Day 14 of Midwinter, Sunset

  The Deep Realm

  Annwn

  The fallen that weren’t burned immediately were paraded through the Deep Realm as heroes. At the head of the procession rode the body of King Neit. I did not escort our dead but met Tethra and the other Fomorian warriors at the “Hanging Tower” in Túr Crochta, the city's center.

  “So now, what?” Ruadan asked me. He hadn't left my side for hours.

  “Now Tethra becomes queen, and we wait to see how Hightower responds.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You know how they are going to respond.”

  “I do,” I admitted.

  “And is it intuition or that new-fangled boon of yours making this particular prediction?”

  “The Divination of Balance boon is not so cut and dry. It only allows me to see disharmonies...it doesn’t show me how to fix or change them.” I thought about what the boon had shown me. Our invasion of Brú na Dallta seemed to have thrown everything into chaos.

  Ruadan nodded. He watched as the larger men and women marched into Túr Crochta, where they reverently laid our many dead. “So are we farthed or not?”

  “Pretty much. But then again, Bren is off with the Cupbearer. Perhaps he will bring back good news.”

  “You're waiting on the god of chaos to bring you good news? We are definitely farthed.”

  I shook my head at him, smothering a chuckle. I could always count on Ruadan to lighten the mood, even on such a dark day as this. “Come on, Red. It's time to pay our condolences to Dubhlinn and Morvra.”

  We walked to the end of the parade route, near the line of dispersing warriors. Tethra stood there, surrounded by four women. Three were human, the fourth a Fomorian.

  I approached the women, inclining my head in respect. “Hail, Mná na Mara.” This was the customary greeting for the “Women of the Sea,” a highly venerated group of wives, mothers, and daughters of kings, or in one case, a future queen. These women had earned my respect. While every woman in the upper echelon of Fomorian society was eligible to be a member, simply being a woman was not sufficient. Each member of the Mná na Mara was a warrior in her own right.

  Together they made up Tethra's retinue. The first of these were the last surviving widows of former King Neit. Dubhlinn was the mother of Corb. Morvra was the mother of Tethra. The third human, Cethlenn, was the wife of Balor. Their Fomorian daughter, Ethlinn, was the mother of Lugh. I felt a pang, remembering the Tuatha I had killed in self-defense back on Emain Ablach.

  These were the women who had the pulse of the people in the Deep Realm. While the king may have led the army and made important decrees, it was the Mná na Mara who worked the political magic behind the scenes.

  Unfortunately, I knew that most of these women were no fans of mine. Despite adhering to a strict warrior's code, Cethlenn and Ethlinn would never forgive me for killing their kin. While they knew Lugh had aligned himself with the Tuatha, over the Fomorians, and had died in fair combat, they had never fully accepted me as one of their own. The grace of being an adopted son, even one of their beloved king, only went so far.

  Dubhlinn followed the lead of her son, Corb, who had followed Balor on the offensive. Dubhlinn had therefore been vocally opposed to the plans of the former king and I.

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  Ultimately, though the whole Mná na Mara had supported our invasion of Brú na Dallta, my only true allies in this influential group were Tethra and her mother, Morvra.

  “Hail, Maccán,” the women said in one voice. They did not address Ruadan. He was even more of an outsider here than I was, maybe more now than ever before, for it was the king who had officially welcomed him in at my recommendation. He remained a step behind me, keeping his head bowed.

  “We wish to pay our respects, Mistress Dubhlinn and Mistress Morvra.” The pair nodded in acknowledgment. I knew it was one of many such exchanges they would have had throughout what had been a long day. I turned to my adopted sister, catching her striking midnight eyes.

  “Lord Tethra, I wonder if we might have a word about the ceremony.”

  Tethra nodded, then turned to the Mná na Mara to say her goodbyes. The three of us walked together in the direction of the throne room.

  After a few quiet moments, I asked the question weighing on my heart. “Will there be any challengers?”

  As we entered the stone hall at the center of the great stalactite, Tethra slowed, appearing to take in the details of the room. “Dubhlinn thinks we should separate the ceremony from the funeral.”

  “Of course she does,” Ruadan grumbled. “It must chap her arse that Corb wasn’t considered.”

  “To be fair, with Elatha and Balor dead, Elatha’s family killed, and Balor’s family intertwined with the Tuatha, Corb was next in line.” I had never met Elatha or his family. Whoever had killed the Prince had made sure to leave no loose ends. His wife Aoibhinn and his daughter Briomhaith had disappeared, leaving only bloodstains in Briomhaith’s bedchamber. Their story remained one of tragedy and mystery.

  My mind drifted to those family members that I did know and the heated debates that were held in this very room. “Except Corb is just as culpable as Balor in terms of going against his king’s wishes.”

  "Dubhlinn will not interfere with the ceremony.” Tethra gave me a pointed look. “Why do you ask of challengers?”

  Tethra knew me so well...and she knew of my boon, and likely suspected the reason for my asking was my fear of the immediate future, one I could see was awash in disharmony.

  “Up overhead, I was trying out a form of meditation that my brother had mentioned. In clearing out all the distractions, I began to see...tendrils. It is the best way I can describe it. It is as if reality is hazy. The tendrils went off into the distance, out to sea.”

  “Is that how you typically see disharmonies?” my future queen asked.

  “That is typically how you see a crazy person,” Ruadan quipped.

  Tethra gave Ruadan a dirty look. “I wonder if these tendrils are trying to show you how Nuada will try to bring doom to our islands.”

  “I wondered the same thing,” I admitted. “I do think they represent a fleet sailing toward Inis fer Falga, but…”

  “Why is there always a but?” Ruadan rolled his eyes and perched on one of the stone half-tables.

  “The tendrils are here now, in THIS room,” I continued, feeling a chill run up my spine.

  “I see. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen in this room.” Tethra nodded to herself. “I trust your foresight, Béstin. It has served us well. But have you checked the Diviner lately?”

  “The bloody thing doesn’t work on Nuada any longer,” Ruadan muttered. “I’ve been trying all afternoon. Maybe I have a kink for spying on people… Any chance I can borrow that thing when the war is over?”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. Before I could reply, the pallbearers of King Neit entered the throne room. We watched in silence as they placed his ornate casket on the pyre at the center of the room, just below the huge, candle-filled chandelier. Light from the large opening above the chandelier streamed down into the room. I knew smoke would vent out the opening when the king's pyre was lit.

  When the pallbearers exited the room, Tethra picked up our conversation. “I don’t see how this information helps us.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “Just…be ready for anything during the ceremony.”

  Tethra shook her head. Her face remained serious for a brief moment before she shot me a quick smirk. "You know, it's not too late to nominate you instead of me.”

  “You really think that will be good for his ego?!” Ruadan joked, shooting me a double pistol salute.

  “I don’t want it any more than you do,” I admitted. “But at least you know you will have one loyal subject.” I smiled, looking at Ruadan. “Make that one and a half.” Ruadan turned his pistol fingers into middle fingers.

  A bell rang across the city, the faint sound audible even through the heavy double doors of the throne room. We looked around at each other in silence, knowing that our time together was over. Soon the room would fill up with dignitaries and relatives of the former king.

  I studied Tethra's strong arms and beautiful blond braids, the gleam of Orna, her infamous sword. I looked at my friend and confidant, the future queen of the Fomorians, watching in fear as the hazy tendrils grew, coalesced, and encircled both her and Ruadan.

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