Chapter XXII
CHAPTER XXII
As the rest of the fair folk slept, Aisling lay awake, studying the silver thread Lir had tied around her wrist each morning. A few paces away, Lir slumbered as well, his twin axes tucked neatly beside him.
Another week had passed since the incident at the lake. At the very least, Aisling’s failure had silenced Filverel for the meantime. No longer did he bicker with the fae king, nor look at the mortal queen with suspicion each time she needed to relieve herself in privacy.
Rian, Galad, and Gilrel, on the other hand, had continued to teach Aisling the basics of blade-wielding. The mortal queen now knew how to find her opponent’s heart with the tip of her sword or dagger, where to cut if she wished for her enemy to bleed out, and how to throw a blade so it met its target. Aisling was rather bad at each of the former lessons but nevertheless, she persisted. In time she would learn to defend herself. These Aos Sí had centuries to learn, Aisling needed to remind herself lest she be discouraged.
Aisling turned on her side, finding Lir lying on his back. The sun’s softest rays percolated through the canopies above, dappling the fae king’s face with shadows and light alike. There was something about watching Lir sleep that Aisling enjoyed, as strange as that may sound. He was a wolf curled to sleep. Not to mention, Aisling could watch him without fearing he’d catch her looking.
The mortal queen couldn’t count how often their eyes accidentally met throughout the day. As though each had an intangible sense for the other, a knowing for when one’s eyes grazed the other, pulling their attention with an irresistible tug. For indeed, Aisling often felt as though she could feel his glances. The kiss of his eyes as he watched her ride Saoirse on her own, train with Rian or Galad, talk for endless hours with Gilrel or await a raven that never arrived with correspondence in its beak. So, did the fae king also feel her watchful eyes, studying him through the night and as he slept?
The mortal queen closed her eyes for perhaps five or ten minutes, oscillating on the brink of sleep, when she was startled awake by a woman’s song.
It began slowly. A sweet melody was being sung, perhaps by a woman Aisling’s age. Her voice was haunting, dancing through the forest and into the fae party’s camp like the flowery clouds of her mother’s perfume.
Aisling bolted upright, searching through the trees. There was no one and nothing in sight. The voice grew in volume, becoming quicker, livelier. It was intoxicating. A taste of some sweet pastry that begged to be devoured bite after bite. To feel its texture on her tongue and savor the taste. Aisling’s mind became fuzzy, her thoughts muffled. All that mattered was the woman’s song. The poetry that the mortal queen couldn’t understand.
Aisling knew she shouldn’t follow it. What had Lir said? The Unseelie lure their victims into the forest with various tricks and traps, among them, song. But somehow, none of that seemed consequential. Even the mortal queen’s memory became a distant thought, lost somewhere in the subconscious.
Surely the wielder of such a voice was a benevolent creature. For how could such beauty be anything but goodness itself?
So, Aisling stood from the ground and followed the sound. She tiptoed past the sleeping Aos Sí, careful not to startle them. And Aos Sí were easily alerted, even in their sleep.
Aisling hesitated at the edge of the fae camp. She shouldn’t go forward. Not alone. It wasn’t right. Something somewhere was hammering at her mind for her to return to camp. To wake Lir or Galad or Rian and tell them what was happening. But another part of her, the part that was in control, was eager to go forward. So, she did.
Aisling moved into the trees, allowing the voice to guide her. The first step was the most difficult. All the rest came effortlessly. The mortal queen spilled through the forest, lost to the potion steeping her human ears. And that internal voice that told her to return faded until only the song remained, enchanting her forth. That was until her wrist caught.
The mortal queen flew back, tumbling into the arms of another.
Immediately, the spell broke and Aisling bristled at the contact.
“Sshh,” Lir said softly, folding her into his arms and hiding her behind a rather thick pine. One whose branches grew low to the ground, expanding like arms. The fae king peered into the forest, eyes narrowing in the distance. “In the future, remind me to shorten this thing.”
Aisling’s eyes darted towards the starlight thread, binding her to Lir. That was how he’d known. She must have tugged him awake. The mortal queen had never been so grateful for that silver, braided snake.
“What is it?” Aisling asked, following the fae lord’s gaze.
“Merrow,” he said, hands still holding onto Aisling. And once she realized this, she stepped away, increasing the distance. A gesture met by the sharp glint in Lir’s eyes.
