Chapter Eleven
S wim anyway! I urge the queen. Kick !
Fiadh moves enough that I can finally push off the rock wall, aiming for the surface.
White flashes above us—a wooden raft so weathered and sun bleached it is as snow against these dark waters. A buoy! Fiadh, look!
The tangle of our limbs lessens, not because she has regained control against this violent shove of the current, but because she is falling.
Keep breathing , I tell her. We can’t drown. But we can be beaten into pulp against these rocks. Stay close to the stones .
I dive deeper, losing the light as I slip under Fiadh, leveraging my back beneath her hindquarters. Slowly, painstakingly, I nudge her higher at every retreat of the waves, bringing with it a lesser pressure of the wild current.
We must be close to midnight, or just after; the power of the curse is wavering, almost as if it’s forgetting to shove back at us. And thank the sea goddess for that. I am exhausted by the time Fiadh reaches the surface, grasping the buoy line with her teeth.
I’m so tired. I could sink deeper, and just give in to this current. But it’s not in my nature to go quietly.
The buoy skims along the surface, skipping along the waves as Fiadh is towed out of the water. She returns to her seelie fae form seamlessly, gripping the platform with both hands. I cannot make out her expression through the churning waves, but I picture gritted teeth.
Glad to see you’re not ready to give up yet , I say, trying to keep my tone light. But she does not hear me. I can no longer differentiate her shape in the darkness above me.
This current is sapping my strength. So much more than mere force is at work in these waters; the cold of the water may not bother me, nor the normal pulse of the waves, but there is something in this wrongness that siphons away my natural power. Instead of being stronger in the sea, I feel myself growing weaker.
My lids begin to droop, my muscles cramping and tiring.
White slices through the darkness once more. My eyes widen as I spot the buoy in my peripheral vision. I don’t hesitate, mustering my remaining energy to push off the rocks with my rear hooves. It feels like twenty minutes have passed before I even touch the surface.
Dissolving into my fae seelie form, I grasp the twine, bracing my shoulder against the buoy. The waves climb over me, splashing up my nose, but I shake it off as if I’m still in my unseelie púca form.
Slowly, slowly, I inch onto the rocks. Strong hands catch me beneath the arms, pulling me out of the sea’s reach. The prince must not expect me to be as heavy as I am, for he stumbles backwards, both of us collapsing in a tangle of seelie fae limbs. Exhaustion seizes me by my very bones.
With a grimace, I extricate myself from the prince, using the last of my strength to search for Fiadh.
She lies on her back on the cobbles of the marginal path, her chest barely rising.
“A púca is never defeated by the sea, Fiadh,” I manage, though fatigue robs my words of their sharpness.
There’s a long moment before she replies. “What about a cursed one?”
"The púca or the sea?"
"Either. Both."
“Never.” I pause, catching my breath. "You aren't cursed, cousin. You've been too lucky, just now, to call yourself that."
I lower my head onto the rocky soil, not caring that the sandy earth clings to my wet skin and partly covers my nose.
The prince sighs, apparently also settling in. He’s High Fae, which means he’ll recover quicker than us. Still, he remains there with us, barely moving.
I suppose I should thank him for saving me—for saving us. But I tell myself I no longer have the strength to speak, and say nothing to the prince.
I must’ve fallen asleep. When I wake, the tide is out, the crash of the waves only slightly muted.
As if someone has turned me over, I lie face up, the sky now clear and revealing all its brightest stars. With a sigh that comes from my still-weary bones, I raise myself onto my elbows.
Prince Ruairí is gone, but not far. He sits on the rock wall by one of the cottages, giving the high queen space as she straightens her dress and skirts. A blanket sits around her shoulders.
With a groan, I pick myself up off the ground, brushing sand off my face. I don’t bother with the dress; it’s simply done for, just like my slippers this afternoon.
Fiadh looks up, her eyes shining in the starlight. She holds the side of the blanket out, beckoning me to come nearer.
As I nestle in beside her, a vague memory flits through my mind.
I’m young and small, sitting like this with Fiadh between me and my sister, the three of us huddled under one blanket. My father plays a bone flute, while my grandfather sings one of the tales of old. A bonfire crackles merrily, the flames touched by blue-green from the salted driftwood.
So quickly, the memory is gone.
“Forgive me,” Queen Fiadh says, tears mixing with the saltwater on her cheeks. “I only wanted to leave something behind. If I could only leave something behind—”
“What are you talking of?” I snap, but the heat is gone from my words, just as it is from my body. It might’ve been nice if the prince had brought us both a blanket. “You’re the high queen. The first low fae high queen. You’ve done great things just by falling for the high king.”
“There will be another high queen soon,” she whispers, her voice raw. “There will be another to replace me when I’m gone. I doubt they will ever speak of me. Queens who do not leave heirs are rarely remembered.”
A chill worse than that from the sea air and my wet clothes forks through me.
They aren’t just headaches. She thinks there’s more. She thinks she’s dying .
“That just means you haven’t been outrageous enough, cousin,” I say, trying to make light, because I don’t want to believe it. I want to go on thinking she’s just feeling low and doesn’t see her predicament clearly. Because it can’t be true.
I won’t let it be true.
Fiadh is going to live a long life, and fill the castle with as many babies as she likes. She and the high king will be happy together, raising their family and changing the face of the high court just by being them. I won’t accept any other outcome than that.
“Do try to be more creative,” I tease her. “After all, whoever could forget a wild púca queen, her hooves dancing all throughout the castle halls, scandalizing the nobles with a flick of her tail? That will land you a place in everyone’s memory.”
Thank the sea goddess, my humor lands, and Queen Fiadh cracks a smile. A huff of laughter pries its way through her tears. “You, cousin Loaise, are wild enough for us both,” she says, still smiling. “It’s your unseelie side—it’s so strong in you. Promise me you won’t ever lose it.”
“They make it hard, in that castle,” I admit. “I think I’ve lost a bit of it already.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve merely grown.”
I swallow. This isn’t supposed to be about me, and yet my throat feels thick now. “Don’t ever do anything like that again,” I admonish her, trying to hide the trembling in my voice. “You’re going to be around for a long, long time.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“We’re púcaí. We’re a heartier breed than most.”
Fiadh smiles, leaning her head against my shoulder. “Thank you, Laoise. For saving me. For being you. For coming to serve me at all. I knew I needed someone I could trust.”
I huff. “We’re family.”
“We are.” There’s a soft squeak as her mouth breaks open into a smile. “Even if I do outrank you significantly.”
I shove her away, gripping the blanket firmly enough that it slips off her shoulders. In an act of pure theater, she flops over, bare feet kicking into the air.
I respond by wrapping the blanket around myself as tightly as I can, my chin tipped toward the sky as I harrumph.
Dear Fiadh, may you never be too weak to be playful. It’s in a púca’s nature to be curious about life and to be free. To be everything that goes against the rules of castle decorum.
“Use that rank to change things, will you?” I say, offering her a small corner of the blanket. “That castle is stifling.”
“It truly is.”
Using the blanket for leverage, she draws herself up from the place she’s dramatically fallen to. Then she reaches an arm around me, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
Here we are. Just two púcaí against everything.
And for once, that doesn’t sound so bad.