YOU GET WHAT YOU BARGAIN FOR
The guards left Crwys in her quarters. Her knees creaked as she moved to the small window in the room and squinted. The other high families of the Summer Isle always received her with dread. This family went beyond dread. Sylas had welcomed her. That was uncommon. Even more so to be asked to stay until first light.
She hobbled to the window and gazed out. Sylas waited with his horse in the stable yard below. After he mounted, he looked up and locked eyes with her. Crwys sucked in a breath. The prince kicked his horse into a gallop. They sprinted toward the forest. Crwys rubbed her runic tattoo and wondered what she had bargained for. It was not in the books to care for a human, to show them mercy. This break with tradition moved her. Sylas’s touch awakened something she did not share with others, not even of her own kind. She wondered where he was going. What could be so important in the woods that he would need to ride that fast for?
Crwys moved closer to the wall and placed her hand upon the stones. The energy within each was palpable. She closed her eyes. Her lips began moving. She issued a command. The room darkened and shadows formed on the wall. Impish Fomóraiġ and devilish Sluagh wrestled one another for her attention. Crwys continued her cant, and the shadows grew more tumultuous. The call of a crow sounded in the room.
“Come my clever friend,” Crwys hissed, “let us scry.”
Sylas stroked Flann’s face as the stable boy finished saddling him. The prince closed his eyes and sighed. His heart ached. “One last ride, old friend?”
Flann whickered softly, his whiskers tickling the prince’s neck. The stable boy passed the reins to Sylas who. He swung into the saddle. Black storm clouds were rolling in. Lightning in the distance gilded the cottony giants with flashes of purple and indigo. Thunder growled. Sylas looked up at Killeagh’s towers. Crwys peered from her window. Sylas frowned. His hands tightened around the reins and he popped Flann into a gallop. The forest swayed under a gust of wind. He’d kept Ciatlllait waiting long enough. While Flann moved swiftly toward Kilbarry forest, Sylas tried to take in a memory of this world. The mineral smell of the oncoming rain against the dryness of earth, the grating sensation of stormy air brushing against his face, how Flann’s red mane whipped rhythmically in time with his stride and breathing. And the colors. Oh, the colors! The green leaves of ash trees, and white apple blossoms bursting with luscious pink buds beside them over brown trunks, and high, golden fields of rye. The gray and emerald mountains, freckled with bushy firs, still capped with snow at their peaks. The sting of tears formed in the corner of his eyes as it all suddenly went blurring past. This moment, one of his last.
He lighted from Flann’s back and pulled the reins over before he came to a stop. The colt tossed his head and snorted and pranced, his haunches glinting darkly beneath the canopy of the forest. Sylas tied him to a low tree branch.
“I wondered if you would come,” said a sultry voice.
Sylas smiled, forgetting for a moment the promise he had made to Crwys. He stepped around. Ciatlllait leaned against a tree. The wind tussled her hair while her gray mare grazed contentedly near a small spring. What light remained peeked through the trees to dapple the wild flowers and new grass.
He moved to her side and slipped his arm around her waist. “I am sorry I kept you waiting.” Sylas carressed her cheek and lowered his head to hers to kiss her.
She pulled back unexpectedly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Ciatlllait brushed a stray hair from his forehead tenderly. “I don’t believe you.”
He stepped back, clasping her hands in his, staring at them. So different than the hands he had dealt with in the throne room. He ran his thumbs over them. Smooth, supple, unblemished by liverspots or beauty marks. He let out an unsteady breath. “I don’t know how to tell you.”
“Tell me what? We’re going to be wed soon. You can tell me anything.”
“You said you believed there is still magic in the world.”
“Yes.”
Sylas lifted his eyes and met hers. “I saw it today. The washer woman has come for Sionnach.”
Ciatlllait’s eyes widened. “Oh, my love. I am so sorry.”
Sylas shook his head and swallowed. He continued, “She is no ordinary ban sídhe. I fear what she did to our guards is only a fraction of what she’s capable of.” His breathing quickened. “I couldn’t let her take him, Laittie.”
