Chapter Twenty-One
The sun was perilously close to setting as Aemyra hastened to get ready for the ritual. By the time the dragons had deposited them back at the makeshift camp and flown off to their nests, everyone was growing impatient.
The priestess tent was cluttered with ceremonial equipment and smelled strongly of sulfur and sheep. Greer was clicking her tongue, Cliodna’s priestess already waiting knee-deep in the loch.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” Adarian said with a quirk of his lips.
Remembering how she had announced herself by parting the eternal fire in Brigid’s temple all those months ago, Aemyra grinned back. “Cliodna would strike me down for the arrogance.”
“Then thank Brigid she blessed you instead,” Adarian replied.
Her smile faltered and she looked at the mark on her palm, still burning every time she thought of àird Lasair and the priest who had styled himself Almighty. If her twin noticed her change in demeanor, he attributed it to nerves.
“Cliodna is also the Goddess of wisdom. Perhaps this ritual will bring you clarity,” he said.
“She’s also the Goddess of humility. Cliodna is more likely to present more opportunities to humble me than she is to guide me.”
Eilidh slipped into the tent, her gold headband removed in preparation for the cleansing ritual.
“Is everyone in place? How long do we have before the sun is beyond the optimal position?” the High Priestess barked.
Before giving the young priestess time to answer, Greer flung herself from the tent to inspect for herself. After a moment of thought, Adarian went to help her.
Aemyra bit back a smile as she caught Eilidh’s eye.
“Kenna wasn’t half as uptight,” Aemyra muttered, pulling off her shirt.
The young priestess bundled up the clothes, passing Aemyra the ritual dress the priestesses had carted all the way here. “Well, Kenna wasn’t High Priestess during a war.”
Aemyra had to concede Eilidh had a point and stepped out of her breeches.
Pulling the sheer dress over her head, she asked, “Do you think this war is the right thing? The loss of life worth it?”
Eilidh grew pensive. “You fight for the right thing. I see it in the way you want to rescue the princesses. Everyone says you just want them as hostages, but I know it’s more than that.”
Aemyra struggled to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat.
“I can’t get the image of Maggie embroidering over her bump out of my head.
The thought of her traveling in the middle of war…
As grateful as I am that they are no longer within Alfred’s reach, I don’t know what they were thinking leaving. ”
“You will find them,” Eilidh said. “And they will come to understand that you are the right ruler.”
Aemyra’s face was an open question, and Eilidh lifted her chin.
“Alfred has no right to the throne because faith cannot rule. We transcend this worldly plane and leave judgment to the Deity we believe in. The Chosen betrayed the very cause they claim to fight for the second they took up steel against another human being.”
“By the Goddess, Kenna would be proud of you,” Aemyra said, suddenly needing Eilidh to know just how much she was appreciated.
As if embarrassed, Eilidh scurried away to help Greer, and Aemyra readied herself to implore Cliodna to bless her army on their crusade.
Gentle drums sounded from outside and Aemyra stepped into the sunset, feet bare on the grass.
Those who had come to worship lined the path between the tent and the loch. Some had filled cups or buckets with water, others had resorted to using whatever they could find in a pinch. An old shoe, a cracked vase, a broken ladle. Sorcha stood with a bowl cupped between both her and Maeve’s hands.
Aemyra’s fingers dipped into the water proffered toward her, the people bowing their heads as their queen advanced toward the loch.
There had been a change in the way her people viewed her. As if becoming a vessel for the Goddesses to cleanse them all ahead of battle was about to elevate her in a way no coronation ever could.
In their eyes, Aemyra was now something more. Other.
Despite this, she was a little nervous. Water was the antithesis of fire, and it was the element she favored least. She could count on one hand the number of offerings she had made to Cliodna in her life.
No doubt the water Goddess was about to remind her of that.
Grass tickled Aemyra’s toes as the soft blue gossamer dress hugged her curves. Through the thin fabric, Aemyra could feel the gentle breeze and her skin prickled with goosebumps.
Iona smiled as Aemyra approached, the twenty water Dùileach under her command flanking Greer and Cliodna’s priestess. The woman was as colorless and insubstantial as the water she stood in, and just as silent.
Aemyra shivered as she stepped onto the cool silt, trying to avoid the sharp stones that littered the bank of the loch.
There was nothing ornate about worshipping Cliodna. The free-flowing robes and lack of jewelry paid homage to the water Goddess’s humble ways. The dress Aemyra wore was revealing, the thin material clinging to every generous curve with not a single jewel or embellishment.
Iona whispered into Aemyra’s ear, “I hope you can hold your breath sufficiently.”
Brigid was the Goddess of strength, a necessary trait to win a war, but Cliodna was the Goddess of grace and peace. With this offering, she would help them win whatever battles lie ahead.
Aemyra could hear the smile in Iona’s voice, but kept her expression reverent.
Searching the crowd, Aemyra spotted her father immediately.
His chest was bare and his auburn hair loose around his shoulders.
It was the first time Aemyra had seen him unarmed in her life.
The ever-present Dorchadas was nowhere to be seen.
It was both unnerving and comforting that her father seemed somehow more approachable without it.
A pool of golden sunlight spread across the loch as the sun touched the horizon and everyone began undressing.
Cliodna’s grace was offered to those who humbled themselves before her—even queens.
Aemyra tried to keep her face deferential as her eyes snagged on Thear. He was standing proudly at the head of his trodach, unraveling his fèileadh and letting the bolt of wool drop to his ankles.
