She nodded, offering the bundle to him. “We have a son.”
He cradled the swathed baby in his arms and pushed aside the flap covering the child’s face. Bright blue eyes blinked at him, then crinkled up as the child’s face turned red. The child fussed and burbled, working up to a proper cry. He’d seen the signs in his oldest brother’s child, many seasons ago.
Fingin held the baby against his chest, rocking and humming to it. This action quieted the child, who now made curious sounds, inquisitive gurgles. His son reached for a strand of his hair, pulling hard and making Fingin’s eyes water.
This babe, this child, was his son. A piece of himself and of Tomnat, someone who would always carry a piece of his heart. His eyes stayed glued to the clear blue ones staring back. The skin on the child’s fingers seemed translucent, too delicate to touch. Dark curling hair peeked out from under the swaddling fabric.
He glanced up to Tomnat, delight still radiating from him. “Have you chosen a name?”
She gave a quick shake of her head. “That is your prerogative, as he’s male. What would you like to call him?”
Fingin gazed into his son’s eyes. “He must be strong and fierce. I think ‘Conall’ would be a good name, which means fierce wolf.”
Tomnat reached her hands out for the baby. Fingin released the child to her care. He still couldn’t take his eyes from his son. Tomnat flashed him a smile, gone as soon as it appeared. “Conall it shall be, then. I shall return in a short while to begin his sibling.”
She turned and left with the babe, leaving Fingin agape and empty, yet strangely satisfied that he’d helped create something, even if that delight had been snatched from his care so quickly.
* * *
Fingin lay awake in Adhna’s roundhouse, Bran a warmth against his side. Voices outside drifted in, some urgency in the sound making him strain to hear the words.
“I’ve heard of such ceremonies, Adhna. The humans celebrate the date they were born. The Queen told me that his is coming soon. We must do something to make him feel as comfortable as possible. We should create a celebration!”
“Grimnaugh, are you mad? We don’t know what that even looks like.”
“Me? I’m mad? You’re the one always going about with bees in your beard.”
Adhna huffed. “Is it a crime to like honey?”
“Regardless, we should have a celebration. Gifts. Decorations. Singing. Dancing.”
“What sort of decorations?”
Grimnaugh snorted. “How in Danu’s name should I know? Just something… festive. Colorful. Pretty.”
“Colorful and pretty. Are you sure this isn’t just a ploy to bring more females to my home? So you can dance the day away?”
Fingin could hear the grin in Grimnaugh’s response. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, but no. That isn’t my purpose.”
With a low chuckle, Adhna walked away. Grimnaugh must have followed him because when Fingin rose and walked outside, neither were nearby.
Bran joined him and gave a great yawn, shaking his head to dislodge the sleep.
When the two Fae returned, their arms were full of odds and ends, few of which Fingin could identify. When he asked questions, though, they shooed him away.
“Just some things we need to prepare. Go see if Airiu will tell you a story. I’d heard she’d learned a new one.”
With a narrow gaze at the two conspiring Fae, Fingin and Bran sought Airiu out. She had indeed learned a new story and smiled when he asked to hear it. The smile lit up the surrounding air.
While the not-quite-butterflies alighted on her hair, Airiu told her tale, an intriguing story involving the Morrigú, goddess of war and death.
“When the battle had finished, she and her ravens fell upon the dead. She, in her form of Macha, collected the severed heads of the fallen warriors. One by one, she gathered their hair into her hands, like a harvest of acorns. She carried these heads with her, proud of her trophies, as the ravens picked the juicy meat from their eyes.”
Bran lay down beside him, concentrating on her words. “You can eat acorns? I didn’t know acorns were food.”
“Not for you or me, no. Not without extracting the meat and cooking it. It gives you an aching stomach. Squirrels can eat them, though.”
Bran’s head popped up at the mention of squirrels, his ears alert. “Squirrels? Where?”
Fingin and Airiu both laughed. She said, “We have no squirrels here in Faerie, Bran. There are small scurrying creatures, but they aren’t the same as squirrels. They can be a great deal more deadly than what you have in the mortal realm.”
She took a piece of fruit from the dish between them, and he watched as she savored the sweet flesh, juice dribbling down her chin. He reached forward to brush it away, but a sound made him turn.
Tomnat strode into the glade. While he had a duty to fulfill, he remained loath to extract himself from Airiu’s company. Still, he dropped his hand as all three stood to greet the new arrival.
His hesitation must have been obvious, for Tomnat scowled at the other Fae woman. “Play all you like, Airiu, but he has responsibilities. He is not yours to command.”
Airiu narrowed her eyes. “You may have used your influence at court to get what you want from him, but his heart remains mine, Tomnat. Go on, take him for your contract. He’ll not surrender his soul to you.”
Her eyes had turned to cat-slits again, but her teeth remained human. Fingin feared the feral set didn’t lurk far from the surface. Tomnat appeared taken aback, but she returned Airiu’s threat with a wicked smile. “You think you’ll have your way with him when I’m finished, do you? Just you wait. You’ll
