47. Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Five
Riordan led us down a vaulted passage, torches casting fractured shadows over carved walls.
Every alcove whispered of the Morrígan. Battles etched in obsidian relief, wings spread wide, scythes dripping blood.
Branwyn’s steps grew lighter the deeper we went.
Her eyes grazed each carving like she was truly glad to be home again.
At last, Riordan stopped before a wide corridor of iron doors. “The guest wing,” he announced with a flourish. “Rooms will need to be shared. There are only six. No wasted space in a house of sorcery.”
He swept a hand theatrically. ‘Branwyn, Mairenn, and the Seer—first one on the right. Three beds there. The rest, two apiece. Double up as you will.”
His grin turned sly on the gods. “And of course, the divines may share the suite at the end of the hall if they require it.”
“I will not share quarters with a goddess.” Goibniu sneered.
Scáthae’s smile cut cold. “Then stay in the stables with your brood, Smith. I certainly won’t miss you.”
The air between them tightened like drawn blades.
And in the middle, Tairngire muttered low, rough with something between weariness and amusement, “I don’t know why I tolerate either of you assholes.” His arms stayed crossed, his face carved from stone, but the twitch at his mouth looked far too much like the beginnings of a smile.
The chamber Riordan gave us was plain. Stone walls, three narrow beds, a jug of water on a bare table. No gilding, no velvet, only what was necessary.
Mairenn wrinkled her nose as the door closed. “Gods, this is nothing like home. Where are the silks? The carved mantles? Even the sconces look cheap.”
Branwyn rolled her eyes. “Decadence is Aíne’s gift to your mother, not us. These are sorcerer’s quarters. Practical. You won't find any peacock feathers here.”
Mairenn looked appalled. I stifled a laugh.
I dropped my satchel on the nearest bed, the Obsidian Heart heavy inside. My hand brushed the coarse blanket—practical, but not unwelcome. It reminded me of Saorla’s modest hut, and for a moment I ached for its simplicity. I remembered I wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.
“How long will we be here?” I asked.
Branwyn’s smile dimmed as she sank onto the bed opposite. “Not long, I fear. This isn’t a place for rest. It’s for gathering. We need to find the Iron Vein, add the Kathari to our numbers, and then…” She shrugged. “We move onto the next realm.”
The words landed heavy, just thinking about which realm that would be. Even this fortress was just another stepping stone into the darkness.
But Branwyn’s gaze became serious. “You’ll meet her tonight. I can feel her presence already. She’s close.”
Mairenn stilled, unease flickering. “You speak as if she’s already watching.”
“She is,” Branwyn said simply. “The Morrígan never waits for summons. She moves where she wills. And in her fortress, every stone belongs to her gaze.”
My pulse jumped at the thought that she could be watching us as we spoke. “What should we expect?”
Branwyn tilted her head. “The Phantom Queen. War made flesh. She revels in bloodshed, in victory—never mercy. And what she gives is never without cost.”
Mairenn folded her arms. “So she weighs us? Tests us?”
“She will look at you,” Branwyn said, voice reverent. “See your fear, your strength, down to your marrow. She remembers everything. My mother does not forget easily.”
Mairenn looked wildly uncomfortable. “And yet,” she pressed, “she is your mother. What does she love?”
Branwyn’s eyes softened. “Her children. The Kathari who bear her mark. She shapes us as spellcraft, treasures us as such. To falter shames her, to excel makes her proud. It is not tender love, it is fire that drives you forward, much like Scáthae.”
Her gaze dropped, almost wistful. “They call her the Phantom Queen for a reason. She comes as crow, as wolf, as shadow. Her laughter has broken armies, ended kings reigns. But to us, her children, she is the voice that says: fight harder. Rise again like the Phoenix. That is her love.”
Mairenn scoffed. “So we walk into her nest. How comforting.”
Branwyn smiled, pride flickering. “Pray she finds you useful, sister. She favors ruthlessness. The rest…” Her eyes gleamed. “She scatters to her crows.”
The great hall loomed vast and echoing, torchlight painting the stone in gold and shadow. Black and crimson banners hung from the vaulted ceiling, each marked with the Morrígan’s crow—wing unfurled, lost in flight.
Riordan swept ahead, robes whispering across the flagstones. The rest of us followed, boots striking rhythm into the silence.
Of course, the kings couldn’t hold their tongues to save themselves.
“Your brood drag their feet,” Domhnall muttered to Caedmon.
“Better than stumbling like an ox, I’d say,” Caedmon shot back, his grin hiding the steel beneath.