Evidently everything about the warrior was massive.
Quickly averting her gaze, Aemyra focused on Cliodna’s priestess, who had raised her arms to the sky.
“Cliodna’s waters give us life and sustain us, so too shall our faith sustain her. We bathe in her blessings and take this opportunity to cleanse ourselves and pray for peace.”
Whispering to Iona behind her, Aemyra muttered, “I think the last time I was blessed with Cliodna’s water was my first breithday.”
Iona couldn’t contain her smile as she instructed her water Dùileach to raise their hands. Greer shot Aemyra a disapproving look as streams of water began to dance across the surface of the loch, an ethereal mist gathering above and wrapping around all those who had come to worship.
The mist prickled Aemyra’s skin and she tried to calm her nerves.
With Greer at one shoulder and Cliodna’s priestess at the other, Aemyra let them lead her deeper into the water. Feet sliding on the slick rocks, she tried to keep her balance as the cold stole her breath. The thin gown sticking to her skin, her nipples peaked against the thin fabric.
Aemyra stared at the towering pines bordering the opposite bank of the loch and waited in expectant silence as the last of the sun’s rays cast rainbows through the mist created by the water Dùileach.
“Are you ready?” the priestess whispered to Aemyra.
Heart thundering, Aemyra gave a small nod of her head.
“We have witnessed the true queen fight and bleed as one of us, in her infinite grace she has protected us, and together we pray to Cliodna that our crusade will bring peace to Tìr Teine.”
An immense cheer rose up from behind her, and Aemyra couldn’t tell if her goosebumps were just from the cold. The sound of splashing soon followed as those gathered on the bank anointed themselves with the water Aemyra had blessed.
“Witness now, our queen sacrifice herself for her love of the Goddesses and in their wisdom, return her to us,” Greer shouted.
Aemyra had just enough time to take one last gulp of life-giving air before the priestess pushed her under the water.
Aemyra’s toes sank into the silt as a great wave of pressure forced her down to the bottom, utterly alone as the loch pressed in.
With the water in her ears, Aemyra could no longer hear the priestesses chanting. All she could hear was the rush of the water and the loud thump of her heart.
The heart that was now straining against her ribs as her lungs cried out for air.
Practicing mind-stilling, Aemyra retreated into herself. Every time she felt the burn in her lungs, she drew her consciousness away. Instead, she focused on the bubbles caressing the tips of her fingers, or the shingle scraping against her legs on the riverbed.
With her senses dulled, Aemyra withdrew to a safe place in her mind and felt a calming peace she hadn’t expected engulf her.
Aemyra let herself drift. No longer able to feel her fingers or toes, her lungs had stopped hurting and she bobbed into Cliodna’s embrace. Despite her scant offerings, Cliodna had not abandoned her.
It was in that moment Aemyra finally accepted her place.
Not as a queen, but as a servant to the Goddesses. And to her people.
Before her vision went completely dark, she heard a voice through the water. Orlagh, calling for Lachlann. It was followed by her baby brother’s laugh and then Pàdraig’s rumbling brogue.
That was when she knew.
Her family was at peace.
Part of Aemyra wanted to drift further, to glimpse more. Stay with them awhile.
As she lifted a hand she could not see, reaching through the murky water for them, Aemyra felt the rush of water in her ears.
There were frantic hands scrabbling at her chest, followed by the sound of a colossal splash, before her body was snatched away by a larger frame. She could feel her head lolling against a strong shoulder but was powerless to move as her mind swam.
“Bring my daughter back to me now.”
Her father’s voice reached her through water-clogged ears as Aemyra’s chest suddenly began to burn. She frowned, wanting to remain in this state of peace for a little while longer.
“Damn you to Hela, Isolde,” Draevan swore at the priestess, hoisting Aemyra more securely in his grip. “You said this was safe.”
Greer and Isolde were praying fervently for Cliodna to release Aemyra, while Iona pounded against her chest. Each time the Dùileach’s hand struck, Aemyra felt water being drawn out of her lungs. By the third strike, Aemyra’s eyes flew open and she vomited copious amounts of loch water.
Draevan’s arms were cradling her gently as he placed a relieved kiss to her soaking-wet head.
“Thank Cailleach,” he whispered, his voice breaking as water gushed out of her nose as Iona called it forth.
The water Dùileach’s ice blue eyes were wide as she cowered before Draevan’s murderous glare.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Iona asked, voice wobbling.
Aemyra only managed to nod, a sudden surge of emotion overwhelming her ability to speak.
Draevan had risked defying the Goddesses to ensure she was all right.
Priestesses Isolde and Greer raised their hands in a celebratory manner. “Cliodna has blessed our queen and returned her to us!”
A deafening cheer rose from behind Aemyra as she clutched her father’s bare arms as though she were a child. To her infinite surprise, he did not seem inclined to let go. If anything, Draevan only held her tighter.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “You’re all right. You’re safe.”
Iona cleared her throat. “Your people are waiting.”
Aemyra slowly extracted herself from her father’s arms. Nose running, hair plastered to her skull, and as good as naked under her dress. There had only ever been one other time in her life when Aemyra had felt so vulnerable.
Except this time her people dropped to their knees, their eyes filled with wonder and admiration for their queen.
Silent tears mixed with the water dripping from her wet hair as Aemyra finally accepted all she had lost.
And understood all she had yet to give.