Chapter 6 #2
Carys and the high fae king met privately after the meal while the rest of her friends waited in the library with Dru’s private retinue of unicorns.
“How do you defeat a goddess?”
“Defeat one?” Dru sat across from her in a wingback chair, his head resting on the back of the chair and his legs stretched out before him. “You don’t.”
They were sitting in what looked like a woman’s morning room.
There was no art hanging on the walls, but the round chamber was decorated with enamel, inlaid gemstones, and rare metal, creating a floral pattern that grew from streaked green malachite, forming grass and ferns at the base of the wall to soaring tree branches that stretched nearly to the ceiling.
“You don’t defeat a goddess?” Carys was perched in a chair where her feet almost didn’t touch the ground. “Like, at all? Then what is the point of all this?”
Dru opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed. “You’re accustomed to thinking of gods as something from legends and myths. But gods are not fictional characters. Except when they are.”
Carys closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. “Why did I think I could get a helpful answer from you?”
“Gods are born when humans adore.” He crossed his long legs at the ankles. “It’s always a relationship.”
“Gods exist because humans believe in them.”
“Yes. And all gods are fictional, but that doesn’t mean they’re not also real.”
Carys grasped the tail end of what she thought Dru was trying to say. “You can’t kill a god because they exist as a result of human belief.”
“As long as the Morrígan has a single acolyte, she lives,” Dru said. “As long as the idea of her exists in a story, she survives. So you cannot kill a god. You can’t defeat them.”
“You and your brother are half gods. Demigods. You can be killed.”
Dru pursed his lips. “Can we?”
“Isn’t your brother dead?”
“No, he’s simply not in the Shadowlands anymore.”
A terrible thought jumped into Carys’s mind. “Is he—”
“He’s not in the Brightlands either.” Dru smirked. “He’s… elsewhere. There are places other than the mortal realm. There are worlds other than the two that you know.”
“So…” Carys tried shifting to get comfortable, but it didn’t work. “It’s pointless? The Morrígan is just going to keep leaking magic into the Brightlands, and there’s nothing we can do to stop her?”
Dru raised a finger. “I didn’t say that.” He pointed to Carys’s side. “You have something from Naida. I can smell it on you.”
“That’s so creepy.” Carys had nearly forgotten about the papers in her pocket.
“You say creepy, I say focused.” Dru flicked his fingers. “Give it to me.”
She pulled out the now-bent envelope. “I don’t know if this will help. A professor at Oxford researched the oldest stories they had about the Morrígan. Doctor…” Wait. Did Dru know about Luna Beck? Should she not mention Luna to the fae king if she was in hiding?
“Are you referring to Luna Beck?” Dru reached out and took the envelope. “I know Luna.”
“Of course you do.”
“Luna is highly intelligent and an excellent researcher. She’s also quite wise, which is not a given with my people. I’m sure if she offered you a boon in your quest, it will be useful.”
“Do all the fae living in the Brightlands get together for bingo night or something?”
“Trivia weekend in Manchester.” Dru’s eyes skimmed the papers. “Every Beltane.” He flipped the scans over and read Naida’s translations. “Her Old éiran is good, but not as good as mine. Still…” He set the papers on the table between them. “It’s nothing you don’t know already.”
Carys’s eyebrows went up. “What do you mean?”
“I assume that in your studies, you’ve read The Cattle Raid of Cooley.”
“The Táin Bó Cúailnge?”
“Yes.” Dru rolled his eyes. “The great Irish hero Cú Chulainn—who was an absolute asshole, I want to add—single-handedly defends Ulster for months… until he loses, and two perfectly good bulls die in the end.”
Carys opened her mouth, unsure of how to counter that stunningly abrupt yet not entirely incorrect summation of the greatest Irish epic poem ever written down.
“Uh… pretty sure there was a lot else that happened. Wait, you knew Cú Chulainn?”
“Trust me, everyone knew Cú Chulainn even if they didn’t want to,” Dru muttered. “This part of the poem does mention the Morrígan, but it’s the part where she tries to seduce Cú Chulainn.” Dru raised an eyebrow. “Did I miss something exciting? Has the goddess tried to seduce you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Carys snorted.