“Another species of Unseelie?” Aisling asked.
“Not quite,” Lir said, his voice barely a whisper. “These are the Sidhe the gods sanctioned to the seas.”
“But there are no bodies of water near here,” Aisling replied, “are there?”
“There are areas in the isles where the water runs beneath the earth. In caves, tunnels, currents that lead towards the Ashild.” The sea that surrounded the Isles of Rinn Dúin. Waters of spice trades and shipwrecks.
“Are they your subjects then?” Aisling asked.
“All Sidhe are subject to the original or descendant Sidhe kings and queens whether they reside in one kingdom or another.”
Lir stood silent for a moment, listening to the surrounding forest. He closed his eyes, brow pinching as he concentrated. Whatever it was he communicated to the trees, they responded, groaning on a phantom wind. A wind that tunneled through the forest, Aisling’s braid catching the leaves that flew like sparrows. By now, the strange hum that’d called Aisling into the forest had lowered, buzzing in the distance.
“This way,” Lir said, gesturing for Aisling to follow him.
The mortal queen glanced over her shoulder, searching for the fae camp they were leaving behind.
“What about the others?”
“What about them?”
“Won’t we need their help?”
Lir stopped in his tracks, turning to face the mortal queen.
“You doubt me?” he asked, a roguish grin baring his fangs.
“I doubt myself. I can’t be of much help should anything happen,” Aisling said, thinking of the countless fomorians that descended upon both her and Lir a few weeks prior.
“You shouldn’t,” Lir said, “you may be more capable than I.”
Lir turned his back to Aisling, continuing further into the icy woodland.
“You still believe I can wield the draiocht ?” Aisling hurried after him.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Aisling wrinkled her brow. “Because I couldn’t summon the fire the night at the lake.”
“I’d have been surprised if you had,” he said. “Your use of the draiocht is still young. Undisciplined . I can sense it. And so can the forest. We feel it in your blood whenever you’re near.” His eyes flickered towards her, their regard as frightening as any great predator but equally as lovely.
Aisling tore her eyes from the fae king. Is that what Yddra had told him? What the trees whispered to Lir throughout the day and night alike?
“Initially, I thought it your will. That wildness within you, you seek so persistently to stifle. That heathenous heart that allows you to live amongst us.” Lir gestured towards the surrounding woodland. Aisling paused. For indeed she craved the grass beneath her bare feet, the smell of wet leaves, the wind purling through the forest.
“Within you lives a wild spirit.” The forest stirred then, swaying their great bodies to the sound of their lord’s voice. “There’s magic in your blood.”
Aisling clenched her fists at her sides.
“Then do you fear such magic in me?” Aisling searched his expression, an expression that rarely gave anything away it wished not to.
Lir met her gaze. “It interests me.”
“Then why does Filverel?—”
“Fil fears your father will use you as a weapon if he discovers your abilities.”
“Filverel believes I’d burn the forests for my father?” Aisling asked.
Lir stopped in his tracks, looking at the ground. Aisling followed his gaze. A stone staircase travelled deep into the earth below. Steps that faded into blackness.
Moss, flowers, and vines snaked around the staircase, stretching their fingers and plunging into the earth until they too, disappeared into the abyss. But that wasn’t all. As the staircase crossed the surface of the earth and into the underground, there stood an open doorway made of stone carved into the likeness of a woman’s head frozen for eternity with a gaping maw. A cavernous mouth where the staircase unfurled like a rock-ridden tongue.
“Aye. He thinks that if you’re reunited with your father, you’ll let him use you,” Lir continued, “to destroy the woodlands and burn the Sidhe.”
Aisling blanched, lips parting as she considered the fae king.
“You don’t know do you?” he asked. “Surely your father has told you this.”
Aisling shook her head.
“The only other weakness the Sidhe bear from which they cannot heal—other than iron—is fire.”
Aisling’s heart panged.
“Nemed doesn’t just burn the forests to spread his walls. With fire, he purges the Sidhe without having to risk his men in battle.”
