45. A Tale of Two Families
Chapter 45
A Tale of Two Families
CAILEáN
I leave my consorts sleeping, full of pilfered lamb, and wander Cait House until I find my sisters. Hraena is sitting in the library, combing and plaiting Aine’s hair while Aine reads aloud from one of her schoolbooks. It doesn’t surprise me that Hraena’s befriended the girl. Aine’s easy to love.
At my nod, Hraena quickly finishes the braid, kisses Aine on the top of her head, and follows me. I slip out of the side doors, following Didrane’s scent. The white crow’s perched in the low branches of a tree, looking up at the waxing moon.
Hraena slides her hand into mine as we walk to the base of Didrane’s tree. “The Mother’s rising,” she says.
I nod. I felt power whispering through my blood even as the boys yawned their way into warm dreams.
The crackle of bare feet on ice-brittle branches heralds Kathu’s arrival. Brangwy stomps up in her Doc Martens a minute later.
“What are we doing?” Brangwy demands, her breath puffing white in the evening air.
“Listening to the Mother,” I respond, squeezing Hraena’s hand. Hraena never had any patience with Brangwy, although Hraena seems less angry than she used to. She’s harnessed her rage and channeled it into something implacable.
Didrane drops out of the tree and into her skin, her snow-white cloak falling around her bare, clawed feet.
“The Mother rises,” Didrane says, echoing Hraena. “Before the before and long ago, there was a name. There was a chant. There was a call the Mother would not ignore. If we name the name, chant the chant, and call the call, the Mother will walk with us. But there will be no excuses. Nowhere to hide. The Mother’s will be done.”
Hraena lifts her chin. “Kin-blood stains my talons but I don’t regret anything I’ve done, and I don’t fear the Mother’s judgment.”
Didrane nods. “So mote it be. The Mother’s will be done.”
“The Mother’s will be done,” we echo.
Didrane holds out her hands. I take her left hand. Brangwy takes her right. Kathu closes the circle. Beneath the Mother’s silvery eye, we name the name. Into the night’s icy breath, we chant the chant. When Didrane moves, we dance, circling widdershins, as we call the call.
“Earth, Air, Fire, Water, return, return, return. Mother of All, the seedling in the earth, the breath on the wind, the spark in the hearth, the tear in the ocean, return, return, return. Goddess of Light, Goddess of Dark, Goddess of Life, return, return, return. Mother of Mothers, hear our call. We seek justice for the wrongs Gwyn Ap Nudd has wrought.”
The moonlight sharpens until it blinds me. In the middle of our circle, a small figure coalesces from mist and the tatters of oak moss, crowned with the crescent moon, draped in a cloak of shifting, silvery light.
“What do you ask of me, my daughters?” she asks, her voice the midnight breeze.
“Justice,” I say.
“Vengeance,” Hraena says.
“Blood,” says Brangwy.
“Safety,” Kathu says.
“Peace,” says Didrane.
“The Oak King’s time is run,” the Mother answers. “He’s a husk, bound in his bark. Is it justice to kill him? Is it vengeance to burn his stump? Is it his blood you crave? Will his destruction give you safety? Will ending his reign give you peace?”
Didrane answers for all of us. “Yes, Mother.”
“What will you give for your justice, vengeance, blood, safety, and peace?”
“What do you ask of us, Mother?” I ask, with my heart in my throat. If it’s one of my consorts, if it’s one of their loved ones, if it’s the life growing within me, I’ll give up my vendetta. They’re worth more to me than my past.
“I ask what I ask from every living creature. That you move carefully through the world I’ve created. That you honor the life I’ve given you. That you give more than you take. Have you done those things, young crow?”
“Not always, Mother,” I admit. “I’ve been careless. I’ve been dishonorable. I’ve taken more than I’ve given. But I’m learning, Mother. The men I love are teaching me. They’re making me a better person. A better queen. And soon a mother myself. I promise to keep learning their lessons. Your lessons.”
“And to pass them on to the young you succor?” The Mother asks.
“Yes, Mother.”
Her cowled head dips. “That’s all I ask.” She turns to Didrane. “What of you, old crow? You’ve given me no young. But you’ve learned my lessons best of all. You know war rarely leads to peace. Are you willing to risk the suffering your call will bring to this world?”
Didrane bows her head. “Do you ask me to bear young, Mother?”
“No. An unplowed field can bear as much fruit as a plowed one, if the right seed is scattered over it. Pass my lessons on. Teach your sisters. Teach their young. Use the peace you’ve asked for well.”
“Yes, Mother,” Didrane says.
“Red crow,” the Mother addresses Brangwy. “Few wars are bloodless. Will you bathe in your enemies’ blood?”
Brangwy bares her teeth, stained from the still oozing piercing through her lip. “I’ll drown in it if you let me.”
