17
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“You are sure that you are okay?” Killian’s hand grazed my cheek for the thousandth time. Groaning, I leant back and away from him, finding my head pressed against a sack over-packed with feathers — a pillow.
Beneath me was the strange attempt at a bed that the pixies had, a solid structure that was somehow soft as my body settled against it. I had the inclination that it was composed of compacted straw and leaves and feathers, but I didn’t have the energy to ask him.
“Yes,” I laughed. “It’s just a bruise, I’m fine.”
He reached forward, the tip of his fingers skimming the blooming of purples and blues that had blossomed over my face over night.
There was something to his face, something not quite Killian in the way that it was dark and intense, sending multiple shivers across my body all originating from different emotions.
I had a feeling that he was supposed to be anywhere but here, in the guest-chambers of the Choilltean castle.
After all that had happened in such a short time, there was likely some sort of important meeting that he had been called to.
But he remained, half-seated on the edge of the bed, staring at me.
Finally, he swallowed. “I’m sorry that I left you unprotected.”
I waved him off, rolling my eyes. “You had a duty, Killian.”
Though I had known Killian for less than a week, there was something in me that called out to him. There was something beneath my skin that wanted to absorb every minute of conversation, that wanted to hear every experience that he had lived through in his long life.
More than anything, I just wanted to be around him. Maybe it was because I had spent so long feeling lonely and I had finally met someone who made that feeling melt away. It was as if when I was with him, the shadows could not reach me. Darkness could not seep in.
And I’d only be able to appreciate that for twenty-five more days.
As silence tried to stretch between us, Killian began to nod to himself. Not to me, not in response to what I had said, but to himself, like he had something to prove. His eyes left my face finally, pointing down to the soft material he sat on.
“I was only twenty-three when I met Raegan.”
The change of topic was abrupt and surprising to me, but I didn’t want a more of silence between us. That, and it looked like he was about to tell me about himself – which he had yet to do.
“Is that… is that young?”
“Old enough to handle a shovel.”
I nodded, as if I understood, but I didn’t. “A shovel? Not a sword? I thought you would have been born with one clutched in your hands.”
A sad chuckle fell from his lips as his shoulders curled forwards. “Not at all. I was not born to this life. In another one, I doubt I ever entered Raegan’s ceadan. But I did, because Raegan found me in the stables one day.”
“You worked in the stables?” I tried not to let my surprise leak off of my voice, but it did.
“Yes.” He chuckled again. “Raegan came strutting through there one day, arrogance sweltering his already far-too-big ego.”
That sounded like the Raegan I knew.
“I despised him at first, if I’m being honest.”
“That’s hard to believe.” My eyebrows showed as much. “You two are like brothers.”
“That was not always the case. He was ignorant, brash, and rude. His attitude was as foul as ever, and his manners were below that of the pig’s that I mucked out.”
I couldn’t help but to laugh. That description wasn’t so far off from the Raegan I knew, too.
“But as time went on, I came to learn that the poor-temper and snide arrogance was born of hurt. He was broken, and a young male with far too much power who had no idea how to cope.”
I said nothing. There was nothing for me to say. Whatever Killian was doing — admitting to — it seemed like he needed it to be heard. In a way, it was his guilt trying to justify what had happened yesterday. Not to me, because I didn’t blame him. But for himself.
“I still remember when he came by, a few weeks after the first day I saw him, and said only one thing to me. One measly thing spoken from the mouth of a boy-Prince, that somehow engrained itself within me and has never left my side.”
“What did he say?”
Killian tried his best impression of Raegan; bunched brows and furious scowl, deep voice capable of grating. “I could make something of you, if you’d like. Those hands were meant for acts of valor, not shovels.”
It was very Raegan — abrupt and blunt, almost insulting, but with a hidden kindness beneath it. I believed every word.
“You feel indebted to him?”
“No. Not to him.” He sighed, his eyes finally finding mine again. “To the version of myself that he made for me. I spend every day trying to make it worth it, trying to make myself worthy of it.”
Clenching my jaw, I fought to find the words capable of responding to that.
“My duty is not to Raegan, not really. The gods know he doesn’t even need us. My duty is to our people, to protecting the sanctity of life. Which is why I am sorry, Olivia, that I was not there when you needed me yesterday.”