“What are you saying?”
Sylas leaned his forehead against hers. “Our marriage will have to wait.”
Her breath caught. “What did you do?”
Thunder rolled. The storm was closing in. “I took his place.”
Ciatlllait bit her lip. She pulled away from him, running her hands through her hair and staggering. She reached out to steady herself against another tree, gripping her stomach with her free hand.
“I would do it again to protect anyone I loved.”
Ciatlllait bit her fist. Her shoulders heaved and trembled. Sylas crossed to her and slid his arms around her from behind, holding her close to him like the night they first kissed. He lowered his head to the curve of her neck and kissed her nape gently. Her hand went to his and gripped it. “You go to your death,” she choked.
Sylas winced. “No,” he said, as though to convince himself, “death cannot part us.”
Ciatlllait shuddered again and sobbed.
Sylas grazed his finger beneath a lock of her golden hair. “Laittie, listen to me.” He turned her around, clasping her wrists. “You said you believe in magic. You believe in happily ever after. Do you believe in our love?”
Ciatlllait bit her lip, then slowly nodded. Sylas swept her into an embrace. “Oh, Laittie. So do I. Ours is a once upon a time love. We control our happily ever after.” His nose brushed against hers. Rain fell through the trees. “Our story is far from over. I will find my way back to you, even if I have to chase you through eternity.”
The water from the heavens mixed with Ciatlllait’s tears. She stood on tiptoe and sealed her mouth to Sylas’s. A silver sheet of broken water descended upon them. Sylas slid his fingers through her hair and kissed her deeply. He inhaled and became lost in her scent, in the way her cool, creamy skin warmed beneath his touch as he found his way across her collarbone and the round of her shoulder. He leaned into her, aware of her curves and her pulse beneath his hands. They wandered over her chest and slid behind her, plucking at the strings of her corset. Ciatlllait’s chest heaved. Sylas squeezed his eyes closed tighter, trying to remember the way her heart beat felt while pressed against his. She broke their kiss and gasped without opening her eyes, then clutched his leather jerkin. Their lips hovered against one another, heated breaths rose silvery on the air. Her lips parted to kiss him again. He pressed into her and tugged at her lips with his own, teasing with his tongue.He trailed across her jaw and down her neck to the hollow of her shoulder. Ciatlllait’s nails dug into the tree trunk as Sylas’s hands wandered. He continued to kiss across her collarbone and up her neck. He leaned his forehead against hers. The heat between them strained the air. Sylas kissed her hard, He lifted her against the trunk. Her thighs hugged his waist. The sound of caw caused Ciatlllait’s eyes to flutter open. She looked past Sylas and locked eyes with a silver crow sitting on a branch. Crow blinked at her with beady black eyes and cawed. Ciatlllait’s skin prickled. She sucked in a breath. Lightning flashed.
Sylas followed her gaze. The silver crow ruffled its feathers and preened its black wings before cawing again. Sylas eased Ciatlllait down and placed himself between her and the bird. The horses snorted and whinnied.
“Peeping Tom,” Sylas sneered.
The silver crow cawed again.
Sylas bent to pick up a pebble and chuck it at the bird. The crow lit from the branch just as the prince flung the stone.
Crwys broke from her familiar with a sharp breath. Her eyes were daggers. How foolish to think Sylas only loved his grandfather. Crwys prepared other families of a death by coming to warn them. This was not the case, for the girl had not been present at the keening. She did not know of Sylas’s sacrifice. To cut her off without explanation would be cruel. And still Crwys wondered, why this change of heart? Why would the lives of mortals sway her? Death pitied no one. All men must die. That was the nature of things. Still, something twisted within her. She had to cut Sylas off from this girl.
Sylas sat by Sionnach’s bedside and watched his grandfather sleep. Sionnach stirred. “You go to your death at first light.”
Sylas leaned forward and took his hand, running his fingers over the arthritic bones and bulging blue veins. He thought of the saying how royal blood ran bluer than others. That certainly seemed true for Sionnach. What little light remained in the room glinted in Sionnach’s eyes.