“No, child,” the Mother says gently. “It’s not your time. You still have lessons to learn.”
“Yes, Mother,” Brangwy snarls.
“Blue crow,” the Mother says to Kathu. “I’ve let you wake from your Cold Dreaming. I’ve given you back your wolves. Do you not feel safe?”
“No, Mother,” Kathu whispers, looking overwhelmed by the Mother’s attention. “Like Caileán, I’m breeding. I cannot sleep or eat for fear of what will happen to my young. What if the Mists rise again?”
“Then you and your child will sleep together,” the Mother says. “All mortals sleep, child. All mortals die. Even the oldest trees. Even the oldest crows. Fear will not make your child strong and happy. Let go of your fears, daughter. Find happiness with your consorts. Make your nest secure. Raise your young to find joy in the moment. A life lived joyously is a life well-spent, no matter how long or short.”
“Yes, Mother,” Kathu says, her voice a little stronger.
“Fierce crow,” the Mother says to Hraena. “You have been my talon among fae. You have felled the strongest and proudest of them. I stayed my hand when you unleashed the Black Empyrean who felled Ferran. I turned my face away from my children who huddled in Dominik Iron Hand’s shadow when you destroyed his court. Is that not enough?”
“Not while he who orchestrated my sister’s murder lives,” Hraena responds. “Not while his poison continues to spread throughout Faery.”
“He is corrupted,” the Mother whispers. “That is true. He has festered, wrapped in his bark, bound in his fears. Will you cleanse my Summerlands?”
“Yes, Mother,” Hraena says.
Her cowled head tips back to look up at the sky. “You have called me. You have given me your words and I take them into my heart and find them true. When the moon sets, take your army into the Oak King’s court and invoke me. I will come and give you my answer.”
“Yes, Mother,” we chorus.
“Be well, my daughters,” the Mother says before she shimmers into mist.
I take a deep breath to fill lungs that feel scorched by the moonlight. Hraena squeezes my hand.
“I’ve never seen the Mother before,” I say to my sister, feeling tears well now that she’s gone.
“Nor I,” Hraena admits. “I’ve thought I heard her sometimes, but I’ve never seen her so clearly, spoken to her, answered her questions, and felt her gaze on me. It’s a heavy thing.”
“It is,” Hraena and Didrane agree.
“It’s a hateful thing,” Brangwy says. “Don’t ask it of me again.”
I shake my head, not understanding how Brangwy could feel the Mother’s presence as hateful. I felt judged, but not unkindly. Not without love or understanding.
“I need to make a call,” I say. “We should all get some sleep before the moon sets.”
Didrane flutters up into the tree again and tips her beak to the moon. I don’t think she intends to sleep. And I’m not sure how much sleep I’ll get, to be honest. But I’ll curl up with my consorts and close my eyes, bask in their warmth and love. And if the Mother’s answer at moon rise is no, then my final hours will have been spent as joyously as possible.
But there’s someone I need to talk to first.
Technology and magic are rarely friends, and when I check my phone, there’s no signal. But Luca’s laptop is warded to the teeth and seems to work anywhere, so it doesn’t surprise me when I sneak his phone off the huge desk the boys share that it has signal. I’ve seen him open his phone often enough that I’ve figured out the symbol he uses: the rune kattā. Before I even lift my finger to trace it across the screen, the phone unlocks.
Blinking mistily at my consort’s devotion, I take the phone and slip back out onto the porch. Hraena, Kathu, and Brangwy have gone to their respective beds, leaving the garden still and empty. The white crow in the tree nearby doesn’t seem disturbed as I dial, and I don’t mind her hearing what I have to say.
The phone rings a few times before my dad picks up. He sounds sleepy. It is getting late.
“Dad, sorry, did I wake you?”
“From where he fell asleep in his chair watching the game,” my mother says in the background.
Dad chuckles. “It’s okay, Kells. Patriots are down seven. Not worth staying awake for.”
I look up at the moon as I try to find the words I need to say to my parents. “I’m just calling because Imbolc is coming, and I wondered if you had plans.”
“Just dinner with Mitch and Chelsea. I know I’m asking too much but?—”
“No, no, you’re not asking too much. If that’s an invitation, I’d like to come.”
“Wonderful,” Dad says while my mom whoops in the background.
“Bring that handsome young man,” my mother shouts.
“I will. I, uh, I’ll actually be bringing three handsome young men.”
Dad’s breath catches. “Three?”
“Yeah, Dad, three. They make me happy.”
Dad clears his throat. “Well, that’s what matters, but?—”
“You’ve met them. You met Luca at the grand opening and Law was the man wearing the mask. He’s Luca’s twin. They’re catshifters. Cait Sidhe.”
“Oh.” Dad’s silent for a moment. “That’s good, right? You’ve always been more connected to your fae side than the rest of us.”
