23. Sleepover
Sleepover
Leaving the cafe, the night air hung sweet around them; a blend of flowers, spice, and murmured conversation.
Kyron, Maelan, and Sorcha walked side by side.
Kyron and Maelan stealing glances at her, their usual easy chatter turning hesitant and fragmented, as if they were suddenly unsure of how to navigate her presence.
So much had happened, and yet no one knew how to approach the conversation; they simply carried on following the winding mountain path toward the home of the Goddess áine.
When they reached the overlook, the landscape stretched wide beneath a velvet sky, where stars reflected in the dew-dappled light.
Flowers swayed gently in the night breeze, their colors softened by the darkness.
Together, they turned and stepped inside, where Aine was waiting.
The home was even more breathtaking in the night’s glow.
Sorcha’s gaze landed on a bouquet; their petals illuminated the room with a faint white light.
She let her eyes roam, taking in the details: ivy curling along the staircase, glowing blooms entwined between its vines, and lanterns dripping silver sap that cast a soft shimmer across the walls.
The sweet scent of hawthorn blossoms from the tree dominating the entrance perfumed the air.
Sorcha inhaled deeply, savoring the warmth of the moment.
It felt as if they had stepped into a painting, a dream spun from the most perfect summer night.
Aine greeted them with a quiet smile, and Sorcha struggled to reconcile what she was seeing with what she had heard.
The goddess was breathtaking, possessing a flawless beauty so stark it felt unnatural.
Firelight caught the soft glow of her skin and the elegance of her features; it was the kind of grace that simply didn’t belong to mortals.
Sorcha had heard whispers that áine’s sisters were even more beautiful, but looking at her now, she couldn’t begin to imagine how.
áine’s gaze settled on her, lingering. Sorcha felt the heavy weight of it as those piercing eyes moved over her, taking in every detail of the woman standing before her.
Kyron shifted beside her, about to step forward, when Aine finally spoke.
“Welcome. Welcome. It has been an age since anyone from beyond these walls has stayed for a visit.” She gestured toward the room behind her, where the warmth of a great hearth flickered in the dim light.
They stepped inside the chamber; it stretched wide and circular, its walls lined with towering shelves filled with books.
Glowing vines wove through the wooden beams overhead, casting a soft, silver light across the space.
At its center, a fire burned in the massive stone hearth.
As Sorcha watched, a log from the pile beside it shifted, rolling into the fire without a single hand touching it.
Aine motioned for them to take their seats in the plush chairs and sofas arranged around a small, ornate table at the center of the room.
With a flick of her fingers, a tray of tea appeared.
Gold and porcelain teacups gleamed under the soft glow of lantern light, the matching teapot levitating as it poured steaming liquid into each cup.
One by one, the cups floated toward them.
Sorcha hesitated for a moment before taking hers, the rich scents of cinnamon and vanilla flooding her senses.
Across from her, Kyron and Maelan lifted their cups, sipping quietly.
Maelan lounged comfortably, shoulders at ease, entirely at home in this space.
In contrast, Kyron looked as though he might bolt at any moment.
His eyes remained locked on his mother, his foot shifting against the floor, one leg bouncing ever so slightly.
Sorcha studied them both, her fingers wrapped around the delicate teacup as she took a slow sip, the warmth spreading through her palms.
Aine stood before the hearth, the golden light flickering against her features as she turned to face them.
“I understand you’ll be staying the night before departing tomorrow,” she said, her gaze sweeping over them. “So I’d like to go over the ground rules.”
She paused, making sure everyone was listening.
“Each of you has your own room. There will be no mingling under my roof. I’d rather not tempt fate, unless, of course, the married couple objects.”
Sorcha choked on her tea. Maelan coughed violently, barely keeping his drink from spilling. Kyron shot his mother a look, his expression caught between exasperation and embarrassment.
Aine waved a hand dismissively, already moving on.
“As for the rest of the house, you’re free to explore and help yourselves to anything within, except for the plants. Do not cut them; do not take them. Otherwise, be at ease.”
She whistled a melodic sound that echoed through the chamber. A moment later, a great swan glided into the room, its snowy wings folding neatly against its sides.
“This little bird,” Aine said smoothly, nodding toward the creature, “will guide you to your rooms. You’ll see others like it throughout the house. They’ll keep an eye on you and assist if needed.”
