Below him was a sea of clouds as far as Oisín could see. It was as if the entirety of existence had faded away, and all that remained were him and Queen Rhiannon’s floating castle. The distant sun was felt but did not appear. Light danced on the gold-flecked stonework in complex patterns his eyes couldn’t follow. Silence. The clouds danced and crashed in waves below, as if manipulated by a powerful wind, yet there was none and the vast white made no noise.

  “It’s a sight, once, that drove fae mad. Chained to the battlements as they awaited the queen’s justice.”

  Queen Fódla appeared at his elbow. Her features betrayed a youth he had never seen in her, whatever small time he had known her as a stablehand and later as her son’s consort. Her face had been marred then by wrinkles and hard lines that spoke of a tenuous reign. Until he had embraced her again on the steps of the castle, he’d known her only at peace the moment before her soul fled to Tir na nóg and her body grew into a yew tree.

  “Do you wonder,” she said, “What Fuiseog has been doing in your absence?”

  “Not once. I know for certain he’s doing everything in his power to avenge me. As I would have, were our positions reversed.”

  “We ought to pray then. I wouldn’t wish an all-out war on my brother Cailey with anyone. You’ve seen for yourself the lengths he’ll take.”

  “Oh?” Oisín mused.

  “That man is ruthless. Ever since we were children, he’s done anything he can to gain the advantage.” She laughed suddenly. “I remember, he used to do this small trick with a firefly. It would appear from between his fingers, land on my nose, then flash so bright I couldn’t see anything for a minute. He’d switch all the pieces on the chessboard around while I was blinded.”

  “And you let him?”

  The queen shrugged. “It was harmless. And he still lost half the time. A clever man, but not spectacularly brilliant.”

  “I’ll pray the odds are in Fuiseog’s favor then.”

  “To whom I wonder.”

  “Anyone. Everyone. Lord Cernunnos, I guess.”

  “Innsidh na geòidh as t-fhogar e.”

  Oisín simply nodded. There was little either of them could do from the afterlife. Queen Fódla pulled on his arm, beckoning him back to the festivities, and he begrudgingly allowed himself to be led down the winding stairs to the main hall. Whether or not every former fae noble lived in the castle, Fódla had declined to answer, but they were certainly all in attendance. He’d made the rounds already after he and Nico had arrived: Queen Rhiannon, the first monarch to bring the fae together as one people; her husband, King Pwyll, and her son, King Pryderi, who had died young; on and on through names and family trees Oisín only vaguely remembered from his history lessons, down to Fódla’s parents and her older sister, Princess Luneigh, who had died before Oisín was born. He almost wished he’d paid attention in his lessons like Fuiseog so he could know who to ask what. As it was, he got by on small talk and remarking on his life as prince-consort.

  It was all rather banal. The dead nobles, long since having exhausted all novel stories after endless such parties, spoke of nothing at all. It almost seemed to be a game between many of then to see who could speak the longest without saying anything at all. It drove Oisín’s mind to fits, and so he’d escaped to the roof to at least suffer in silence. He looked around then, now returned to the nightmare, for Nico, hoping the cat at least would assuage him. Though, he found the chubby Bombay swaying in a corner clearly inebriated. The other guests had left him a wide berth.

  Oisín took it on himself, then, to at least see the cat to a bedroom to sleep it off. He’d never imagined animals could even stomach fae liquor, but anything was possible in Tir na nóg he supposed. Fódla had shown them their rooms sometime between the long introductions and his flight to the roof. As soon as his hooves made contact with the stones of the hallway, the room came to an abrupt eerie silence. Suddenly, the blood thundered in his ears, and he found himself paralyzed.

  “Oisín kin of Fódla and Fuiseog,” Queen Rhiannon’s voice blared out. “You leave again so soon?”

  He couldn’t turn to look at her, though his lips did seem to work again.

  “My companion is ill, majesty. I will see him to bed and return.”

  Her approach was audible, every graceful step resonating in the still air of the chamber. “ you have strayed without my permission. Do you to disrespect me, child?”

  “No, majesty, I—” His body spun around on its own to face the queen.

  “Face me when you speak. Did Fódla teach you nothing? Nor your husband? Even that human would know better manners. Well?”

  “As I said, I’m only taking my friend—”

  “!” Rhiannon’s face was a terrifying mask of ferocity, lips curled up to reveal rows of teeth filed to points and her hair dancing on some unfelt breeze. “Fódla!” The other queen was thrust forward with a stumble to Rhiannon’s side. “Teach this…this the proper manners or you are out on the ramparts until you do. Dismissed!”

