose did that serve?”And why did he leave me in your place?I barely stopped myself from asking.
Eala paused. “Do you know how Mother opened the Gates?”
“Blood spilled from the still-beating heart of one of the Folk,” I answered automatically, before realizing it might not be the wisest thing to mention in the middle of a Folk feis.
“This deposed heir lords us over the Gate bardaí as insurance—as collateral.” Eala bowed her head. “Because at any time, if he chose, he could use our hearts to wrest back control of the Gates.”
“He would murder you—cut out your hearts—to regain control of the Gates?”
“For years, we have been most useful to him as a deterrent. But that could change at any time. His whims are fickle.”
For a long moment, I was quiet. Thinking. “Why curse you as swans?”
“Irian’s Treasure is the Sky-Sword. The magic he wields stems from the element of air. And before the slaughter, his dynasty was the Sept of Feathers.”
Irian.I snuck a glance at the dais where he sat, wreathed in his wings of black shadow. His legs were thrown out in front of him, and his fingers loosely cupped his goblet. He almost smiled as the Folk dancing below the dais whirled faster and faster. Fury pierced me.
“Why don’t they kill him now?” I asked, gesturing to the bardaí. “They have him outnumbered.”
“Oh, they’ve tried.” If my frank hostility shocked Eala, she didn’t show it. “But the memories of the Folk run deep, and there are many who still secretly cling to the old ways—the old Septs. To confront him here, tonight, while he is protected by the laws of hospitality… It would be messy. The Silver She-Wolf would not want her sovereignty so publicly challenged.”
“What would you have me do?” Frustration tightened my fingers into fists. “I have not yet heard your favor.”
“As long as Irian wields the Sky-Sword, our hearts are not our own.” Eala gestured at my gown, born of illusion. “The magic the white flowers afford us is so small compared to the power of the Treasures. But if we controlled the Sky-Sword, we could cut ourselves from his influence. We could undo the geas. Then, even if the bardaí succeed in opening the Gates at Samhain, we would be free. And powerful enough to win any war they might seek to bring to the human realms.”
Her words chilled and elated me in equal measure. What were the chances the task Mother had set me—stealing the Treasurefrom its heir—would be the very thing needed to set Eala and her maidens free? It seemed improbable. Even so, the prospect sent hope to banish the dark clouds looming over my heart. If I was ruthless and clever, all this might be over in a few months. Mother would have her magic. Eala would be free. And Rogan—Rogan would have his lovely bride.
I tamped down the thought. “I’ll take it from him.”
“You are brave!” Eala gave me a new, appraising kind of look. “We will not be able to help you. He keeps us alive at his own convenience. We are not in his confidence.”
I hesitated, wondering whether I should tell Eala of her—our—mother’s plan. Mother and daughter were clearly of the same mind—surely there could be no harm in it? “The high queen also wishes to acquire the Treasure. As such, I have already given the matter some thought. It may take me a little time. But before long, the Sky-Sword will be ours, and you—allof you—will be free.”
A ripple of surprise loosened Eala’s features, followed by a slash of inexplicable ire. A moment later, her expression was calm and resolved.
“Then I leave the task on your capable shoulders.” She hooked her arm in mine and leaned closer. “But as long as I am asking favors of you, I have one more to ask.”
