41
____________________
“Why is Choilltean’s Druid travelling with us?” I whispered to Killian.
He glanced over his shoulder to affirm the Druid’s presence. “I have no idea. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Maybe he is needed to rescind Choilltean’s name from Raegan. Who knows.” He shrugged.
I wished I could have taken a moment to relish in the fact that there was something Killian didn’t know, but I was too busy being overly petrified at our situation.
Raegan, along with some of his hand-picked ‘witnesses’ — me, Shea, Killian, and apparently his Druid — were on our way to Cluaineach, only an hour after Raegan had planned to take the throne of Choilltean.
The Cluaineach pixies that had stormed the throne room of the Choilltean castle escorted us.
Not at the edge of the blade but simply with their bodies, as if they were convinced Raegan had plans of escape up his sleeve.
That was why we were not able to take our own mounts, instead having to walk most of the journey on foot.
Only once we reached Uisge and had to be hoisted onto their song-birds did we have the relief of not walking.
But then we touched down on the opposite side of the water and were back to placing the weight over our feet.
What they didn’t know, what no one realised, was that we did have our own mounts. Because Gliocas and Urram, still camouflaged as parrots, were soaring through the air above us. It was a strange sort of comfort, even though I was hoping with all of my might that we would not need them.
~
Cluaineach was just as prepared for Raegan’s coronation as Choilltean had been.
Once we pushed our way through the dense shrubbery of the meadows surrounding Choilltean, we were met with roadways packed with pixies awaiting his arrival.
They all hovered on the edges of the roads, poking and prodding one another to get a look at their heir.
The noise was the worst part of it all — the air soon filled with shouting and screaming, calls of love and well-wishes for their soon-to-be-King.
Items flew through the air as we walked; petals and stones, chiselled crafts, whittled gifts, chains of grass, even collected feathers and oddities.
But the strangest part was that Raegan was overjoyed.
He smiled at them all, waved as he passed, even tipped his chin to the occasional overzealous pixie who dared to lurch forwards towards him.
There was a gleam in his eye as he looked across at his people, but it wasn’t the genuine radiance that I had seen from him when in Cluaineach.
Whatever it was that he was doing, he was playing the part well.
A little too well.
I chose to believe it was relief. Because under it all, beneath the many layers and masks that Raegan tried to conceal himself with, I knew what it was that he truly desired.
I knew what had called to him his whole life.
It was a surprise that his friends could not see it, but perhaps one had to be looking for it. I wasn’t sure why I was.
Under it all, Raegan wanted Cluaineach. I was unsure if he wanted the crown, as it seemed to me that the idea of being a king altogether was not what he wanted.
But I knew, when it came down to the choice of the two kingdoms, what Raegan wanted.
So I let myself believe that was why he looked so thrilled about it.
~
The parade for his ascension ended once we reached the castle, the sun-kissed exterior and blossoming plant-life soon disappearing as we stepped into the cold interior. Guards were posted at the castle doors, refusing anyone access but our small party.
Diarmuid guided us through the halls, until we paused outside of the throne room that I had, at one point, admired. Now, though, something about it sent an icy chill over my skin as we pushed through those doors and halted before the finery.
Another Druid was there, waiting for us all behind the throne.
Raegan nodded to the guards that had granted us entry before the doors slammed shut, and the small group from Choilltean followed behind Raegan as he strode towards his throne. Once he took a seat, though, he lifted his eyes to the gathering of us that stood before him and made a declaration.
“Let as many pixies as can fit in this room, in.”
Diarmuid couldn’t decide whether to frown or gasp, so ended up doing both. “But, Your Highness–”
“Let them in,” Raegan snarled, back to looking like a prince of the realm. There wasn’t much Diarmuid could do under that scrutiny, other than turn on his heel, push open the doors, and usher the command to the guards.
As the room flooded with pixies, wild grins on their faces and shining eyes, Killian moved away from my side.
I was left huddling against Shea, both of us allowing such close contact purely out of the strange situation we had found ourselves in.
That, and the fact that the blood on our hands still felt warm. But I couldn’t focus on that.
By the time everyone was settled, long rows of pixies formed across the room all looking up to the raised dais on which Raegan sat, Killian was standing proud at his side with his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
I dared a sidelong glance at Shea, who had her lower lip pulled between her teeth and a tight conjunction of her brows on her forehead.
At least I wasn’t the only one confused.
The Cluaineach Druid, just as decrepit and aged as the one from Choilltean, stepped up towards the throne.
Instead of a crown carved from stone, this one was an intricate weaving of flowers, brambles, and leaves that held a solid structure from some sort of clay base.
I wouldn’t admit it, but it was far more elegant than the one from Choilltean. It was far more Raegan.
The Druid looked up to the ceiling, just as the one from Choilltean had. “This one is Raegan, dearest gods. We welcome him to the seat of our kingdom with the name he was born to; Raegan Righ’Faiche’Rugadh.”
Shea grumbled beside me.
Just like the first ceremony, I swore the air shifted. But this was less of a gentle caress across the throne room and more of an inverted gasp.
“Raegan Righ’Faiche’Rugadh, humbly accept our open arms, for we desire nothing more than for you to rule over our people.”
Raegan smiled.
The crown was just hovering over the tips of his brightened hair.
“Do you accept the role of our protector, our guide, our eyes and ears and hands, from this day forward?”
Raegan took a deep sigh. But I couldn’t shake this feeling, this innate warning in my chest that something wasn’t right. Raegan’s eyes had taken to that fox-like shape once more.
“I do.”
“Rise then, King of Cluaineach.”