  The room sprang back to life as if nothing had occurred, and Oisín was free to move again. Fódla still stood before him, face barely containing her own rage and shock at being thrown center-stage. She said nothing as she grabbed him by the shoulder roughly and directed him down the hall. WHen they were safely in her own chambers, the queen released him and collapsed onto the bed. Her entire air of confidence deflated. Oisín laid Nico, now asleep, onto one of the couches and sat at his head. They remained like that for a long while, stewing in their own minds.

  “You’ve made a grave mistake,” she finally whispered.

  “So I saw.”

  “Queen Rhiannon is, well, fickle at the best of times. For her to declare your disrespect publicly…”

  “Did you not raise Fuiseog to treat all nobility as equal? That no fae ruler stood above another, nor any duke, earl, whatever?”

  Fódla sat up suddenly and glared at him.

  “And I have bragged to all you were my son’s reasoning. Think, Oisín. You are not Fuiseog, you’re not even nobility. A king’s consort carries no weight beyond the grave.”

  “What would you suggest then? I grovel and apologize? Beg for forgiveness? I won’t.”

  “You must!” she cried. “Or Rhiannon will see to it that you’ll never even lay eyes on Aengus, let alone any Tuath Dé that could help. You’ll wither away on the ramparts until Cernunnos recalls your soul.”

  “I won’t. I made a promise I would see this through, and that I would deliver Nico there as well. I refuse to lose my dignity among all things.”

  “What is dignity but a hindrance? Don’t you understand? She’ll never let you leave if you don’t do as she says.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to show her reason then.”

  Fódla sighed. “It’s often a fae’s mouth that breaks their nose.”

  “Is that where Fuiseog got the phrase? An egg can’t be broken before it has cracked.”

  “Yet still you’re left to clean the mess when it falls.”

  “The truth never choked a man.”

  “No, but a wise head can’t be placed on young shoulders, and small lies lay more sweet on the tongue than bitter truth.”

  “Beautiful trees have grown in shallow soil.”

  “I’m not standing here and having a battle of wits with you, Oisín. The fact is, Queen Rhiannon does not see reason. You think she’s called ‘Mad Queen’ for her love of logic?”

  “Still, I have to try. I can’t cower yet, not until I reach Aengus.”

  “You heard her though? She’ll have both our heads if you fail.”

  “I won’t fail.”

  “I hope not.” She rose slowly and came over to wrap him in a hug. “What happened to that awkward stablehand that courted my son? Who couldn’t even look me in the eyes the first time we met?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Fuiseog never told you how he got the scar under his ribs, did he?”

  “He told me you two were horseplaying and slipped onto one of your knives. I knew it wasn’t the truth, but a noble is entitled to their secrets. I kept many.”

  “You did. It seems every time Fuiseog or I encountered a problem, it was because you didn’t tell us something.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “The scar.”

  “Right, go on.”

  “We were visiting one of the mountain villages, to the south where Duke Liam ruled. Fuiseog wanted to go in disguise, to ‘better assess the common impression of the nobility’ he said. I never could tell him no. To make a long story short, Fuiseog got along just fine, but I was awkward as you said, even among commoners. One of the bar patrons where we ended the night, he decided my shyness was an ego, that I thought I was better than him. I could barely hit the side of a house with a knife, let alone another fae. The man came at me with a sword drawn, and I managed to barely dodge the first swing. Fuiseog was between us before I knew it, and the patron was already swinging again. Somehow, Fuiseog talked the man down, even while pouring blood out where his hand covered the wound. We left right after that and camped instead. I tried to heal Fuiseog, but my magic wasn’t powerful enough to completely do it. He just smiled and called the scar a badge of his love for me. He made me swear not to tell you we’d run into trouble.”

  “Oh, my little Fuiseog. So ambitious, but he never plans for the future.”

  “I promised myself then and there I wouldn’t make Fuiseog worry about me anymore. I practiced until I was one of the best fighters in the land. I stood my ground and fought my own battles. I did everything I could to make Fuiseog happy, and I filled in all the places he was weak.”

  “And you did, dear, you did.”

  “So you see? I refused to bow in life, to never bring shame onto Fuiseog. I already failed him by dying to some unknown knight. I can’t fail him now. I can’t show weakness.”

