13
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I was thankful when Raegan dropped me off at the guest-chamber assigned to us and left me just as quickly.
I was also thankful, no matter how much I had enjoyed Choilltean, that the first thing I saw in that bedroom was a hairbrush. Sure, it was made of bones or wood or something that I dared not question, but the thought of having smooth, tamed hair once more was a relief like none other.
In the few hours that Raegan left me, alone, in the guest-chambers, I did exactly that. I worked at my hair tirelessly, freeing it of the knots and mats and debris, until it was a silky, near-sunlight colour and texture once more.
When Raegan did return, I was taken aback to see that he, too, had combed through his hair. As much must have shown on my face as he stepped into the room, because he immediately frowned at me.
“If you mention this to the others—”
“My lips are sealed,” I chuckled. “You have very pretty hair, Raegan.”
It was even more surprising that he laughed at my mocking. “I believe I dug four beetles out of it.”
“Ah.” I rose from the four-postered bed I had been perched on. “Five in mine.”
“Impressive.”
We shared a moment of mutual enjoyment of one another's company, before he cut it short.
“Diarmuid will want to hear your account of what happened with the Rachainn.”
“I figured as much.”
“We’re expected down at dinner in a few minutes. Here—” he set down a pile of clothes on the nearest table, because the thought of approaching me and passing them over was too farfetched. “Rory is outside your door. He will escort you down to the feast.”
Nodding, I waited for Raegan to depart without an additional word spoken, and strode over to the pile.
My fingers grazed against the silky material.
It was unlike anything I had ever touched before — soft yet firm, light yet strong.
It seemed to attract light, no matter where it was, constantly illuminated in the faintest of sheens not so different to the glazing of the pixies wings that I had seen.
Once dressed — less than impressed with the fact my midriff was on show and the majority of my back was uncovered — I slipped out of the door and met Rory with a smile.
“You look wonderful, Olivia.” He bowed to me and I fought the desire to offer him something back.
“Thank you.”
“Shall we?” With the hook of his elbow on display, I bit down on my tongue and tried to remind myself not to trust such a kind, soft face. I kept that reminder in the fore of my mind as I took his arm, letting him lead me back down to the throne room.
Twisting far too often in an attempt to cover my revealed skin, Rory and I arrived in the throne room several minutes later where we were met with an abundance of pixies.
Like the pixies of Choilltean, those of Cluaineach had a distinct look to them.
Hair like meadows; greens and yellows and pinks, hair like the dirt that the meadow grows from; honey-browns, light-browns, and the occasional darker hue.
Their skin often followed suit, each one with a faint tint that carried the colour of their hair across their flesh and even coloured their eyes.
Then there were the ones with wings, frail limbs behind them with that translucent sheen that stretched from top to bottom, iridescent and constantly sending a scatter of rainbow-colours across the room when light hit them just right.
It was easy to find Raegan amongst them all. He was the only one without a grin of pure thrill across his face and a glimmer in his eye. He sat at the head of the large table erected in the center of the room, most of the chairs adjacent to him already filled with pixies of importance.
Rory led me wordlessly towards that table, where we stopped before two open chairs and Rory motioned to a female pixie sitting next to them.
“Olivia, this is Aisling.” He smiled, Aisling quickly swinging her head over her shoulder to see us. She was like cotton-candy — the pink-kind not the blue — with how that overpowering colour possessed her whole being.
“Olivia!” Aisling grinned, her watermelon eyes twinkling as she looked me over head to toe. “Lovely to meet you.”
“You too,” I muttered as Rory pulled out a chair for me, the one that indicated I would be placed between them. She pushed some of her bubble-gum hair from her shoulders and furthered a beamed expression in my direction, causing me to blush nervously as Rory took the seat beside me.
While Raegan and Diarmuid spoke about politics between the kingdoms, updating one another of the comings and goings of their lands, I was wedged tight between Rory and Aisling.
And damn were they chatty. No matter what they had to say, they forced me into the conversation. Whether it was speaking directly to me or pressing against my side as they conversed, I had no choice but to listen to them instead of home in on Raegan’s conversation. Maybe he had planned it that way.
“I’ve never seen Diarmuid so thrilled,” Rory said, his mouth full of Brussels sprouts. The dark tinge to them was a harsh contrast to his vibrant hair, which was pulled back into a bun as he ate.
“I know,” Aisling added, “bless his soul.”
“Why?” I finally asked, my eyes flicking between the two of them at my side.
Aisling’s face lit up as she recognized a willing contribution to the conversation. She pushed some of her pastel hair behind her ear and leaned against me. “He’s been rather… beside himself, since the incident.”
“The incident?”
Rory was roaring to add on. “When his daughter was killed, of course.”
Of course. I tried to nod along, but my confusion must have been puddled on my face between the creasing of my brows.