“Yes, Dad. It’s good. You’ll like them. Law can argue a leg off a chair. You can debate socioeconomics forever.”
Dad chuckles. “Good. Mitch never gives me a good fight. He caves as soon as things get heated.”
“Look in the dictionary under stubborn and you’ll find Law’s picture. And Luca will out-fact you to death.”
“Man after my own heart.”
“You’ll like them,” I repeat. “They’re good to me. They’re good for me. But we have to do something tomorrow, Dad. Something big. And if things don’t go well, I wanted you to know that I’m happy. I’m with people who love me. And ... I love you and Mom and Chels. I wanted you to know.”
“Sweetheart, of course, we know. I know things haven’t been great between you and Chelsea, but I honestly think if you gave your sister a chance, you’d find she has things she wants to say to you. She’s not having the easiest time of it right now. She could use her big sister’s support. But I don’t like the sound of whatever you’re doing tomorrow. Does it have to be done?”
“Yeah, Dad. It does.”
“Your, uh, guys, they’ll be there with you?”
“They will.” I chuckle quietly. “I’ve tried to get rid of them, but they won’t go. They’ll be beside me the whole way.”
“Anything your old dad can help with?”
I smile mistily at the phone. “No, Dad. And I’m not just saying that because I do everything alone. The boys have called me on that. I’m letting them help me.”
“Good.” Dad claps his hands, and I picture him sunk into his comfortable armchair, in front of the television, with the phone tucked into the crook of his neck. “I like them better already.”
“You’ll like them,” I say a third time and feel the charm take hold. Despite their differences and our unorthodox situation, my consorts will get along with my parents. “We’ll bring dessert, okay? Don’t let Mom make apple pie. Or pumpkin. Goddess, that was awful.” Dad grunts at the memory. “Or pecan. Or any kind of pie. No pie.”
“No pie,” Dad repeats. “Hey, kid.”
I smile and wipe away a tear with the back of my hand, remembering how he used to greet me every night when he came home from work. “Hey, Dad.”
“Take care of yourself, kid.”
“I will, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Kells. Be safe. Tell those boys to take good care of you or they’ll answer to me. Over your mom’s pie.”
I laugh. “That’s honestly the scariest threat I’ve ever heard.”
“Be sure to tell them.”
“I will. Goodnight, Dad. See you at Imbolc.”
“See you then, sweetheart. Thanks for calling. It means a lot.”
It’s meant a lot to me, too. I say goodbye again and hang up the call.
When I turn, Law is standing behind me, leaning against the closed doors into the house, wearing only his leather pants in the freezing night, steam rising off his skin, a lazy grin stretching his cheeks.
“Stalker.” I shake my head at him.
“Cait,” he responds. “Good talk with your dad?”
I nod. “I said we’ll go for Imbolc.”
“Good. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to flaunt us to your sister and your miserable ex.”
“I don’t intend to flaunt you, but they’ll be there.”
“I’m very flauntable. I live to be flaunted.”
“You’re absurd.”
He pushes off the door and stalks toward me with that rolling gait all of the Cait have. When he reaches me, he gathers me up in his arms and pulls me close, crushing my feather mantle against his chest. He nips the tip of my nose when I turn my face up to him.
“I missed you,” he says. “My toe beans were pining.”
“Would you like to go back inside and I’ll kiss your toe beans, you deranged fairy cat?”
“I’d like that. I’d also like to know what you were doing out here that raised all the hairs on my body.”
“Calling the Mother.”
He chokes. “Calling ... the Mother. Did she, uh, answer?”
“Yes.”
His mouth works silently for a moment. “What did she say?”
“That if we invoke her, she’ll decide the Oak King’s fate.”
“The Mother’s Justice.”
I nod.
“That ritual hasn’t been performed in ... a very long time.”
“Luca could quote the year.”
“Luca’s still a student. I’m a dignified alumnus. I don’t need to quote dates like a schoolboy.”
“You are utterly ridiculous.”
“Which you love about me.”
“Which I love about you,” I admit. “I needed to say goodbye to my dad. Just in case.”
“I understand. Luca and I did the same while we were hunting.”
“Your parents may understand but Aine would never forgive me if anything happens to either of you.”
“True, so let that be a warning if you decide to do anything impossibly brave and reckless tomorrow, like throw us against the might of a thousand barghest.”
“I won’t. Or, I’ll try not to. I don’t really know what will happen. I know when it will happen, though. Three a.m. When the moon sets.”
“Soul’s midnight,” Law observes. “The Holly King will not appreciate us disturbing his beauty sleep.”
“Too bad. He’s on my shit list after eating my sheep at dinner.”
“But your sheep was delicious and enjoyed by all.”
“You are a very naughty kitty, as Jane once observed.”
He grins. “Cait.”