Chapter Fourteen #3
Her father was loath to surrender her, however.
He understood that Midir was far more powerful than he, and if any shame came upon her, he could not exact his vengeance.
But he would give her to Midir for a price.
He asked that Aengus clear twelve plains that languished under waste and wood, so that he could graze cattle.
In addition, he asked Aengus to draw twelve great rivers across the land so that he might have better trade routes.
Lastly, he required Aideen’s weight in both gold and silver.
This, Aengus did in three days, and when he brought Aideen to his foster father, Midir was well pleased.
He and Aideen stayed in Aengus’s home for one year, and although that year was happy, a dark cloud of fear lurked at the back of Midir’s mind.
Midir already had a wife. Her name was Fuamnach, and she was among the most cunning and powerful women in Tír nAill. She also was known to be jealous. And indeed, she was furious when Midir returned to Bri Leith with his new bride. In a fury, she transformed Aideen into a scarlet fly and fled.
After that, Midir was without a wife.
Still, Midir kept Aideen. She followed him wherever he went, and it was said he found no pleasure in anything—not women or wine or dancing or food—unless he could see her and hear the lovely music of her wings.
It did not take long for Fuamnach to discover that Midir was still happy with his fly-bride.
Fuamnach made a promise to herself, then: In whatsoever part of the world Aideen might be, in whatsoever shape she might be, as long as they both lived, Fuamnach would do nothing but harm to Aideen.
And so, she summoned a gale to blow Aideen away—so powerful, she found nowhere to rest for a thousand years.
So powerful, perhaps, that fly eventually slipped through a tear in the Iron Veil and landed in the drink of a young mortal girl from Wayfolk.
When Midir found out what Fuamnach had done, he did not rest until he found her. And when he did, he had their foster son execute her.
Shea’s head swam. She couldn’t accept this as anything resembling reality or truth. It was preposterous. “Why are you telling me this?”
Ciara looked weary—worse, pitying. “How can I say this delicately?”
“Just say it.”
“Have you considered that your sister wishes to remain in Tír nAill?”
Shea reeled back. Of course she hadn’t. It was a possibility thrust unwillingly on her—one she wished she could cast back into darkness.
Ciara presumed too much. She didn’t know Aideen like Shea did.
She hadn’t been there the night Midir had stolen her away.
She hadn’t heard that fumbling, unconvincing lie: I want to go, Shea. I’ve always wanted to go.
It was a lie. Because if it wasn’t, what had Shea done with the last six years of her life?
All that suffering, all that guilt, all that time spent punishing herself …
She couldn’t orient her life around that.
She couldn’t accept that it’d all been meaningless, or she might as well end it all now.
Shea used to dream of being like one of her knights, gallant and fearless.
In reality, maybe she’d never be anything more than a pawn.
She could only move forward, never back.
“Don’t say that,” Shea said hoarsely. “Don’t ever say that again.”
Ciara opened her mouth, clearly ready to protest. In the end, she must’ve thought better of it. “As you wish.”
Ciara’s restraint infuriated her. She couldn’t say something like that and just back down. Blood roared in Shea’s ears. “What the fuck do you know?”
“Nothing,” Ciara said acidly. “Clearly.”
“She was sixteen years old when your brother first showed up. You didn’t see how she looked at him, or how he looked at her. You didn’t see how we grew up. Even if she agreed to go, what choice did she really have?” Shea’s voice broke. “How was that a choice?”
“I do understand, Shea.” Ciara held her in the black intensity of her stare. “The things we do in desperation … It is impossible not to regret them.”
Shea did not trust herself to speak. She only nodded.
“You are right that I do not know her mind,” Ciara continued. “I only meant to say that I’m certain she would not blame you for what happened. She certainly wouldn’t want you to suffer for her sake.”
“Thanks,” she said gruffly.
Ciara pressed a hand to her own chest as though stanching a wound. With less gravity, she said, “I do not know how you live with this feeling.”
Shea let out a soft huff of laughter. No one had ever seen this side of her, much less experienced it alongside her. “You get used to it.”
“I should hope not! For my sake, I implore you to manage yourself going forward.”
“I’ll try.”
The stained-glass window let in panels of watery light. They bathed Ciara’s face, her balefire hair, her elegant hands. Like this, she looked almost saintly, and— Heat crawled up Shea’s neck. God, she had to stop thinking. Ciara could not know how she felt.
She was watching Shea closely now. Softly she said, “Your mind frightens me.”
It did not sound like an insult. Shea’s heart gave an answering thud. A horrible longing filled her, along with a rush of panic. Ciara jerked away from her so abruptly, the delicate link between their fetters snapped. Finally, Shea was alone in her own mind. Never had she felt more relieved.
“Well!” Ciara clapped her hands. “That is quite enough of mortal emotions for today. Get some rest. We will do better tomorrow.”
“Right. Tomorrow.”
“So long!”
Ciara all but fled the alcove. Suspicion pricked at Shea. There was something about Ciara’s voice and the overbright glint in her eyes. It wasn’t until the doors closed behind Ciara that Shea realized that maybe, just maybe, that ache of yearning had not been hers alone.