I found his hand, braced against the bed beneath him, and set mine on top of it. “Your duty to me has been fulfilled already, Killian. You were there when I needed you the most, even though I didn’t realize it.”
Whether or not he understood my meaning, I wasn’t sure. But he smiled at me, anyway.
“Are you sure you do not want me to take you back?”
“Yes.”
Not now. Not ever.
“Well, in that case, you should probably get ready.”
“Ready?” I sat upright. “Ready for what?”
“Tonight is the Beltane Ball. And of all of the things I have shown you so far, I think this might be the most magnificent.” Those dark eyes sparked as he winked at me, rising from his spot and walking slowly towards the door.
He stopped just before pulling it open, his eyes meeting mine over his shoulder. “I should warn you — Niamh is just outside this door, far too thrilled with the idea of helping you get ready.”
~
Killian was right — Niamh was waiting outside my door. The moment he opened it and tried to take a step out, she shoved at him with such earnestness that he crashed into the opposite hallway, a shit-eating-grin on his face before he shook his head and closed the door.
“I’m so glad you’re here for Beltane,” Niamh chirped as she moved through the bedroom, neither needing nor requesting permission. I groaned to myself as I pushed up and onto my feet, doing my best to smooth out my hair as she began pacing.
“I love Shea, of course I do, but having another female to go to the ball with is going to be amazing!”
“Surely there are lots of females that go to the ball?” With one eyebrow raised, I tried, and failed, not to look too closely at the massive pile of stuff within Niamh’s arms.
“Oh, there are! But the thought of trying to make friends with any of them is far too daunting.” This was coming from the pixie who I saw shoot arrow after arrow less than a day ago, who had ran to my side with a face caked in blood and wrathful fervor between her brows.
“Except for you, of course. I knew the moment I saw you we would be the best of friends.”
Both of my brows shot to my hairline. When I first saw her, the only thing on my mind was that I was sure to die on the hillside of St. Michael’s Mount.
“Anyway, I’m not even sure Shea will come this year.”
“Why’s that?” Cautiously, I took small steps towards where Niamh was laying out an assortment of clothes and tools on the vanity beneath the window. Some were familiar to me; combs and hair ties and gowns not of this century, others were not.
“She’s been… sad the last few days.”
“And that’s different to her normal self, how?” I said before I could stop myself. Niamh giggled at me as she finished spreading the gowns. Taking a step back, she cocked her head to admire what she had gathered.
“Normally, Shea is all bad-attitude and permanent scowl that I keep warning her will stain her face for life. But now… Now she’s just quiet. Numb.”
“What happened?” I was only asking at this point to delay whatever Niamh had planned for me. Her eyes were wide and full of life as she scanned the room, looking for the best place for us to start.
“Aidan left her. There’s no bad blood there, from what I hear. He found his mate, you see. Unfortunately, even a relationship of several decades just cannot survive such a thing.”
“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
“I know. Sixty-three years, if I recall correctly,” she huffed.
“No, not that part. The part before that,” I stammered, no longer caring that she had stopped scanning the room for a workstation and had claimed one for herself, setting stools against the vanity and panting.
“Oh, her mate. No one has told you about those?”
“Does this look like the face of someone who has been looped in?” I motioned wildly to my face, to my hanging jaw and pinched eyes. “What is a mate?”
Niamh motioned for me to take a seat at the stool in front of her. Begrudgingly, I traipsed over there and sat down, my desire for an answer stronger than my desire to deny her.
“A mate,” she started, pulling my hair back over my shoulders where she began to poke at my hair, “it’s like a soulmate, but so much more.”
“That’s not really helpful, Niamh.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her stick her tongue out.
“It’s an ancient sort of magic, a blessing to us from Cernunnos. A pairing imprinted into our very souls, a bond so all-consuming and… magical.” Her eyes went glassy as she let out a soft sigh. “It’s what we all seek. Females and males.”
Wincing as she yanked at a piece of stray hair by my face, I bit down on my tongue. “How does it work?”
“No one really knows. Some never find their mate. Those who do, though, explain it as a sort-of out-of-body experience, a ringing deep in their chest that matches the pitch of their mates. And in that moment, they just know. From there, it’s unbreakable.”