“You were always foolish, Sylas. You do things without thinking. The grave mistake you have made will be the mistake that puts you in your grave.”
Sylas leaned forward in his chair. “Yet for all of my foolishness, I am also clever. The graver mistake would have been to let her take you.”
Sionnach sighed. The storm moved closer to Castle Killeagh. “You think you can outwit death, but believe me it is a mistake to try.”
Sylas gazed at their hands. Sionnach’s wrinkled skin was leathery beneath Sylas’s.
“I’ve lived my life, Sylas. You are too young to sacrifice yours.”
Rain pelted Killeagh. The high king and prince listened to the water pummel the parapets. The low blowing of wind caused Sylas to believe that it was the singing voices of ban sídhes keening the great house of Sionnach.
Sylas raised his eyes to his grandfather. He tried to memorize the way the man appeared in the darkness. “I will remain until first light.”
A servant Rooster called “Boy” put Rós out with the other chickens in the yard. Two hens investigated her immediately. One was black, the other white and speckled. They called themselves Lady Dáire and The Countess. Their Cockrel was simply His Majesty.
Lady Dáire and The Countess circled Rós, then began to peck at her. Rós felt powerless as they plucked feathers from her and drove her from the flock. As the storm approached, Rós tried to find solace amongst them, but Lady Dáire and The Countess quickly nipped that business in the bud. Rós was soaked to the bone and clucked mournfully. She shivered in the rain. When the storm broke and the clouds rolled away, she gazed toward the dawn as she always had on the farm. She turned to the other hens to share this special moment with them. Perhaps if they realized they all saw the same sky, the same world, they would accept her.
Look, Lady Dáire, Countess, the colors…
The two hens clucked groggily and glanced up. What do you speak of?
Rós blinked. The colors. Do you not see them?
You speak nonsense, said The Countess.
It is only the sky, added Lady Dáire.
His Majesty hopped onto a post and crowed as the sun rose.
Rós shrank back and wondered why they did not see what was so plain to her. The sky swirled with beauty and endless motion, just the way as it had always had back home. Why were they blind to it? Did they not also notice the way their masters glowed? Had Grania seen the colors?
Am I alone? Rós thought.
Boy opened the gate and Rós made a run for it. She was quickly overcome by another more aggressive hen who chased her back until Lady Dáire and The Countess passed through first. Rós said nothing, except for the cackle to save her hide.
Rós scarcely had left the pen when a number of horses trotted by, pulling a carriage. Rós looked at the crimson vehicle, decorated in silver. A blue life force in the carriage. Rooster! She clucked loudly and began running after the carriage.
Rós didn’t know what possessed her to chase him, other than she recognized him. Perhaps she could find a way to communicate her flock concerns. Farmer had brought her to him, so she must belong to him now. Wife always seemed to understand when there was an issue. Why not Rooster? Others seemed to listen to him. Surely he would fix the problem.
Alas, for all her squabbling and desperation, the carriage only grew faster and farther away from her. She paused not far from the bailey where Boy caught her and scooped her up.
The rains made the roads trickier to navigate. Sylas grew weary of the rocks and ruts. He leaned his head upon his fist and gazed out the window. So far the journey was uneventful. He wondered what his grandfather had made such a fuss over. While he did not know yet where he was going, he did not make questions. His footmen and guards and the driver had been given direction to follow this road to a rendezvous not far from Glen Dromcollher. The going got tougher, however, and the carriage broke a wheel. Sylas was unsettled and stepped out. The situation was explained and he was assured the problem would be addressed posthaste. A glint in the road ahead caught his eye. He strode toward it. The sun caught the edge of a silver comb. Sylas stooped. It was exquisite, inlaid with diamonds. He looked around to ensure no other caravans were nearby. Why would anyone leave behind such a lovely piece? Perhaps Ciatlllait would appreciate it as a wedding gift. He reached for it, and no sooner had he touched that he vanished from the road.