Lir was wrong. He had to be. Nemed wouldn’t, couldn’t, know that by burning the woods he was not only slaying centuries-old, sentient trees but also the Sidhe. It was an accident. A misunderstanding, for her father couldn’t be so cruel. His methods were harsh, cold, ruthless at times but always to defend mankind. Never to be the aggressor unprovoked. Aisling knew her father was a man of great fury, of hatred at times. Capable of doing what the average man could not. But that was what was required of a king: to do what others couldn’t for the sake of his people. Even if it meant sacrificing his own morality and goodness. Hadn’t Lir done the same with the fomorians?
Lir descended the staircase first, gesturing for Aisling to follow. The walls and steps were caked with slick, defrosting moss, stone wet and marbled away by the millennia before it. Aisling could both hear and smell the water sloshing around down below. Salt and mildew lurked beneath the cavern where the light from above faded until both she and Lir were shrouded in shadow, nothing but the walls on either side of the narrow passage to guide their way.
“Hold onto me,” Lir said, his voice an unembodied spirit amidst the darkness. Aisling swallowed, reaching for the back of his leathers and pulling herself closer to him. He was warm, a beacon guiding her further into the abyss. Every step was a blind one, trusting the rhythm and pace of the ones before it.
At last, they reached the bottom of the staircase. The floor levelled and Lir walked onward, one stealthy step after another. Aisling fisted her hands in his shirt, avoiding the twin axes crossed at his back and resisting the urge to squeal at the frigid touch of the water splashing her boots. Shallow waves, lapping onto the jagged rocks upon which they walked, reaching for their ankles, hungry to pull them under.
But still there was no light. Only darkness and the sound of water in an endless underground cavern, slapping at the walls around them.
Lir reached for Aisling’s hand. The mortal queen wrenched her eyes shut. She knew what was coming. And, sure enough, the scrape of the fae king’s dagger sliding from his scabbard echoed in the cavern.
“I’ll try to make it painless,” he said, pricking the mortal queen’s fingertip. Aisling flinched at the sting of it. Her blood warmly oozed down her finger, so Lir extended her hand and allowed every scarlet drop to drip into the waters below them. Her blood burst into inky, crimson clouds just below the surface of the water.
But there was little time to focus on her own blood. The waters below them bubbled like a boiling cauldron, birthing a strange, green light from the heart of their inky depths. The light grew, casting a pale, sickly glow into the cavern.
Aisling’s eyes widened, her chest tightening at the sight of what emerged from below. Several of them. Perhaps twenty, writhing beneath the surface of the water.
Lir reached for the tether of starlight between them, wrapping the excess thread around his wrist till they were separated by only a handful of breaths.
“Stay close to me.” Lir stepped forward, placing himself before Aisling on the stone platform.
And from the frothing waters, the figures emerged. Creatures who bore the upper bodies of darkly beautiful women but where legs should sprout there were none. Only the lengthy, thick, scaly tails of shimmering ivory, glittering in the waters beneath them like eels, eels tangling their slippery bodies. Knotting and unknotting.
They looked up at Aisling and Lir with round, pearly eyes, their alabaster hair plastered against their scalps, a wicked contrast to the soft green of their fair complexions. And as the water washed over their slick and otherworldly forms, they swam nearer to the small peninsula in which Lir and Aisling stood. Shimmering, sharp, onyx rock stroked by the spidery fingers of the creatures below them.
“ Mo Damh Bán ,” the first said in Rún, her voice as lovely as her song, “ it’s been too long. I’ve thought of you every day since we last met .” The merrow swam closer, seductively eyeing the fae king. But before Lir could speak, her eyes landed on Aisling.
“ Is this she? The mortal queen of Annwyn ?” Each of their bobbing heads turned towards Aisling, eyeing her skeptically. “I smelled her in the forest but never have I tasted anything quite like her blood.” The merrow shifted into Aisling’s tongue effortlessly. She licked her lips, exposing a collection of razor white teeth punctuated by fangs longer than Lir’s own. Aisling shivered, instinctively stepping nearer to the fae king.
“Although,” the merrow continued, “she certainly isn’t Peitho or Narisea.”
Aisling bristled, folding her hands into fists at her sides. The mortal queen wasn’t certain why the mention of Lir’s first caera aroused anything in her other than pity, sympathy for the fae king’s loss. But it did. Like a knife twisting at the center of her chest.
“I have a question for you, Sakaala,” Lir said, kneeling and peering into the variant Aos Sí’s luminous orbs.