“You don’t know?”
I sucked my lip between my teeth and diverted my eyes to my plate, noticing how rich the carrots looked.
“You travelled with the Prince of Cluaineach, though?”
The Prince of…
“The Choillteaners are a secretive bunch, Aisling.” Rory paused only to slam a potato into his mouth. “It’s probably guilt that keeps them quiet.”
“Careful, Rory.”
He shrugged, his shoulder grazing mine.
“Secretive about what?” I interjected.
Aisling was giddy in her seat, wiggling her bottom as she tried to keep her excitement contained. “King Ronan killed our Queen — Queen Róisín.”
“Easy, Aisling. Keep your voice down,” Rory whispered as he cast a nervous glance around the table. Everyone else present was far too taken by Raegan, their fluttering lashes battering rapidly as he spoke.
“He what? Why?”
Rory finished swallowing whatever concoction he had jammed into his mouth. “I don’t think he meant to. Not really. The whole incident was explosive. The way I heard it – everything happened so quickly the King lashed out without meaning to.”
“I heard the same.” Aisling nodded. “He only meant to grab and go.”
“Grab what and go where?” I hissed.
“Oh, she really knows nothing.”
Rory waved her off. “Raegan.”
“What about him?”
Both of them rolled their eyes at me at the same time.
“When Raegan was born, King Ronan was content to leave him. That was until his Queen – what was her name?”
“Queen Aoife, I think,” Aisling said.
“Right. Queen Aoife died. King Ronan would seek no other after losing her, but he needed an heir–”
“So he finally came for Raegan and laid claim to him.” Aisling cut Rory off, earning her a hardened glare from his violet eyes.
“Kings can just steal children from other kingdoms? That doesn’t seem right.”
Both of them shook their heads. “No, not at all. It’s an act of war. But, the situation was grey in their case.”
“How?”
Aisling sighed, her enjoyment of our conversation dwindling. “Well because Raegan was both of theirs.”
“Wait…”
My eyes snapped up from my plate, finding Raegan amongst the chaos. Taking a scan of his face, I whirled my gaze to Diarmuid.
Diarmuid's eyes. They were familiar to me because they were Raegan's eyes.
“Raegan was the Cluaineach Queen’s son?”
“And King Ronan’s,” Aisling added.
“An affair,” Rory giggled to himself like a young girl. “But when King Ronan came for Raegan, Queen Róisín fought back. As did her husband. King Ronan killed them both.”
“So… who sits on the throne of Cluaineach now?”
“No one.”
“There was no other heir?” I gasped.
Rory tilted his head at me. “We need no other heir. Prince Raegan is our heir.”
But he is the Choilltean heir.
As my focus wandered and my eyes went glassy, Aisling and Rory resumed their chatter amongst themselves, commenting on Raegan’s return and what it meant for their kingdom.
The whole time, I couldn’t help but to stare at Raegan.
The golden, blond hair of his. The vibrant, green eyes.
Not dark and haunted and void of brilliance like those from Choilltean, but full of light and radiance like the pixies of Cluaineach.
The version of him that had blossomed the moment we stepped out of Choilltean, that had shed the dark hair and the even darker eyes and left them behind.
Prince Raegan was the heir to the Cluaineach throne.
Prince Raegan was the heir to the Choilltean throne.
But what did that mean? What would that mean?
Beneath it all – did Killian know? Shea? Niamh?
I could no longer sit within the pool of dread that were my thousands of questions, because Raegan cleared his throat and silenced the room.
He lifted a hand towards me. “We must speak about the Rachainn, now.”
All I could do was stare at him. He tilted his head to the side as he held that eye-contact, as his eyes searched mine for the questions I held there. As his head tipped to the side, his hair parted and revealed his ears for the first time.
Elongated, like all pixies. Pointed, like all pixies.
But did they curve down, like those of Choilltean?
Or did they continue straight, like those of Cluaineach?
The truth of it was that they did neither.
There was no telling what direction his ears would have once ended, because they were mutilated beyond identification.
The top edges of them looked like a blade had run along the length in an attempt to conceal one side of his identity, but whoever had done it had little skill in handling such a sharp object and ended up shredding the tips altogether.
I must have been staring. Raegan’s face shifted into something full of fury and fire as he pushed at his hair, forcing the long length to conceal his secret once more.
“Olivia, if you would,” he hissed, his hand motioning for me to speak to Diarmuid.
I turned in my chair, my eyes finding Diarmuid at the opposite end of the table.
The sharp jawline that ran the side of his face was just like Raegan’s. The prominent, strong nose belonged to him too.
Why couldn’t I focus? My head was whirling with new information as I tried to open my mouth and test the words.
Finally, I spat something out that was coherent enough for anyone to understand.
“We were attacked.”