Domhnall grunted, the sound half a challenge. Scáthae’s lips curved like a knife’s edge as she arched a brow at them.
Tairngire said nothing, but his glare alone stilled the hall. Patience stretched thin as tempered steel.
Mist curled from the edges of the chamber suddenly, black and silver threads twining like serpents. They thickened until a shape stirred within. A voice rang out in the vast chamber, low, velvety, and laced with edge.
“Still bickering like children, are you?”
The mist parted, and there stood the Phantom Queen herself.
Her hair streamed like nightfall, wild and untamed, crows wheeling her shoulders as if she were their sky. Her dress was swirling, alive like shadows, swallowing light whole, but her almond shaped eyes were garnet, piercing.
Her gaze swept the room, a predator on the hunt. Then it caught Branwyn and stilled.
“Daughter,” she said, voice rich and terrible as earth before battle.
Branwyn’s chin lifted, though her lips betrayed her. “It’s been too long, Mother.”
For a moment, I thought the goddess might strike her own daughter down. Such ferocity hung in the air that I could almost taste it. But then the Morrígan’s mouth curved, wolfish and wild. “It has. But alas, you have returned home to me.”
The tension cracked as Branwyn’s lips curved in answer. Her mother laughed, dark and throaty.
The Morrígan’s gaze shifted to Riordan. Her eyes narrowed, then gleamed with something wholly different. Hunger, obvious enough to make my stomach clench. It devoured the chamber in its intensity.
“Riordan, darling,” she purred, “you’ve been busy in my absence.”
He bowed, his mouth curving at the edge. “You wouldn’t have me any other way, goddess.”
She stepped closer, nostrils flaring. Her gaze lingered on his mouth. If I hadn’t known better, I might have thought she would kiss him there in front of us all.
Behind me, Saoirse muttered under her breath. Ailbhe’s elbow to her ribs silenced her.
I could only stare, my heart pounding. She was fierce, terrifying. A storm that reveled in its own destruction. A goddess who loved her games.
In that moment, I understood why Branwyn spoke of her with such admiration.
The Morrígan’s garnet gaze slid from Branwyn, past Riordan, and landed like a blade’s edge on Scáthae. “Well, the Lady of Shadow and Steel graces my halls. I wondered if I’d find you anywhere but behind your gilded walls, sharpening your tongue until it drew blood.”
Scáthae didn’t even flinch. “The walls only stand because my tongue is sharper than most blades. And unlike some, I have no time for games.”
The Phantom Queen only laughed. “And yet you play one still, pretending at stoicism. I’ve seen you when the battlefield calls, even you are not without hunger.”
Scáthae’s jaw tightened, but her chin lifted higher. “Duty does not waver for hunger. Not in my house. Not for my bloodline.
The Morrígan’s eyes gleamed. “Perhaps that’s why Aíne adores you so. For your…restraint.”
The air burned between them, all shadows and sparks. Scáthae didn’t dignify it with a response, but her silence said enough.
This was the most intesnse thing I had ever witnessed, and I couldn't tear my eyes away. I had to check and make sure that my mouth wasn't dragging on the ground.
The Morrígan’s gaze slid to Goibniu—broad, arms crossed like iron gates. “And there he is. The Smith made flesh. Still convinced the world bends to steel and sweat.”
His mouth curved, disdain in the shape of a grin. “Steel holds when glamour shatters. My blades remain long after your crows burn to ash.”
The Morrígan’s gave him a thin smile in return. “Oh, but glamour bends men’s wills, breaks armies before the spear is even thrown. Your steel may last, but it is nothing without the chaos my crows bring to wield it.”
Goibniu stepped forward, shoulders squared. “And yet my forges armor kings. You play at magic. I make war.”
She clucked her tongue, then pouted. “Come now, forge lord. You know as well as I that one does not exist without the other.” Her gaze flicked to his children, then back.
“And yet for all your talk of legacy, your brood is fractured. Perhaps you should worry less about your weapons, and more about the cracks in your fortress.”
Goibniu’s jaw ticked. His children stiffened behind him, ashamed.
How awful it must have, to be birthed by such a stubborn brute. It was no wonder that his children lacked self awareness.
The Morrígan had tasted blood, and she knew it.
Her gaze slid with patient purpose, until it found Tairngire. He stood apart from the rest, inclining his head respectfully. “Phantom Queen.”
The way he said it—low, worshipful, with a dangerous edge—made unease coil in my stomach.
She circled him, predator to predator, eyes raking him from head to toe. “Still carrying the weight of every beast everywhere you go? Still pretending the wild bows only to you?”