“Anything for you, mo Damh Bán .” Sakaala grinned, batting her jeweled eyelashes and moving closer still. “Lest we meet the same fate as the fomorians.”
“Their blood seeped through the earth, into our caverns and drove us mad.” Another creature grinned, slithering in place
“Let it be a lesson on the consequences of threatening their queen,” Lir said, and all could discern the threat lurking within. That promise of violence in every drip of his fae accent.
Sakaala’s eyes met Aisling’s: eyes whose depths held the secrets of the sea and its pearl-tipped storms.
Aisling willed herself not to flinch. Not to stutter before such a frighteningly beautiful monster as this. One whose skin detailed years, potentially centuries in the darkest depths of the Ashild Sea.
“Always so territorial, Lir. I can’t say I’m not jealous,” Sakaala purred.
Aisling glanced at the fae king, but Lir’s expression only darkened as he pulled back his hood. A severity in his eyes Aisling had beheld once or twice before.
Sakaala pulled her torso above the water, her thin fingers gripping the stones beneath. Now, Aisling could see the merrow’s fae markings, the tribal tattoos that spun around her sculpted abdomen and arms. A warrior, like the fair folk she’d come to know in Annwyn.
Sakaala leaned forward until her pointed nose was but a mere breadth’s width from Lir’s own. She licked her lips again. Full, ruby lips sensually shimmering in the cave’s light. Against her own volition, Aisling’s eyes trailed towards the exaggerated arch of the merrow’s back, her lean torso, the supple curve of her bare breasts.
The mortal queen’s ears burned at the sight. The potent fragrance of lust was thickening the air of the cave as Sakaala’s eyes explored Lir’s own with unrelenting focus. Aisling had never beheld a nude woman before, save for the statues and paintings she’d witnessed in passing, much less a nude man. For, this form of seduction and enticement was a sort of magic in and of itself. A lawless sort of magic. One that made Aisling’s toes curl. Went against everything she’d been taught of the wetting of fires and stilling of storms. And to witness this fae female so boldly covet another male, attempt to lure him into the waters around her, it stunned Aisling. Made her flush. Made her confused. Made her angry. Made her envy that power. That influence she harbored so effortlessly.
“Balor mentioned Danu. I need to know where I can find her.” Lir’s voice was deep, challenging the bubbling of waters beneath them.
“Always straight to the point, Lir,” Sakaala pouted.
Lir’s lips curled. “Is there anything else more pertinent?”
“As pertinent as slaughtering your own Unseelie?”
“Only when they break Sidhe law.”
“How boring,” Sakaala replied. “The humans deserve this, Lir. The gods will smite them for what they’ve done and if it’s the Unseelie they wield as harbingers of justice then so be it.” Sakaala tore her eyes from the fae king, shooting daggers at Aisling. The rest of the merrow followed her lead. Their regard digging into Aisling’s skin.
“The Aos Sí’s survival depends on this peace. Reject it, and we’ll be smote alongside them.”
“So be it. I’d rather drown in the Ashild than align myself with them,” Sakaala spat, wrinkling her nose in Aisling’s direction.
“Danu,” Lir pushed, “tell me where she is.”
“The elusive empress of the dryads,” Sakaala hissed. “Are you certain you wish to find her?”
Dryads . The same dryads they’d encountered upon entering Annwyn?
“Balor implied she’s foreseen the end of this feud,” Lir said, his voice growing cold and hard. “So naturally, I need to speak with Danu myself.”
Indeed, if one knew the outcome of centuries of war, could foresee the future as Balor had intimated, Aisling knew Lir wouldn’t let such knowledge slip through his fingers so easily. He’d need that knowledge. That insight. For it would grant him power, leverage, and advantage over the mortal race should tensions continue.
Had Aisling been so naive as to believe her marriage was an end to the feud between mortals and Sidhe?
“And what will you give me in return?” Sakaala challenged, lifting a hand to touch the fae king’s hair. Her nails were as long and sharp as claws, flirtatiously fluttering towards Lir. Cupping his sharp jaw as lightly as foam embroidered itself at the edge of a wave.
Lir snatched her wrist, his knuckles growing white around her slim bones.
“Don’t bargain with me,” he said, the ice in his voice sending chills down Aisling’s spine.
