The clouds around us thickened with the onset of rain, and the breeze swirling around our bodies cooled.
Rosalind’s muscles stiffened, and she drew in a sharp breath between her nostrils. Perhaps another fae queen might have ordered her to lie with Cliach in order to wake her mate, but I wouldn’t tolerate such a request. I needed to find another way to make him agree to my request.
“Did…” I paused as he hadn’t even introduced the object of his supposed love by name. “Did the daughter of Bodb Dearg have any beautiful sisters?”
His amber eyes sparkled, and his thin lips curled into a smile.
“A radiant beauty with hair the color of the afternoon sun. She died in a flood, though.”
I pursed my lips, remembering that he had admitted to killing the female’s sisters. “When you awaken my mate, I’ll ask him to send you to the sister with hair like the sun.”
“You would offer me such kindness?” He rose from the lily pad, making the golden harp fall precariously close to its edge.
I nodded. “My mate is a very powerful male.”
He smiled. “Then we will kiss on the bargain.”
Rosalind flew me over, and I offered Cliach my hand. His grin faltered. Perhaps he expected to kiss me on the lips, but he didn’t utter a word of complaint and placed a moist kiss on my knuckles.
“Shall I bring my mate to you now?” I asked.
His thick brows drew together. “I don’t have the enchanted harp.”
“But you said—”
“I said I could play it.” He spread his arms wide, stretching the fabric over his thin chest. “But you’ll need to get the harp.”
My chest tightened with a crushing disappointment that threatened to squeeze all the blood from my heart. I dropped my gaze to the murky water and blew out a shuddering breath. If this was a trick to lure me into its depths, I would make sure he was the one who drowned.
“If you don’t have the harp, where is it?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“With its owner,” he replied. “Bring it to me, and I will awaken your mate.”
Chapter 9
Cliach strummed a few notes on his harp and commanded the water to lower his lily pad to the surface. Rosalind flew us down after him, and we hovered above an adjacent pad, with a spider web of veins that supported its bright green skin. It curled up around the edges, revealing an underside of sienna and maroon.
He tucked his harp under a thin arm, reached between a clump of crimson and white water lilies and extracted a small sack. “Come on, then.” He bounced on his heels and rubbed his hands. “Order the royal carriage to approach.”
“You will address Queen Neara with respect,” Rosalind snarled.
Irritation flickered across my skin. I didn’t feel remotely royal, let alone a queen, but it rankled to allow such a cold-hearted creature to address me with such familiarity. If I had another alternative to waking Drayce that didn’t involve confronting the Fear Dorcha, I would run Cliach through with the blade of my sword.
I held back my roiling emotions to ask, “Do you know how to find the Harp of Dagda?”
Cliach ran thin fingers through his raven-black hair. “Dagda has it,” he replied in a tone that implied I was failing to understand something of vital importance. “What are we waiting for, Your Majesty? The sooner I awaken your mate with the harp, the sooner I can meet to another daughter of Bodb Derg.”
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a haze across the horizon the color of diluted blood, a cool breeze blew clouds of mosquitoes across the water, making Rosalind flap her wings to keep them at bay.
I tightened my lips. Cliach had effectively bargained for Drayce to send him to the Otherworld and didn’t stipulate anything about taking possession of the dead sister or even being introduced to her. That was the kind of agreement I was happy to fulfill regardless of whether he woke Drayce.
“Alright.” I raised a hand, and the capall pulling the carriage flew toward us. “Do not enter the royal suite without my permission, or I will keep you alive and in pain for a century.”
Cliach inclined his head. “Understood, Your Majesty.”
I turned my gaze to the red-haired faerie, who stared down at us from her window.
“Hello?” I cupped my hands around my mouth. “May we offer you a ride to dry land?”
She didn’t respond, and Rosalind flew us up to the length of the mossy tower to where she stood by the glowing lantern.
“Excuse me?” I said.
The faerie stared at us through red-rimmed eyes, looking as though she had cried every day since Cliach had drowned her entire household. She leaned forward, pale lips trembling, and grasped the opening of the widow with long, black nails that lengthened with every passing moment.
A shudder trickled down my spine. The old me would have said it was terror, but this felt like a form of excitement.
Rosalind backed away, her black-rimmed wings slicing through the thin mist. “We can’t save her.”
“Why not?” I whispered, even though in the deep recesses of my mind, a part of me rejoiced.
“She’s transitioning.”
The daughter of Bodb Dearg rocked back and forth with a keening noise that sent a jolt of exhilaration through my veins. Thick, black tears poured from her red-rimmed eyes, staining the front of her nightgown. I didn’t need to ask Rosalind the question on my lips. After absorbing the dying breath of the Banshee Queen, I recognized how guilt and grief and anguish of her family’s death had twisted her soul into something new.
I grabbed Rosalind around the waist. “Let’s go.”
“Seven days,” rasped the newly made banshee. “Within seven days, and one of you will die.”
Rosalind flew toward the coach, where Aengus awaited by its open door. I didn’t turn, didn’t dare to peek over my shoulder, didn’t want to consider that my presence here had triggered that faerie’s transition into