He did that thing he always did—held his anger in check and looked bored. But I knew the difference, I could feel the rage simmering beneath the surface. “Pretending? No. I only keep it from devouring what wanders too deep.”
“That is what makes you dangerous. The others wield steel, or fear, or seduction. But you—” Her nails raked down his chest. “You wield devotion. And that, forest lord, makes even divines wary.”
My jaw ached from holding back the fire rising inside of me, watching her nails linger on his chest. The emotion came completely unbidden, and then—damn him—his head turned. Emerald eyes locked on me across the chamber, as though he felt every flare of heat running through my veins.
The Morrígan followed his gaze. Her smile curved slow. “Ah. So that’s where your devotions lie.”
The air burned white-hot. He didn’t deny it, didn’t look away. He cleared his throat, removing her hand from his chest with a gentle shove. “Some fires are worth guarding.”
The Morrígan's eyes widened. “I never thought you would say that again.”
My gut twisted. What in all the Realms? Their cadence was too easy, too practiced.
Had they ever…? No. The thought was poison.
I tried to push the thought far away, lest Tairngire caught onto the emotions surrounding it through the bond.
The last thing I needed was his smug smile knowing I was feeling more than a little possessive.
“Well,” the Crow Queen drawled, regarding me with an eerie smile. “The Seer of the Seven Realms.” She prowled closer, her cloak trailing in shadow. “Tell me, do you carry the Obsidian Heart with you now, child?”
The question knocked the air from my lungs. My lips parted, unsure whether to answer.
She tilted her head, a cruel smile curving. “Curious, isn’t it? The stone was never meant to choose, yet it chose you” Her eyes narrowed in assessment. “Tell me, Seer, what do the voices say to you in the dark?”
Not meant to choose? Chose me? What the fuck? Tairngire had never used those words. Not once. In fact, he only told me that he couldn’t touch it. I glared at him.
Before I could speak, the bond between us flared, heat snapping through my chest, just as his voice cut low across the chamber, steady as stone.
“Enough, Morrígan.”
His stance never shifted, but authority lay beneath the calm. “Do not press her. Not yet. Some truths are better left unspoken.”
Of course, he would say that. Of course. More truths kept from me.
The Morrígan chuckled. “Ah. So the forest lord keeps his secrets.” Her gaze slid back to me, bright with mischief. “Even from his little pet.”
Heat scorched my cheeks, rage and humiliation warring. My fists clenched, and Tairngire’s stare bore into the back of my head. I wanted to throttle him. While Ailbhe’s glare bore into me, venom shimmered. She saw it—the weight of his regard, the protective instinct, and she loathed me for it.
Before I could simmer further, mist bled into the chamber, violet and gold twisting like ribbons across the stone. A scent I knew. Musky jasmine.
Eisarnach.
He stepped into being with a showman’s flourish, golden hair blazing in the torchlight, and bowed dramatically. “My, my,” he purred, eyes alight as they drank in the surroundings. “What a gathering.”
The Morrígan tilted her head, lips curving into a sneer, bringing an entirely different energy. It was a complete whiplash. “So the meddling peacock struts from Aeos Sítheann at last. Tairngire warned me that you would be making an appearance. Did you finally tire of your shadows?”
Eisarnach’s grin was pure trouble. His violet cloak snapped like it carried another world’s weight, because it did. “Tire? Never. Why would I leave a realm I made bow to me?”
Scáthae dripped venom with every word. “It was never yours to bend.”
Eisarnach simply winked.
Goibniu’s mouth twisted. “You should have never been allowed to step foot in Cindraloch again after the chaos you wrought.”
“Allowed?” Eisarnach pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense, dripping with theatrical insolence. “Forge lord, I was not allowed Aeos Sítheann either. However, realms obey the one bold enough to claim them. It's not my fault that none of you had what it takes."
The Morrígan chuckled darkly. Her voice curled like a crow’s caw through fog. “Dangerous words, Trickster. No wonder I’ve missed you so. You do chaos better than any god I know.”
“And you wear chaos better than any goddess.” He bowed low with the kind of flourish that belonged on a stage.
Her dark eyes narrowed with hunger and humor, raking him over like she might consume him whole.
From the corner, Tairngire exhaled sharply, folding his arms, the glow of his power coiled but growing restless. “Exhausting.”
Eisarnach pivoted on his heel. “Admit it, forest lord, you missed me."
“Don’t test me,” Tairngire's voice was laced with impatience.
I sighed. This was going to be a very long night.