But…
She flashed back to the image of a naked redhead lounging in a tree in Gorne Wood.
“Oh, the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree. They flourish at home in my own country… how I wish once again in the west, I could be…”
“She didn’t proposition me,” Carys said. “Exactly. But she was naked. Lounging in a tree, and it was impossible not to look at her. She was probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “She can be.”
“We left,” Carys said. “But she did try to get us to stay. You could tell she was trying to waste our time, make us linger in the woods…”
Lotus-eaters.
Sirens.
The irresistible firebird, lulling her to sleep in a comfortable hideaway.
“She did try to seduce us in a way.”
Dru spread his hands. “It’s not the same story, Carys Morgan, but it just might rhyme.”
She sighed and swung her legs to the side, wishing she could get comfortable. “Again with the riddles.”
“Not a riddle. Luna gave you a clue. She gave you a piece of a poem where the Morrígan is defeated. In a sense.”
“Yeah, by a demigod.” Carys pointed at Dru. “Like you. Cú Chulainn was a demigod, and I am not. Someone like you could defeat her.”
He shrugged. “This is not my path.”
“Are you saying it’s mine?” She nearly laughed.
“If the Morrígan was in the Shadowlands, I might stand a chance. Here, I have a dragon.” She pointed at the door.
“On the other side, I have nothing. I can shoot a bow half decently, but that’s not going to stop a deity.
I don’t have magic there. I don’t have…” She snatched the papers off the table. “I don’t have anything there.”
Dru tsked, a smile flirting around his mouth. “How shortsighted of you, Carys Morgan. You have many things in the Brightlands.”
“Like what?”
The smile fell from his face. “You have two lovers who would do anything for you, cross a world to bring you a draft of water. Two parents who defied a goddess to bring you into the world. You are surrounded by love. Do you have any idea how powerful that is?”
Carys couldn’t help but think of Naida. Dru had crossed into the Brightlands to prevent a war among the fae and only returned when his brother proved immeasurably corrupt. And yet all the time that he was living in the Brightlands, Naida had never crossed over.
She’d only crossed over once Dru had taken the throne.
“She loves you,” Carys said softly. “She only came with us for a little while. She knows she could never stay.”
“I never asked her to.”
“What do you want from her?”
“She knows.” He lifted his chin. “And she is the only one who needs to know.”
Carys nodded, folded the papers in her hand, and stuffed them back in her pocket. “Th—” She caught herself. “I appreciate the meeting.” She glanced at him, still stretched out in the chair, his eyes fixed on the wall behind her. “And it is good to see you, Dru.”
“I miss my pub.” He pouted. “Some days I am tempted to tear open the gates and let the flood of iron and wires and plastic pour into this place.” His eyes gleamed. “It would slowly kill all the fae here until they were as dead as they are in the Brightlands.”
Scary. That was obviously something he’d thought very clearly about.
Carys leaned on the chair. “Okay, so… you wouldn’t do that.”
Diarmuid mac Lir probably had the power for it if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t do it.
Dru lifted an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”
“No, because that would hurt Naida.”
He sneered. “Love is a weakness.”
“No, it’s not.” She walked over and ruffled the long and lustrous hair of the high fae king.
He was acting like a toddler, so maybe she should treat him like one.
“Love isn’t weakness. You just got finished telling me to use my two lovers—which…
technically correct, but it doesn’t reflect the current situation. ”
“They both love you.”
“Not the point. You just got finished telling me that being surrounded by love made me strong.”
“You have a dragon and a shaman as well. Use them.”
The corner of her mouth inched up. “Not the wolf, Dru?”
“That wolf…” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you think if I—”
“Do not finish that thought.” She started toward the door. “Leave the wolf alone. He’s kind of my friend now. Kind of.”
“Am I?”
She stopped and turned, leaving her hand on the door. “Do you want to be?”
Dru shrugged.
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Yes, Dru. I consider you a friend. Don’t tell the dragon.”
Dru smiled, and it softened the hard planes of his face. “I will hold the gates, Carys Morgan. Until you find a way to bring the Morrígan back to the Shadowlands, I will hold the gates from this side.”