“All the under-kings of Fódla, like Eithne, have bent the knee to Eala to spare their lands and their peoples,” Cathair told me. “All of them, also like Eithne, are loath to witness their already ravaged kingdoms fall prey to the death and destruction Eala carries in her wake. Her ascension to the high throne of Fódla has created an unprecedented alliance between the ever-warring provinces.”
“They have all agreed to stand against Eala?”
“To a man.”
My eyes returned to the starstone as I considered his words. I dared to touch it, gently pressing my thumb into a rough divot. Immediately, all the radiance from my finger was yanked into the shard with a sucking sensation. I jerked my hand away; the rock glowed briefly before winking out. I stared, even as an idea coiled inside me.
“May I have this?”
Cathair shrugged. “I have never found a use for it, little witch.”
I wrapped the shard in a piece of rough sacking and shoved it into my bodice.
“But how can they hope to defeat her army?” I returned my focus to the matter at hand. “I saw them, encamped outside the fort. There are thousands—perhaps more. Not to mention Eala will likely resurrect for herself any who die oneitherside.”
“We have developed a weapon.” Cathair set a vial upon the workbench, no bigger than a flask of whiskey. Inside, a spark—green as bottle glass—jumped and danced, throwing strange shadows on the walls. “Tine Síoraí, we call it.Eternal Fire.It burns far hotter than normal flame and needs no fuel or air to sustain it. Best of all, it devours where it lands—an unquenchable blaze that incinerates skin and bone. Not even the dead can withstand this.”
“If it works against the dead, it will work against the living.” I stared at the dancing light. “Many will die.”
“Wars are not won without sacrifice, Fia.” To his credit, Cathair was not jubilant about the prospect. “Many more will die if Eala is allowed free reign in this realm. Or the other.”
“When do the kings attack?”
“Not until Bealtaine. The Eternal Fire takes time to formulate, and care in transportation.”
Rage and regret tangled inside me as I thought of Irian. Rogan. Wayland, Sinéad, Laoise. All the people I loved, drawn into this terrible conflict. I did not want to put anyone else at risk. But Ealawas too strong a threat to risk sitting on our hands. “Could the human kings march upon a different location?”
“Certainly,” Cathair said, gamely. “Where? And why?”
“I do not believe the human kings, even with their immortal flame, will be able to defeat Eala. Not without the help of the Folk realms.” I clenched my glowing fist. “Irian and I will escape to the Willow Gate—Eala will surely follow. There we will keep her occupied—harried but hopeful that she will eventually get what she wants from me. The Bealtaine moon is less than a month away.”
Cathair caught my drift. “The Folk will need the strength of a full moon if they are to fight in the human realms. But can you keep Eala busy for over three weeks without giving too much ground?”
“We will have to. Then we will pin Eala between the forces of Fódla and the forces of Tír na nÓg.”
Cathair smiled. “And the princess will die with all her dread horde.”
“Die?” All my hope turned to char upon my tongue. But of course—not even Cathair knew the true nature of the Treasures. “No—she cannot be killed by mortal means.”
His eyebrows jumped toward his graying hairline. “I beg your pardon?”
“If Eala is slaughtered, the magic of her Treasure will be corrupted,” I explained. “Warped wild magic will billow over these lands, as destructive as Eala and far more long-lasting. And this time, there will be no heirs left to reforge it.”
Cathair cursed inventively. Clearly he understood the problem, even if he did not understand all the terms. “What do you propose?”
“Leave that to me.” I laced my fingers together and hoped I knew what I was doing. “Just tell the under-kings—Eala is mine to destroy.” I paused. “But all this you could have shared with Irian and Chandi. Why did you wish to speak to me alone?”
“Iwished to speak to you alone, a stór.”
I whirled as the dethroned high queen of Fódla emerged fromthe shadows. With her graying hair unbound like a virgin’s, her slender throat bare of the marks of royalty, and the weight of many sleepless nights borne in haggard creases upon her face, the woman I had once called Mother looked somehow both very young and incredibly old. The familiar use of her pet name for me startled me, sending twin threads of searing starlight and thorning vines to stitch the inside of my skin.
“You,” I said coldly. “Have we not said all that needs to be said?”
“Alas, no,” said Eithne Uí Mainnín. “My daughter keeps me alive not from affection but political expediency. When she discovers I have been plotting against her, I have little doubt she will execute me in a show of strength. We must discuss what happens when I am dead.”
I set my jaw. I had little affection to spare for the queen. But despite all she had done to me, I did not wish her dead. For all that she had been a bad mother, she had been a strong queen. Fódla already suffered—I feared it would suffer more if she was not there to put it back together after Eala’s disastrous reign. “Your fate doesn’t concern me.”
“It should.” The queen drew a heavily illuminated scroll from her sleeves. “The Ó Mainníns are still the rightful ruling dynasty of Fódla. Once I am dead and your sister is defeated, you are next in line for the throne. This document legitimizes you as Rían’s daughter and recognizes you as the next high queen of Fódla. I intend to send copies to my under-kings as soon as you sign it.”
