The slanting sunlight reminded me I was wasting time. But as I followed Irian out into the early afternoon, I sent a tiny tendril of magic seeking the sleeping bulbs, the desiccated seeds, the straggling seedlings. In an instant, flowers bloomed, berries plumped, saplings grew.
A little hello, and a swift goodbye. From one old friend to another.
Dún Darragh was shadowed, chilly despite the warmth mounting outside. The torches and hearths were cold and unlit, the high vaulted ceilings echoing with silence. My eyes grazed the massive carven pillars to where their arching buttresses disappeared into the gloom, searching for—
“Corra!” The word multiplied, sprinting along crumbling corridors and curving stairways. “Come out at once, fiend! There’s someone I wish you to meet!”
Irian seemed taken aback by my tone. “I have never heard you speak in such a way to anyone, mo chroí. Save mortal enemies.”
I grinned a little. “You have never met Corra.”
A flurry of motion grazed the far wall of the great hall. A beaver thrashed their tail behind the stairs; an elk tossed great antlers upon the ceiling.
“O what a sight, such strength that towers! We’d steal a kiss if he were ours,” sang Corra saucily, from behind the chandelier. “But Gentry hearts cost dear, they say… for a face likethatwhat a price we’d pay!”
Irian flushed, the pink tinge startling on his impassive warrior’s visage. “Is it—” he spluttered, nonplussed. “Is it threatening me? Orpropositioningme?”
“One never can tell,” I muttered ominously, before calling, “He’s mine! But you can come and say a polite hello… if you even know how.”
I waited for Corra to burst into the outraged face of a nut-starved squirrel and begin cursing my ancestors in inventive language, but the sprite had apparently said all they wished to say.
“Oh well.” I shrugged. “Just be glad they didn’t call youporridge face.”
Irian gave his head a helpless shake. “I have never met a Folk beastie quite like that.”
Swiftly, I dashed upstairs to my old garret bedroom, trading the dirty, smoky dress I’d worn from the Cnoc for the only garments left in the wardrobe. Corra’s creations were all outlandish; I chose the most demure of the lot, a silken gown the color of a violet dusk. I hesitated, then strapped some old leather armor that needed repairing over top. When I descended the stairs, Irian raised an eyebrow at my attire but said nothing.
The stables were warm and dry and scented pleasantly with hay and oiled leather. Finan drowsed lazily in his stall but roused when he heard footsteps, poking his large dark head over the barrier. He whickered in recognition when he saw me, then startled, pinning his ears to his skull with a piercing whinny. He shied, nearly slamming his head into the beams overhead as panic whited his rolling eyes.
“You’d better not come any closer, mo chroí.” I held up my hands in placation as Irian stilled, intimidating and uncanny in the warm, slanting sunlight. “Easy, boy.”
Irian stepped sideways into the blue shadow cast by the door and leaned on the wall as I rummaged in the tack room for a pair of thick riding gloves. I didn’t think my touch would harm Finan, but I saw no point in taking the risk. I slipped inside the stall, calming the still-restive stallion with nonsense words and soothing strokes on his neck and muzzle.
“He is a fine, handsome animal,” Irian remarked. “But tell me, mo chroí—why can he not speak?”
“Speak?” I choked on a laugh. “Oh, my heart—horses cannot communicate in the human realms. Not like the aughiskies. In fact, all beasts here are mute.”
“How strange. Is he yours?”
“Not mine.” With a distant pang I thought of Eimar, the horse I had accidentally Greenmarked over a year ago. “He was—is—Rogan’s.”
“Ah.” Irian’s tone went dry. “Then I suppose I must be grateful he cannot talk, for I warrant he would have many a sordid tale to impart.”
I hid my faint blush behind Finan’s bulk. There had indeed been one or two literal rolls in the hay last year. But that had been a long time ago. Here, with Irian, my only thought was for him. What would it be like to let Irian take me, here? Now?
His black hair mussed with hay. His hands deft on the ties of my kirtle. Our naked skin glowing golden in the easy sunlight.
I shook my head, dispelling the impossible daydream. I hoped my starshine affliction would not last forever. But for now, I had to keep my distance from the man I loved.
I tacked Finan. Irian watched but did not attempt to come any closer.
“You know, if you sought your anam cló, you would not need a horse at all. You might be able to fly beside me.”
“Fly?” I hopped right over the question of my anam cló. With all that troubled me, my soul form—or lack thereof—wasn’t my primary concern. “But—”
“My magic is weaker here in Fódla, but my anam cló is rooted deeper in me even than my Treasure.”
“Rath na Mara is far—a long day’s ride.”