The swan lifted its head. When it spoke, its voice was smooth and articulate. “If you require anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Maelan set his cup down, studying the bird with interest. “You wouldn’t happen to be one of the Children of Lir, would you?”
Aine and the swan exchanged a glance before Aine chuckled softly.
Maelan’s smile widened as he picked up his tea once more. “How interesting,” he purred, taking a slow sip.
Sorcha watched as the swan exited the room, its elegant form disappearing beyond the doorway. Aine smiled again, her gaze settling on Sorcha.
“I’d like to say it has been a pleasure meeting you, Sorcha. Would you care to join me for a walk around the grounds?”
Kyron shot to his feet. The sudden movement sent a jolt through the room, his chair scraping against the floor.
He strode toward his mother, leaning in to whisper only she could hear.
Sorcha couldn’t make out the words, but the way Aine’s expression changed made the space around them feel suddenly unsettled.
Aine’s eyes burned with anger as she stepped back from Kyron. For the briefest second, Sorcha could have sworn annoyance flickered across her face too. But just as quickly, it was gone. A composed smile returned, and she sidestepped Kyron with effortless grace.
She turned to Sorcha, extending a hand. “Shall we?”
Sorcha hesitated for only a moment before rising to her feet and following Aine. She cast a glance back, catching Kyron and Maelan watching as the swan waltzed back into the room. Then she stepped through the grand doors, the cool night air meeting her skin as she followed Aine into the garden.
Moonlight bathed the blossoms in a pale glow. Aine moved through the rows of flowers with unhurried grace, her fingertips skimming the tops of hawthorn, cornflower, and daffodils. The scent of earth and petals filled the air, thick and sweet.
She plucked a single cornflower, twirling it between her fingers as she walked. One by one, she plucked its petals, her voice soft but deliberate.
“I once knew a woman by the name of Brigid,” she began. “A member of the Tuatha Dé Danann. She was the wife of High King Bres. But theirs was a marriage of power, not love. And like her husband, she sought comfort elsewhere.”
She glanced at Sorcha, as if measuring her reaction, ensuring she was listening.
“She did bear him a son, but he was slain in the war Bres waged. And though she lived among the gods, she meddled in the lives of men. she bore a daughter half goddess, half mortal.”
Aine continued plucking petals, her steps slow, unhurried.
“The child was hidden among mortals, her ancestry kept secret. The only clues to who she truly was lay in the name she was given… and her eyes.”
Aine paused, the final petal slipping from her fingers. “Brigh.” She said the name with quiet reverence, watching as the blossom drifted to the earth. “They said her eyes burned like flame. That her beauty rivaled even her mother’s.”
Sorcha’s breath caught. She was speaking of her mother.
The realization unfurled in Sorcha’s mind like the petals of the flower Aine had dropped, blooming with clarity. Memories, stories, pieces of herself she had never fully understood now rushed forward, overwhelming her all at once.
Aine must have noticed the way Sorcha’s gaze began to dull, how she stood frozen in thought, lost in the flood of emotions. Gently, she pressed a flower into her hands.
A single cornflower.
“Did you know that the flowers I grow are not just for their beauty, but for what they signify, who they tie to?” Aine asked, carefully selecting a bouquet of cornflowers and daffodils, arranging them with precision.
Sorcha barely managed a nod, watching as Aine handed her the delicate bundle. The flowers were cool against her fingertips, their scent subtle yet grounding.
“Each is connected to a season, to a goddess, to the earth itself. We all belong to it in the end. Our ancestors’ spirits live on within the ground we walk upon, in the trees, the flowers, the breeze. We are all connected to it. We never truly leave, you just need to know where to look.”
Sorcha glanced down at the bouquet, a strange weight settling in her hands.
Aine’s voice softened. “The flowers you hold are sacred. The blossoms of the hawthorn tree, for instance, are tied to the Fae, love and protection. To harm it is to anger them, to bring misfortune to those who disturb it.”
Sorcha nodded, suddenly understanding why the garden had felt so… alive. She walked slowly, letting Aine’s words weave into the stillness of the night.
Aine hummed a song, her voice lilting like the breeze through the trees, lost in an old melody only she could hear.