“He’s called Fingin. He is a true friend.”
All of Fingin’s annoyance melted away, and he smiled at Bran.
The Fae nodded in Fingin’s direction in vague approval. “I’m called Grimnaugh, and I have charge of the Silver Path. I understand someone has destroyed several pieces of the Path. Do you know anything of this?”
After remembering the dust when he had crumpled the gravel into silver dust, Fingin surreptitiously wiped his hands. He’d opened his mouth to confess when Bran said, “They sparkled like fish scales. I bit into a few to see if they were tasty. They weren’t.”
Fingin clenched his jaw to keep from laughing. Or crying. He hadn’t decided which.
“Hmm. Well, for a newcomer, curiosity is natural enough. I shall allow it to pass this time. Be aware, however, that in Faerie, everything belongs to the Queens. As servants of the Queen, we are charged with the care of all things. We take our responsibilities seriously.”
The Fae glanced up at Fingin, considering his face. Fingin stared back, studying the details of the Fae’s enormous spotted nose, his flat head, and his squat toes.
“He is a tall one. Have you brought him as a gift for the Queen?”
Fingin let out a deep sigh. “I am here for myself, Grimnaugh. My loyal friend, Bran, is my companion. I come in search for my grandmother. Someone told me she’s in Faerie, but I don’t know where to start my search. I saw the castle and thought it might be a good place to enquire.”
Grimnaugh stared at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, but he maintained his pleasant smile. He’d lost his stutter. His stutter hadn’t appeared with the cruel Fae, but maybe that had been sheer nerves and not his normal habit. He thanked Brigit for the small favor, or Faerie, or whatever might be responsible.
The Fae continued to stare until Bran spoke up. “It’s true! This is his quest. I’m just helping. He feeds me fish.”
“Well, well. I suppose I should help you. No, don’t fear, I won’t ask payment. It’s part of my duty, being in charge of the Silver Path. Since you’ve trod upon it, you fall within my domain. Your grandmother, eh? And who is she?”
“My grandmother would be much older than me, with silver streaks in her black hair. She has black eyes, and stands about this tall.” He held his hand to his neck, measuring her height. “Her name is Cliodhna.”
Grimnaugh puffed his chest and glowered. “You’re having some weak jest at me, human?”
Fingin took a step away from the sudden menace in the Fae’s face, cognizant of the previous Fae’s actions. “What? No, this isn’t a jest. Why do you think so?”
Bran didn’t growl this time, but he moved to Fingin’s side. The fur on his back rose.
“Can you be unaware that Cliodhna is the name of our beloved Queen?”
* * *
Fingin sat on the Silver Path, possibilities and impossibilities warring within his mind. “This must be some sort of strange coincidence. My grandmother can’t be the Faerie Queen.”
Grimnaugh had lost his anger and placed a finger on his lips in contemplation. “Indeed, indeed. She must have lived so long in your world. Once, the Queen went to visit her sister Queen in the north, but… no, no, she wouldn’t have. Might our Queen be…human?”
Fingin remembered her power over the weather. Fingin doubted the truth of Grimnaugh’s supposition. In a dull voice, Fingin said, “Or Fae masquerading as human.”
With several nervous glances around them, Grimnaugh let out a sigh. “We must find out. Come along. I’ll take you in.”
Another Fae walked by, this one a tall, older human-seeming male with ink-black hair and a long beard. Fingin felt comforted by this Fae’s appearance, rather than the stranger creatures he’d thus encountered. Rather than walking by, he stopped and squinted his eyes at Fingin. “Grimnaugh, what have you done here? Why have you obtained this human?”
“I did no obtaining, Adhna. I discovered them on the Silver Path. The hound claimed the human is on a quest. I’m helping him on his quest.”
“Oh, a quest? I love a good quest. I want to help. Human child, you wouldn’t possess any mortal food in that pack, would you? I have a particular love of cheese. Do you have any cheese? Hmm?”
In a daze, Fingin shook his head. “No cheese, no. I have dried fish, but not much left of that. I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s old and nasty. I’m sorry.”
“Ah, fair enough, then. I’ll provide the food instead.” He rummaged in his own pack and pulled out a round yellow fruit.
Fingin hesitated. Adhna noticed his reticence and rolled his eyes. “Don’t believe all the tales, human. I hereby declare that you… oh, what’s your name?”
“Fingin.”
“Right! That you, Fingin, are under no obligation for my food, drink, or hospitality until you leave this realm. Will that suffice?”
Startled, Fingin nodded and took the fruit. He didn’t know if that negated any debt, but he had no other ideas. As he sank his teeth into the sweet flesh, the burst of tart-sweet flavor almost overwhelmed him. Sticky juices dripped down his chin. He hastened to mop them with his fingers and then sucked the last bit of juice from each one.
Adhna turned to the other Fae. “Come, Grimnaugh, share your wealth. What is this burning quest the human must complete?”
In a bland voice, the toadstool Fae replied, “He’s searching for his kin. Her name is Cliodhna.”
Adhna’s face turned ashen, paler than the white fur of the striped Fae. He sat on the verge next to the path and gazed at Grimnaugh. “Truly?”
“So it seems. We must go to the palace to discover the truth.”
Adhna shook his head,
