37
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Beltane in Choilltean had been magnificent.
Before it had been completely derailed by the attack on the dragon’s den, it had been a night of good food, excellent drink, phenomenal company, and enough memories to last me a lifetime.
It was grand and impressive, overwhelming and beautiful, and I could still feel the subtle cramps from the way I had laughed, or the ache of my legs from how I had danced.
Imbolc should have been the same way. I was prepared for it to be the same way.
~
Three gentle knocks against my door snapped me out of my state of delusion, causing me to drop the kohl powder on the floor alongside the blush powder that was definitely not my shade.
“Come in,” I called, definitely distracted, as I awkwardly leant off of my chair and desperately clawed for the two tubs that had collided with the floor.
“Are you decent?” my intruder shouted directly into the door, revealing himself to be Liam long before he even stepped into my space.
I grimaced as I looked back at the odd shard-shaped reflective pane in front of me. Decent might have been a stretch.
“I’m clothed,” I settled on, considering anything further than that seemed like a lie.
A moment was allocated to Liam scuffling on his side of the door, the large stone-like object groaning as it opened, then his boots echoing as he stepped in and shut it behind him.
“Olivia!” he gasped, his voice overly shrill from where he was standing over my shoulder. “You look–”
“Dreadful,” I cried out, spinning to face him. Once he got a look at my face, his previous comment disappeared on his tongue and he made no attempt to stop the shock from appearing across his features.
“What have you done to your face?”
I pouted, trying my best not to smudge the already smudged look I had going on. “I don’t know. I had help before. Niamh–” Stopping myself, I slammed my eyes shut and groaned as I realized I was complaining to her cousin. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”
Liam, like Niamh in so many ways, shook his head and laughed. “Tell any of the others that I helped you with this, and I will paint you a liar, Olivia Loughty.”
Becoming my conspirator, Liam crept across the room, snatched the tools out of my hand, and left me jaw-dropped as he made quick work of fixing the horrendous atrocity that I had painted across my face.
Only five minutes after he had entered my chambers, I looked somewhat presentable, and I had thanked him only about a hundred times.
“Now rise – let’s see what we can do about your hair.”
Why were there so many things I had to get ready?
Though, I would be lying if I claimed I didn’t love the feeling of dressing up for the events of Saoghal, feeling the shimmer of a gown as the fireflies raced past, drenching myself in that magical glow of the pixies if only for one night.
So I nodded and rose, pinching gently at the gown that Aisling had set outside of my room the night prior.
Liam, either completely unaware of what facial expressions he was capable of making or uncaring of them, simply stared at me. “Olivia, you look like–”
“Don’t say it,” I whispered, shaking my head slowly.
I knew what I looked like, I knew what the fabric of this gown looked like.
That was why I had Aisling request it, why I had her pick this one in particular.
And there was only one person I wanted to show it to.
Only one person whose opinion I wanted to hear.
Liam’s grin was cat-like and mischievous as he nodded and offered me the bend of his elbow. Sighing, remembering a time not so different to this but with his cousin and not him, I took his elbow with my hand and responded to his nod with one of my own.
“Shall we?” he offered.
“We shall.”
~
It was so easy, in that moment, as the two of us descended the staircase of the Cluaineach castle and prepared ourselves for the tremendous party, to forget what times we were in. It was easy to forget that Saoghal was at war with itself.
It was easy to forget that Speur and Uisge wanted to wage war on Raegan, not join him for feasts. It was easy to forget that Choilltean, the other half of Raegan’s kingdom, could not join the festivities even if they wanted to.
Which was why we shouldn’t have been so shocked when we finally levelled out on the main floor and were left staring at…
A near empty castle.
Now, that might have been an exaggeration.
It wasn’t empty, because every pixie from Cluaineach was crammed into the clay walls, their bodies trickling out of the exit and into the grass-lands that wrapped around the palace.
But it wasn’t like Beltane in that everywhere you looked, there was a new pixie.
A new colour of hair, a new glistening pair of eyes, a new tint to their skin.
During Beltane, when three of the four kingdoms had united for that night, there was a certain sort of buzzing to the air that constantly danced between dangerous and exhilarating, seeing different peoples coming together despite their differences and enjoying one night.
I tried to keep the surprise from my expression, balancing my eyebrows and focusing on the width of my eyes, as Liam guided me through the first of the bodies.
Because it was Imbolc and most were already indulging themselves in the benefits of a massive ball, none of the pixies seemed to recognize me.
Or if they did, they cared little for their hatred and their whispered curses towards the Evil of Saoghal, keeping their glares and their growls to themselves.
Light bounced off of the walls of the castle, a ricocheting gleam of whites and yellows as fireflies swarmed above us and sconces flickered along the hallways.
There was that mist, the one that always seemed to be present in Cluaineach, that spoke of the magic of the meadows and the beauty of the prairies that took form as fluttering specks of golden light between bodies.
Wings were out and prominent as we wound through the masses, dodging those with iridescent, fragile sheens with sharp ends that – upon bumping into one – were actually sharp.
Then there were the wings that were thicker in their hide, nearing a leather-like texture that fanned out in a shape that was more horizontal than rounded.
It was hard to look at those wings, at the pixies who loved them more than their other limbs, and feel anything but grief for Raegan.
Grief for what he might not have lost, but might as well have.
“Olivia!” Aisling’s voice boomed through the crowds, her pink-blossom hair like a beacon that Liam started to drag me towards. I nearly tripped on several imperfections along the floor of the Cluaineach castle, and managed to stay upright only by the unforgiving grip he had around my arm.