“Wow.” I meant it. It was the sort of thing that I dreamed of, curled up on my couch with a bucket of popcorn as I watched cheesy rom-com after rom-com. The type of thing that would make one believe in love at all. “Imagine that, hey?”
“Imagine that.” She smiled at me. “Shea really did think Aidan was hers, she had just been waiting for the bond to appear between them.”
“It’s not instant?”
“Not always. My parents, for example, served in King Ronan’s ceadan for two centuries, side-by-side, before it appeared between them.
They were lucky, though — they loved each other long before it and even more-so after it.
Some say that pixies have to prove their love for one another to Cernunnos before he will grant them their bond.
So we do what we can — we meet pixies and we love, and we wait for the day that it appears.
And if it doesn’t, then the love between partners is enough. ”
Niamh, who to my surprise knew how to use a comb, started getting to work on the long lengths of pale hair over my shoulder. All the while, I just let that knowledge sink into me.
“But no matter what Shea and Aidan felt for one another… it wasn’t enough?”
Niamh shook her head. “Unfortunately not. I think that’s why it’s hurting her the way it is. There’s nothing for her to be mad about, nothing for her to use to distance herself from him. She simply loves him, but that’s just not enough.”
“Should we… should we do something for her?”
Niamh laughed just as she pulled a heavy section of my hair up, twisting it and pinning it with strange pieces of wood. “Unless you’re willing to stand in the woods and let her use your body as target practice, there’s nothing Shea would want from us.”
She finished plucking at my hair and took a step to my side, admiring — or grimacing — at her work before she started picking up various powders. I said nothing as she blotted them on my face, resorting to staring out the window at the miniature elms surrounding us.
“King Ronan and Queen Aoife… Were they mates?”
Niamh paused, her hand on its way towards my cheek with another dip of powder. She narrowed her eyes at me, her mouth slightly agape as she pondered her answer. Only after swallowing and continuing to poke at my face, did she nod. “They were.”
“Were they… before Raegan? Before Queen Róisín?”
“Interesting questions you ask me, Olivia,” Niamh tutted just as mischief danced in the darkness of her eyes. “But yes.”
“Then why–”
“He is not a good–” Niamh stopped herself, biting down on her lip as she swapped the powders for some dark mineral that she lined against my eyes. “King Ronan is a wonderful king.”
Just not a wonderful person.
I understood what was carefully laid between her words and decided to drop it.
But I wasn’t done prying answers out of her. “What do you think of Raegan?”
She halted again, setting down the dark stick and moving for some cherry-red substance at her side. “I think he will be a magnificent king, one day.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She narrowed her eyes at me again, though I couldn’t tell if it was concern for my line of questioning or concern for whatever she was doing to my face.
“I was raised in the walls of this castle. Raegan was a grown male before I could walk. But he’s only ever been one thing to me — a good male. I think that’s why he never bound me to the ceadan by oath. I think, really, he knows that deep down I don’t know what I want to do.”
“Raegan never struck me as the perceptive-and-kind type,” I tittered, feeling far too comfortable with Niamh. To my relief, she laughed back.
“Someone with a soul so broken knows how to keep others whole.”
I swallowed and a thick layer of silence fell over us. Trying my best to shake it off, and not question what she put on my lips, I tried for another question.
“And what about Killian?”
“I was wondering when you’d ask about him.” She gave me a knowing smirk before requesting that I purse my lips. Once I did, she started back on powders along the hollows of my cheek.
“Killian is the best pixie I know.”
I was hoping with the amount of powder on my face that she wouldn’t see my cheeks flush. “Why?”
“I can’t explain it. There’s just something in him, something good and pure.
” She finished her sentence with a soft smile before setting down her various cosmetic tools — if one could even call them that — and motioned for me to rise.
I was glad there wasn’t a mirror in the vicinity, because I had a feeling I did not want to see what she had done to my face.
“He taught me how to shoot my bow, you know?”
Niamh was no longer talking directly to me, instead just offering the words to the room as her mind appeared to be elsewhere.
“Green or black?”
“Huh?” I spun around to see her standing before me, two gowns in her hand. She lifted them both out in front of her, cocking her head as she compared the colours of them to my face.
“Black.” She nodded. “Definitely black. Suits you better.”
If that wasn’t the story of my life, I wasn’t sure what was.