The Druid of Cluaineach beamed as he set the crown against Raegan’s head, which was met with an assortment of cheering from the witnessing pixies all around us.
Everyone, except for Shea who continued to frown at her friend, and Killian whose face was so steady, so unwavering, that it would have been easy to believe he was a statue
I stared at Raegan, but he wouldn’t look at me. He simply looked straight through everyone as he pushed up onto his feet and offered a deep bow to the people he now ruled over, who only cheered and roared even louder.
Cluaineach had a monarch once more.
Raegan motioned for Diarmuid to join him up on the dais. Shakily, pale-faced, the Regent King obliged him and slowly crept his way up to Raegan, who wrapped an arm around him and tugged him close.
I looked around at the room, trying to identify what was making the hair on the back of my neck dance.
“People of Cluaineach!” Raegan boomed, which earned him more shouts of celebration that he grinned in response to.
His hold around Diarmuid’s shoulders tightened as he used his other hand to pat his grandfather’s chest. “Let us cheer for the Regent King, who devoted many years of his life to warming the throne of Cluaineach in preparation for me!”
Diarmuid’s face flushed and he dipped his head to try and conceal it as the room hit a whole new level of chaotic cheering. Bodies were pushing bodies, of which I was only spared because Shea grabbed onto me and yanked me closer to the dais.
Raegan lifted his free hand to silence everyone. His face sharpened, his features glinting as some form of malice slipped into his eyes.
“All of those years as a regent, Diarmuid, one has to wonder why you never reclaimed the throne for yourself?”
It was a question, but Raegan didn’t pose it as one. It was a poke, a subtle prod, that I’m sure only the people that knew Raegan well could identify.
Diarmuid said something completely incoherent in response, choked up by the stuttering state of his voice.
Raegan tutted as he shook his head with that poisonous smile on his face. “Doesn’t really matter now, though, does it? Though I must admit I am grateful for your unwavering loyalty to me as your heir.” He tipped his head back and chuckled, the noise like barbs in my ears.
I looked at Shea, trying to find someone else amongst this crowd that could feel the wrongness that was soaring through the air. But she was just watching Killian, who I quickly noticed had wrapped his hand even tighter around his sword, his knuckles whitening.
The next look that Raegan shot out across the crowd made me gasp. It wasn’t Raegan at all.
“I admire the honour in your decision to not reclaim the throne, Diarmuid. I truly do—” He paused, that smirk slipping off his face in a way that made my body shudder, “—but I cannot risk it.”
“What are you talking abou–”
Diarmuid’s response was cut off. By a dagger that Raegan had yanked from beneath his shirt that was now sticking out of Diarmuid’s neck, blood pulsing and spitting from the wound as the Regent King gurgled on his own blood.
Raegan continued to hold his grandfather close to him as his eyes swept over the crowd once more, who were now silent.
Killian had his sword out, the end of it pointed out to everyone before us, challenging anyone who dared to come to Diarmuid’s aid.
Not that it would have done him any good if anyone had, because within seconds Diarmuid was nothing more than a heap of flesh on the floor, his green eyes, Raegan’s eyes, staring out amongst the throne room.
Raegan swiped his bloodied blade across his coronation shirt, huffing something beneath his breath before he sheathed it back where he had pulled it from — the back of his waistband, I realized.
No one moved an inch. I had never been in a room so full of people, yet had it be so silent. There was a faint thumping throughout the room, the chaotic spread of a hundred heartbeats racing.
Sparing Diarmuid one last glance, Raegan cleared his throat and turned fully to the crowd. “People of Cluaineach,” he began, this time not receiving a single whisper in response. “Your royal bloodline now contains only one.”
It was a threat. That much I could decipher by myself. Why — I wasn’t sure, not until moments later when Raegan growled at the Choilltean Druid to step up to the dais.
“Perform the throne rites, Druid,” Raegan snarled at him.
“I will do no such thing!” the pixie roared as he tried to step back and away from Raegan, but was stopped as Killian pressed the blunt edge of his sword to the Druid’s back.
“You will, and you will do so now,” Raegan sighed as if he was bored, seating himself upon the throne once more.
I didn’t understand. No one did, apparently, evident by the whispering that broke out amongst the Cluaineach pixies.
I wasn’t sure how appreciative the gods were of the fact the Druid stepped up and behind Raegan, only because he still had a blade pressed to his back.
“Sometime today would be nice, Druid,” Raegan seethed.
With a shaking body, the Druid looked up to the ceiling. “This one is Raegan.”
The throne room was in an uproar, all of them howling for Raegan to stop.
The Druid looked to Raegan with unfiltered hate in his eyes. “Do you, Raegan Righ’Fiodh’Faiche’Rugadh, accept the responsibility of ruler of Choilltean, protector of the people of Saoghal?”
There was a crack in the mask Raegan was wearing.
It was the tiniest, most subtle of things, hardly detectable.
I might have even been imagining it. But I saw, for a flash, a darkness across his face.
And then those green eyes of his were on me, that same look on his face that I saw as he knelt next to his dead father.
Just like then, I wanted to fall to my knees if only to soften the ground that he would collapse on.
“I do.”
It was hard to hear over the fury of the room, but the Druid placed a mimed crown upon Raegan’s head. “Rise then, King of Choilltean.”
His face was twitching as he forced that characteristic smirk to his face, the pinched fox-eyes and deceitful gleam behind them.
“I am neither King of Choilltean nor King of Cluaineach,” he bellowed, earning him a room of silence once more.
“From this day forward, one King shall sit upon both thrones, brought together as one kingdom. You are no longer pixies of Cluaineach, but pixies of Talamh, and I am your King.”