“How about a kiss, Lir?” she whispered, undeterred by his violence. The corners of her lips curled amorously. Her eyes darted towards Lir’s mouth, watching him with unveiled desire. She was afraid. Scared yet lured by the fae king’s deadly grace. As all the world appeared to be in his presence.
“Just one kiss,” she pleaded.
Lir stilled, the image of the forest at the heart of the tempest stirring behind his thick lashes.
The merrow’s lips parted, her large eyes fluttering shut as she began closing the distance between them. She moved slowly, seductively, body tightening the nearer the fae king became and her long slippery hair veiling her breasts as she lifted herself higher.
Aisling ground her teeth. Squeezed her fists as tightly as they’d shut. Her heart quickened with each passing second.
Just a thread’s width from the fae king’s lips, Lir reached for her throat and squeezed. Sakaala shrieked in harmony with the rest of the merrow. Their wails bounced off the walls of the cavern. Aisling covered her ears.
“You’ll obey me,” Lir growled, every word punctuated by the flash of his canines. “Tell me where I can find Danu.”
Relief swept through Aisling. Relief coupled with terror. Her knees locking. Icy sweat beading across her forehead, lower back, and hands. For she could nearly taste his strength, his power rippling off him in waves of potent heat. He was no longer the Damh Bán now. Now he was the wolf. Savage, ruthless, determined to spread his dominion.
The merrow each treaded madly in the surrounding waters, witnessing their Sakaala desperately clawing for breath. Aisling could smell the fear, the terror the fae king instilled, cold in the breath between herself and these aquatic Aos Sí.
“She resides west of here,” Sakaala spat. “That’s the last anyone has heard or seen of her.”
“Where west?”
“I don’t––”
“Where?” Lir squeezed her throat harder, purpling the merrow’s complexion.
“Please!” another creature screeched from the edge of the cave. Lir ignored her.
“The Isle of Mirrors.” Sakaala coughed, scratching Lir’s fingers with her claw-like nails. The fae lord’s jaw clenched in response, his hands flexing, considering the female within an inch of her last breath.
At last, Lir released the merrow and Sakaala collapsed against the rock. She heaved for breath and pawed at her own throat. The fae king considered her, uncurling and standing once more beside Aisling.
“I have one more question,” Lir said, watching as Sakaala gathered herself.
“Anything, mo Damh Bán ,” the merrow said venomously, pulling her upper body up with her arms. At the sight, Lir smiled. A flicker of wicked triumph flashed across his expression.
“ He is the worst of them: ruthless, merciless, no more than a beast driven by hunger, need, and power. But, unlike the wolf, he is insatiable .”
“What do you sense when you smell her blood?” Lir said, gesturing towards Aisling. The mortal queen froze, eyes darting towards the merrow, eyeing her like a fish within reach.
“Give me her hand,” Sakaala demanded. The creature extended her own hand. Lir eyed the merrow’s outstretched fingers, his eyes narrowing.
“I cannot distinguish her from another by only a few drops of blood. I need to touch. To let the waters feel her.” Sakaala’s face twisted with both fear and frustration, more the hungry beast Aisling knew she was behind her cruel beauty. Her sensuous magic. Behind her lust.
Lir considered, his wicked temper brewing behind the tension in his shoulders. What ran through his mind, Aisling wondered. What variables did he consider and weigh when it came to her life? To the treaty he’d bound himself to with the mortals? Humans Aisling had once believed cowered in the fair folk’s shadow. Not burned their villages and dwindled their numbers.
“No,” Lir declined, his voice resolute.
Aisling, without thinking, grabbed his arm.
“It’s alright,” she said.
Sakaala grinned, curling her fingers impatiently.
Lir’s eyes flashed, searching her expression. The mortal queen could sense his apprehension. The conflict he battled internally, a taut cord snaking around his neck. Lir’s jaw clenched more tightly, silently watching as Aisling stepped around his shoulder and towards Sakaala.
The mortal queen placed her hand in the merrow’s.
Her skin was as cold as ice, near biting at the touch. But what’s worse was its texture, slimy and slick, the oily belly of a fish.
Cautiously, Sakaala pulled Aisling towards the waters. The mortal queen rested on her knees at the edge of the peninsula. Lir stood behind her, holding the thread of starlight so it bore no slack.
Sakaala paused, the water licking the tip of her chin. The merrow raised a brow in silent question: Are you ready ?
Aisling nodded in response.