“Olivia,” Aisling gasped as we drew near, an awkward distance between the three of us that meant in order to converse we had to shout, so Liam and I picked up the pace and slammed to a stop in front of her. “Wow, I can’t believe how it turned out. Give me a twirl.”
I wasn’t planning on disobeying such a direct order, so I giggled to myself and twisted around on the ball of my foot, thankful that Liam had convinced me to pin my hair up high.
Only a few twists of blonde tickled at my cheek as I finished my cataclysmic turn, nearly collapsing as dizziness took root.
Only because I grabbed back onto Liam did I stay upright.
“You look like–”
“A feast.”
Liam and I snapped our attention to behind us, where Ciara and Shea were strolling with ease through the crowds as they simply shoved pixies out of their way.
“I know it’s a feast,” Ciara hissed, continuing their conversation that had nothing to do with me. “That’s not what I was saying.”
“What were you saying? I stopped listening the moment you started.”
Ciara growled and Shea snickered.
“Oh, there you lot are,” Shea said as she stopped glaring at Ciara and found the three of us standing nervously in front of her. “Who knew humans could clean up so well, hey Ciara?”
“Piss off, Shea,” Ciara growled, her face still twisted into a rage at Shea’s previous comment.
“You two look…” I trailed off, not sure what direction I wanted to take my compliment.
Saying Shea looked stunning would likely insult her, mostly because everything I said to Shea insulted her.
And Shea was always stunning – gown and neck on show, or matted bird-nest hair and blood caked over her body.
She just had that natural allure to her, drawing every set of eyes and craning every head as she passed.
Ciara, on the other hand, looked exactly as she looked a day ago. The only difference was that her swords were on her hips instead of over her back, and that verdant hair of hers was tied up high enough on her head that it pulled at the already tight skin around those molten eyes.
Shea’s gown was black, a long stretch of material that seemed to twinkle starlight as it reflected every tiny light, pooling elegantly at the curve of her ankles.
Shea noticed my awkward stare at Ciara and clarified with, “Ciara doesn’t believe in dresses.”
“They’re impractical,” Ciara said, shrugging as if that should be obvious. “I take my role as Raegan’s shield seriously, unlike the rest of you. I need to be prepared for any and every attack.”
Shea rolled her eyes, letting out a huff. “I think she wants a reward, or something. For sucking the joy out of the air, I mean.”
I had to pull both of my lips between my teeth just to avoid laughing.
“If you’re so bothered about Raegan’s safety, why aren’t you with him?
” Liam dared to enter the conversation, which I thought was absolute madness.
Getting between Ciara and Shea while they were in their many moods – which was a constant – was like trying to stand between two challenging lions as they chuffed and circled one another.
Their fangs were two that I would avoid at all cost.
“I couldn’t find him,” Ciara growled.
“What a great guard you are,” Shea said.
Aisling snickered, which meant that Ciara’s seething rage was turned in the span of a second to her.
Noticing this, Aisling took a cautious step back and motioned for me to follow with the toss of her chin. Thankful to get away from the snapping piranha’s, I found myself at Aisling’s side and skipped away from the rest of them.
A safe distance from Liam, Ciara, and Shea as they started arguing, Aisling let out a deep breath and steered us towards the throne room.
The whole way she fidgeted awkwardly with her dress, a long satin gathering of blush that, against her already pinkened skin, made her appear as if she wasn’t wearing any clothes at first glance.
The way it hugged her, leaving very little room for movements all along her body until it tapered off at her ankles, only furthered her look of a rose cocoon.
But she was, as all of the females seemed to be, a sight.
The throne room in the Cluaineach castle was glistening as if it knew we hosted a party, every laugh crashing against the glass-walls, every smile reflecting in the mirrored sheens. The throne was as it always was, centered on that dais with a certain aura that demanded attention.
I was disappointed to step into the throne room and not see what I saw in Choilltean, during Beltane.
Because it was here, within the door-frame of that castle’s throne room, that I looked up and saw both Killian and Raegan, smirks prominent, staring across the room at me.
Except now, for Imbolc, in Cluaineach, I saw neither of them on that dais.
It filled me with a strange hollowness, my mood slipping quickly into dread for the evening instead of excitement.
About to truly sink into the desire to disappear from the party and catch up on some sleep, I was jolted into a harsh reality when drums started to beat.
Not the drums from the musicians, who played out in front of the castle and occasionally allowed their jigs to soar through the castle. No, these were big drums, powerful drums, beating to a rhythm that I had only ever heard once.
War drums.
I wasn’t the only one taken aback by that noise, by the memories it stirred, by the shouts and screams of dying pixies that still plagued my nightmares and followed me in my darkest hours.
Others around me dropped what they were doing – conversing, drinking, and eating – and pivoted towards that noise, their bodies otherwise pieces of solidified flesh.
Aisling and I shared in a nervous look before we, too, turned back towards the doorway we had just walked through.
The drums grew louder. They demanded more and more and more with each thud, the vibrations scattering over the kingdom and drilling its way into my bones, shaking my entire being.
But then someone stepped through that doorway. Someone who, regardless of what was going on around us, sent a sense of grounding through me that scared off that fear and anticipation.
Raegan.
Raegan Righ’Faiche’Fiodh’Rugadh.
The King of Talamh, adorned in his excellence, strode through his own throne room as if the beating of war drums was nothing more than the pace that he took to.
And behind him, Queen Tonn of Uisge.
Prince Tadgh of Uisge.
The room went silent.