  “It’s my fault. I sent Keir home, and I knew Cailey took them, but I never told either of you.”

  “Keir? Who, the knight?”

  Fódla smiled sadly. “You and Fuiseog met at night, right? When you first tried to court him?” Oisín nodded. “Keir was his personal guard for…well, until you two got so strong you had no need for a guard. I gave Keir an easy choice: stay on in the castle as a knight, close but always suffering watching you two go on without them, or return to their home beyond the mists. I meant for Keir to train with their people, to learn to harness their powers until they stood on the same level as you and Fuiseog.”

  “I…I don’t remember.”

  “Your magic was never as strong as Fuiseog’s. It’s no wonder that’s not enough.” She placed a hand on his head. “My doing. I always did rely too much on memory manipulation.”

  There was only the barest trickle of magic coming from her fingers, and then Oisín did remember. Keir, the black hound, who had faithfully protected the two of them from the shadows. Who had found Oisín in the stables that day to offer him a hand in friendship, and who helped him sneak in every night to see the prince.”

  “Keir.” The name tore roughly through his heart. “Cailey took them? And you….”

  “I was going to tell you one day, but I’d thought it easier to simply erase the memories then.”

  “What happened?”

  “Cailey caught them on the road. A simple but effective trap. He killed them and raised them as a revenant, an undead servant bound to his will. It was this revenant that killed you. If I had just told you the truth, if you had known there was a shadow possibly hunting you, well….”

  “If you had told us, we would have confronted Cailey then to free Keir. We would have never gone to war because your brother would be dead.” He felt his anger rising silently. “We could have seen Keir safely to the mists, where no one would have found them. If you had told us. Why, Fódla? Why do our problems always start with you not saying something?” He was on his feet now, looking down on the former queen as he towered over her.

  “I am sorry, my child. We fae only have death in which to weigh our past choices.”

  “What else aren’t you telling me? What else have you lied to Fuiseog about?”

  “We could be here the rest of your thirteen days and longer if I spilled every secret I ever had, all that I decided was not important for you two to know.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “One day, I will know. I won’t fail him again.”

  “Then go. I’ll watch your charge.”

  She stroked Nico’s chin, to which the cat gave a satisfied purr. In any other circumstance, Oisín would have found it a sweet gesture for her to offer her protection. But the seething rage he felt boiled under his skin, and so he stormed off and paced the hallway. Regardless of his feelings, he needed to confront Queen Rhiannon with a clear head. He remembered a trick Fuiseog had taught him, a matter of focusing one’s mind around something unrelated to calm down. He repeated it to himself over and over, letting the elements in his mind take his anger. After a moment and a lot of deep breaths, he sighed and deemed himself calm enough.

  Evidently the party had disbanded sometime after his leaving. The hall was swept clean, not a single crumb left to indicate people had been there. Through the large glass dome that served as the ceiling, Oisín watched the sky change colors as the sun set. He felt unnerved suddenly as a single shadow parted the heavens. It was a small thing, a single flight silhouetted by the radiant backdrop. Something in the act called his attention, and he realized until that moment he hadn’t seen any birds in the afterlife.

  He raced up the stairs, briefly forgetting his meeting with the queen. He watched the bird from the vantage of the roof stumble through the air. It cut back and forth through the air on a broken wing that flapped once for every three of the other. On some breeze, it hit the sucking downdraft and was pulled violently down towards Oisín. By sheer luck, he managed to take a step forwards and catch the heavy body of the bird before it hit the stones. He almost then dropped it entirely when it chirped, and he finally saw the creature up close. It was a lark. The bird flailed back and forth in his hands, tweeting the whole while. Some notes translated themselves in his mind, but the majority remained indiscernible.

  “King…danger…speak…Rhiannon…”

  Oisín wasted no time descending back to the hall. The throne room, he knew, was behind the large ornate golden doors behind the dais where Rhiannon had rested during the feast. The metal was warm to the touch, and they parted with a single light push. The scene beyond, as he ascended a set of marble steps, was utterly breathtaking. Though past dusk outside, the room was completely illuminated by a shining artificial star that hung from the vaulted ceiling a hundred feet above and bathed the room in the warmth of a modest summer day. The walls were nothing but interspersed gold pillars consumed by flowering ivy, and further out it looked as if the throne room was one outcropping in an endless terrain of pathed grasslands.