Sakaala sunk into the water, pulling Aisling’s hand till the waters clasped her forearm. The choppy waves sent shivers beneath Aisling’s skin, numbing her knees pressing against the sharp rocks. But the cold was temporary, for what followed was heat. Heat and the unveiling of the draiocht . A whisper that called that strange creature from whatever depths it resided till the draiocht crawled into the light to inspect its summoner.
The sensation was familiar. For it wasn’t only Sakaala breathing through the draiocht but also the sea itself. Just as Lir spoke with the trees, so too was Sakaala speaking with the cold currents spinning around the mortal queen’s hand, inspecting her. The ocean harbored a millennium of knowledge, of memory, ancient waters of salt and foam. Of shipwrecks and lost sailors. Of creatures of both the shallows and the deep. Whispers from the beginning of time till the heartbeat of the present. Fingers that stretched to one continent and the next. Of anger and fury and calm and peace. Ruthless. Immeasurably powerful.
Lir bent down beside the mortal queen and pressed a hand against her lower back. A touch that would otherwise burn through Aisling’s very flesh, but now all she felt was the pressure building around her hand. The waters rose to kiss her mortal skin and taste whatever strange power the Aos Sí believed her to possess.
The merrow whispered amongst one another, heads bobbing wildly at the spectacle. What did they understand that Aisling couldn’t? What did the ocean hiss as it stirred and frothed?
Sakaala released the mortal queen. All at once, the heat, the draiocht , the voice of the ocean quieted until only the churning of the cauldron waters surrounded their black island. Aisling stumbled back into Lir, the fae king catching her shoulders and steadying her once more.
“What did you sense?” Lir asked.
Sakaala slicked her mane away from her face, staring at Aisling as though she were a talking fish. Eyes wide and bewildered. Possibly even frightened.
“Sakaala—”
“She’s strange, Lir,” the merrow hissed, eyes darting between the fae king and his mortal queen. “Strange and powerful. The Ashild doesn’t recognize her blood.”
“Neither did the trees,” Lir confessed, turning towards Aisling. The mortal queen shifted awkwardly. She glanced at her pale, wet hand. So small in comparison to the Aos Sí that surrounded her.
“The daughter of the northern fire hand is not the lamb she was presumed to be,” Sakaala said, seemingly speaking her thoughts aloud. “How did you do it?” The merrow’s lips peeled back as she bore her fangs.
Aisling paled, speaking through her dried throat.
“What?”
“How did you steal the draiocht ?”
“I didn’t steal anything,” Aisling said as Lir helped her to her feet .
“No mortal can wield the draiocht . It’s part of the curse. You’ve done something, you fleshling. What have you done?!”
The fae king took a step forward, protectively curling an arm around Aisling.
“ Féachail art dol thring ,” Lir warned, his words sharp as shards of ice. Sakaala recoiled further into the cavern, the rest of the merrow, following her movement or spiraling down into the depths of the pool.
“Once the rest of the Sidhe find out what she is, what she’s taken, they’ll want her dead. Treaty or not.” Sakaala’s delicate face twisted with loathing. “They’ll ask for her head on a pike.”
“Speak that way again about your queen, a queen of the Sidhe?—”
“She is no Sidhe queen, Lir. She’s a thief. The fire hand’s thief. This is thieves’ sorcery. Nothing good can come of it. He will use her. He will take her and use her to end this war. Just as Danu has foreseen.”
“No longer is she the fire hand’s,” Lir growled. A sound so menacing Aisling wrenched her eyes shut. It was true. Up until Aisling’s marriage to the fae king, she’d been her father’s. Under his veil of protection, of care. But once she was bound, tethered to the fair folk, she was released from Nemed’s hand. Nevertheless, to hear the words on Lir’s lips was strange. Liberating, yet terrifying as all freedom was. Even if she wasn’t free entirely. No. She’d gone from one prisoner to the next, she needed to remind herself.
“You may wish to erase the pain of Narisea and your unborn child’s death with love from another. A second caera . But those desires will only prove you are your mother’s son. Don’t make the same mistakes as she.”
Lir bared his teeth, vines growing from his fingertips in rage. But Sakaala continued.
“A word of advice, mo Damh Bán . Once they uncover her draiocht , Aisling’s death will be demanded by the Sidhe. Better it be at the hand of her caera than another’s.”