She detested waiting.
She ate and slept several times, but no Fae visited her. They must all be cowering in their homes as she did, terrified of the Queen’s wrath. Clíodhna didn’t blame them. The Queen commanded more power than any of them combined, with the notable exception of her top courtiers.
Grimnaugh visited her, but he never stayed long. He had other duties, he said, administrative duties that kept him running this way and that. Still, she treasured his visits as interludes in the interminable waiting.
Clíodhna carved to pass the time. Soon she amassed a growing pile of carved wooden figures: fish, birds, Fae, even a complex interwoven knot along a curved branch. That last took the longest, but she felt great pride in the creation. She still didn’t have Donn’s innate talent, but she exhibited some craft.
The reminder of her missing children—Donn, Etromma, Aileran, and wee Rumann—stabbed to her heart.
What might each of them be doing this very moment, in the mortal world? Etromma must have borne her child. Did she have a boy or a girl? Did Donn work for the monks, carving beautiful stone sculptures for their buildings? She ached to see him and his work. Did Aileran still love riding horses? Did Rumann learn how to fish like his adopted father?
What sort of people had they grown into without their mother or father to guide them? Would she ever see them again?
Adhna told her she might visit the mortal realm once more, and she wouldn’t waste that opportunity. When the time came, she’d travel back and see each of her children.
When would the time be right? What if the Queen decided Clíodhna betrayed her, and executed her? She considered returning to the mortal world now, to escape the Queen’s uncertain judgment. That way, she might live the rest of her life amongst her children, away from the machinations of this back-stabbing Faerie court. She rose, meaning to pack some supplies and do just that.
She sat again, dropping her face into her hands with a new sob. Clíodhna didn’t know how to return to her own world, not without guidance from Adhna or Grimnaugh. She’d been well trapped in her own misery.
Clíodhna felt utterly alone at this moment. The weight of that loneliness pressed hard upon her soul.
The tears burst forth from her in a flood, with such violence she didn’t even bother to wipe them from her face. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she sobbed, her arms curled around her shoulders as she rocked back and forth.
She cried for what seemed like hours after that, soaking the half-carved dolphin in her hands so badly, the wood swelled out of proportion of the figurine.
Clíodhna tossed it aside when she recovered. She didn’t have the heart to finish that carving now.
Just as she threw it into the pond, footsteps made her turn. Grimnaugh walked down the path, his head bowed and his feet dragging as if the weight of two worlds rested upon his shoulders. Every line of his body spoke of weary dread. “Grimnaugh? What’s happened? Has the Queen returned?”
He lifted his head, but his eyes looked red and swollen. “She has returned. Yes, our Queen has returned. Forever.”
* * *
Clíodhna stood in a plain snow-white léine in a line of other courtiers. Each one dressed in simple garb, solemn and respectful, as the Queen’s funeral bower approached.
Eight white horses, perfectly matched, drew the white sledge. Lesser Fae marched behind, strewing white petals like stars into the air. The petals glowed and swirled in a slow dance, caressing her body in a curvilinear pattern. They drifted up into the sky, almost like the stars in the mortal realm, into the dim ambient light.
Cerul walked beside the sledge, as did Bodach and several other higher courtiers.
A line of mourning Fae, each with faces as still as stone, marched in step behind the Queen. Fae from the upper echelons of power down to the lowest of the lesser Fae. Fae from the realms of man, Fae from water, earth, sky, and land. The Fae of modern stone houses and ancient stone circles. Fae so beautiful it made your heart sore just to glimpse them, and Fae so horrific, nightmares screamed in the back of the mind.
Other than the sound of footfalls and horse hooves, dead silence accompanied the procession. No singing, no music, no whispers marred this silent spectacle.
Clíodhna hadn’t been able to find out what killed the Queen, only that she’d fallen in battle. Queen Áine rode out with a host to punish the wild and marsh Fae. They’d revolted against her rule, and Clíodhna’s guilt over her involvement in that rebellion clambered against her conscience.
As she noticed both marsh and wild Fae amongst the mourners, though, that particular question must be settled. Had they hated their own Queen so much? A few of her recent decisions were unpopular, but to commit regicide seemed a horrible crime. Even in the human world, to betray one’s Chief must be punished with death. A Faerie betrayal must be so much worse.
Perhaps the Queen’s host killed the leaders in the battle, and those who fought under them were either pardoned or given a lesser punishment for their actions. She might never know. Her heart ached for those she’d befriended and hoped her actions hadn’t been part of their decision to rebel.
As the sledge passed her, she searched for something within the Queen’s still face. Not sure what she looked for, she found nothing. As her gaze moved from the Queen to the next being, she met Bodach’s eyes. Though his face remained solemn, his eyes danced with anticipatory glee.
Clíodhna’s temper seethed at that brief glimpse into his eyes. He