  Whatever emotions Oisín had entered with, the throne room took and replaced with a grand serenity. The whole atmosphere made him want to lay down and nap, owaking only to refresh himself with a long cold swallow of water. Then the lark chirped again. He advanced towards Queen Rhiannon who lounged on a cushioned wicker chaise as she picked fruit from a small plate balanced on her knee. He stopped a couple paces short of her and simply held out the bird so it could cross the short distance on its own.

  It gave a good strong flap and landed heavily on the queen’s shoulder. To Oisín, again, it was just birdsong, but Rhiannon closed her eyes and nodded along as the bird delivered its message. When it finished, the queen drew one finger down the length of the lark’s broken wing. She gave a short whistle, and the bird took off confidently between the pillars into the endless fields.

  “You do not understand birds.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No, majesty. I didn’t even speak to beasts until I accepted this torc.”

  “A pity. Larks especially have a way with words.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I had heard your Fuiseog is a wordsmith to match his namesake. My birds say otherwise though.”

  “Majesty?”

  “One matter at a time. I await your apology, Oisín, for your earlier disrespect. I will not wait much longer.”

  “You will. I haven’t come to apologize, majesty.”

  Rhiannon set her plate aside and sat up.

  “Then you have come only to annoy me further. You are not the first child to rebel.”

  “You don’t understand. I made a promise—”

  “No, you do not understand, kin of Fódla.” The queen rose to her full height, though her voice remained low. The tranquility of the throne room seemed to quell her own wild emotions as much as they did Oisín’s. “I am Rhiannon, first queen of the Fae, whose line birthed a dynasty. I am she of the eternal summer, who set the seasons in their place. Descendant of the Tuath Dé through éire and the fae leader Aeglinn. Who are you, child?”

  “I am Oisín, kin of Fódla of your royal line, and consort to King Fuiseog. I am he of the piercing dagger, who faced the armies alone. Descendant of King Pryderi and his mistress by sixteen generations of common blood. Let me pass.”

  “How drunk was your father when he told you that lie? My son had but one child, by his wife the Lady Adelaide, and they were king after his death. You are common mud, descendant of no one. “

  “I must return to my king. Our business isn’t finished.”

  Rhiannon grinned and sat back down. “Do you know what my birds tell me, child? They speak of your king and dub him ‘’, butcher bird. He has taken to slaughtering his uncle’s forces and fraternizing with the very demon who murdered you.”

  “Then they sing of another. Fuiseog is no butcher. He was raised with the same fae values as all of us.”

  She spoke again through a mouthful of fruit. “Do not take my rankling as condemnation. It was time for my people to wake from their delusion of peace. War is inevitable, only more so after nearly five thousand years. It sometimes takes only the rage of a lover to jumpstart a revolution.”

  “He is not a butcher.”

  “Then go to Aengus, foolish Oisín. Go to the lord of love and proclaim yourself so he can knock some sense into you. You will fail, as all have before you, and in death you will discover the truth.”

  “Bah, you lie. What words can be trusted from the Mad Queen herself?” He tried to stop the words, but they came out against his better judgement.

  “You seek your doom so early? So be it.”

  The queen began to weave a complex stream of magic in front of herself that made Oisín’s head spin. Colors danced along the razor-thin threads in patterns he barely recognized, some he had only read of in his studies. Individually they were nonsensical, but put together they served a purpose he could only guess at.

  “You are lucky in some way,” she said, “On account of that torc, I can’t truly do anything viscous. But by the terms of your pact, I can certainly keep you here.”

  Her fingers tied off the ends of the magic tapestry, and with a single flick of her wrist it hurtled towards him. There was no time to dodge, and it slammed into him with enough force to knock his breath away. The room fizzled out around him. Once again he stood on the battlements overlooking the sea of clouds. He saw the magical threads all around him caught in the moonlight like spider silk. A small gasp was his only warning as the form of Queen Fódla still cradling Nico fell on top of him. All three them impacted the stones with force enough to throw up a shower of dust.

  “Oisín, what…”

  “Rhiannon’s doing. She didn’t like my argument as much as I hoped, what little of it I got out anyway.”

  Fódla rose and approached one of the strands of magic. At a single touch, the whole web pulsed and threw her back to where they’d fallen. Magic as well seemed to have the same effect, repulsing Oisín as soon as he reached out with a tendril. They set to work immediately, as if of a shared unspoken mind, to test the whole perimeter. By dawn, not a single part bulged, and the entrance back into the castle revealed itself to be covered in the same strands.

  “What now?” Fódla sighed.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t.”