Chapter Six

            “Daragh! What are you doing skulking about so close to nightfall?” Ailill stepped in front of Caoimhe, shielding her with his wings as he confronted his elder brother.

            “I might ask you the same, witless fool. Where is Aisling? Who is this wingless one, and why have you brought her here? You know the law.”

            Ailill raised his chin defiantly. “I don’t know where Aisling is. She is old enough to know her own mind. As for Caoimhe, I would vouch for her with my life.” He heard a gasp from the lady in question, but did not turn.

            “And well you might have to. ‘Tis lucky you are that I am on patrol this eve. Go you at once to the aerie, and get out of sight before one of the King’s men sees you. Father will have much to say about this matter.”

            Ailill swallowed hard. “I have no doubt of that,” he muttered under his breath. He was not looking forward to what his proud father would say on the subject. “Come, Caoimhe, we’d best do as he says.”

            He took her hand in his, not surprised to find it was like holding onto a ball of snow. He glanced down and saw that her face was pale and set, but her shoulders back and her carriage straight. She might be terrified, but she wouldn’t show it. What a magnificent lass she was!

            “You had better be able to explain yourself,” Daragh commented. “It won’t help you that you seem to have lost Aisling along the way.”

            “We are not children, Daragh, and it is time that was recognized. The entire court clucks over our lack of responsibility, and then sends us off with the hatchlings if there are matters of importance to discuss. There is no one within a quarter century either way of our age since the ravages of winter three years ago. When there are none for us to bond with in Faerie, is it any wonder that our eyes look out?”

            “I am not the one to answer. You must convince the Council, not I. I am merely a Warder, and happy to be so. Go your way now, before I am missed in my patrol.”             He turned and walked away from them, disappearing into the dusk before he had gone a dozen paces.

            Ailill glanced up at the sky. The sun had completely disappeared save for a shaving of gold above the horizon, and the clouds were already trading their orange and crimson finery for the purple and black of night. “‘Tis later than I realized. We’d best run from here. Are you up to it?” he asked Caoimhe.

            She nodded, the movement barely discernable in the growing dark. “I think so.”

            “‘Tisn’t far,” he promised. “And the path is smooth.”

            They began to run.

He heard a muffled exclamation at one point, and felt her stumble, but he could not afford to let them stop. The distance to the aerie seemed to have stretched like a bowstring drawing taut. Would they never reach it?

Just as he was on the verge of giving up, the home tree loomed up before him. Firefly lanterns hung in all the branches. Their light was dim, but enough to illuminate the steps spiraling up the trunk of the ancient oak. The steps were narrow, and protruded mere inches from the tree. Meant for faerie folk who stabilized themselves with their wings as they climbed, they posed a problem for Caoimhe.

“I can’t climb those!” she protested. “Ailill, I shall fall. They can never hold me up.”

“They are sturdier than they look, love—just as you. I will climb behind you if you like, to steady you if you start to fall.”

“I-I’ll try.”

He could see her trembling, even in the half-light. “That’s my brave girl,” he encouraged her. “Up you go. ‘Twill be over in no time.”

Caoimhe put her little bare foot on the first step and started to climb, hugging the trunk of the tree as closely as she might.

Ailill stayed right behind her, ready to catch her if she lost her balance. In truth, he hovered beside the stairs instead of resting on them as he might normally, because he could more easily block her fall if she slipped.

By the time they reached the landing outside the aerie, both of them were exhausted. Ailill’s wings were thrumming with the exertion of the climb. He caught her hand and raised it to his lips.

“Well done, my beauty.”

Caoimhe smiled weakly. “Thank you, my lord. I—oh!”

He chuckled, seeing the rapt wonder on her face as she gazed upon the spires of the faerie city. “Is it not beautiful?”

All around them, the trees were graced with the aeries of the Sidhe. Tall towers of crystal seemed to be spun from moonbeams. The light of the firefly lanterns reflected off the crystal in a pearly glow, while the brighter golden illumination of torchlight streamed from the windows.

“We should get inside,” Ailill said gently, regret coloring his words. “‘Twas better swiftly done.”

Caoimhe shuddered, and then squared her shoulders. “As you say. I am ready.”

He pulled her into his arms and planted a swift kiss on her parted lips. “My brave darling…. Do not worry. I will protect you. This I swear.”

He reached around her and pressed the hidden knot to open the door. Despite his words, he felt his stomach clench in anticipation of his father’s wrath.

The door swept silently open, and a burst of light and sound swelled around them.

“Ailill! Ailill!” The cries of the hatchlings as they swarmed around him were shrill and exuberant. The tiny beings darted around their heads and rested on his shoulders, staring wide-eyed at Caoimhe.

One of the boldest hovered before the mortal’s face, peering intently at her. “What is this?” hissed the boy, his wings beating madly. “She’s no fae.”

One of the girl children tugged on Ailill’s hair and whispered in his ear.

Ailill laughed aloud. “No, little one. She will not eat you.”

Caoimhe’s face grew red.

“Ailill!” roared a voice from the room beyond, and the hatchlings scattered with squeals of dismay.

Ailill took a deep breath, and held out his hand to Caoimhe.

Wordlessly, she placed her own in his, and together they walked into the fray.

The main chamber of the aerie was a circular room hollowed out of the great tree. As they entered, the hatchlings settled into perches around the top of the room. A brazier in the center of the chamber sent up perfumed smoke that wafted out of vents in the ceiling. The room was warm, and radiated comfort.

At the far side of the brazier, in a throne-like chair carved from a single block of oak, sat his father. Hair as fair as moonlight fell in a braid over one shoulder to his waist. A circlet of silver, as was his right as King’s kin, rested upon his brow. His face was set in a frown as they entered the room.

“Where have you been, boy? And where is your sister? Your mother—what is this? You dare to bring a mortal past the gate! Where are your wits?”

Ailill gulped, but held his ground. “I left Aisling in the market square. She would not come. ‘Tis not my place to force her. She is a woman grown.”

“Only when her actions suit the title. When she behaves like a hatchling, she shall be treated like one. And you as well. You compromise us all by bringing this doxy here.”

Ailill felt his fear burn away in a tide of anger. “How dare you speak of Caoimhe so! She is a lady, not a common trollop.”

“How would you know?” sneered his father. “You base this claim on an acquaintance of what—a summer’s day? ‘Tis one thing to sport amongst the mortals. Even I have dallied so in my time. But to risk the wrath of King and court to bring one inside the barrow…by the gods, have I raised a simpleton?”

“Nay, Father. I am no dolt. I am come of age, and able to make my own decisions.”

“So say you?” The fae lord rose to his feet, towering over them. His voice thundered. “Fine. ‘Tis all one to me. Get you gone from my house. You are no longer welcome here. As of this day, you are no son to me. And if your sister cares not for home, she can be damned as well!”

Ailill snatched his bow and quiver from their resting place against the wall. “You are the fool, old one. You have lived to long to remember what it feels to love. I pity you.”

“Get out!”

Ailill shepherded Caoimhe out the door and into the entryway.

“Oh, Ailill—” she began.

“Hush, love. ‘Twas not your fault. Stubborn old fool….”

“Ailill…” The voice was soft, with a discernable edge of sorrow.

He turned. In the shadows of the entryway stood his mother, a packet in one hand. She reached up to touch first his cheek, and then Caoimhe’s. “I see much love in your eyes. I hope you will be happy, though I fear it will not be easy. You must choose. One of you must give up all you hold dear for the sake of the other.

“I would hope that you choose to stay here in Faerie with us, my dear.” She smiled sadly at Caoimhe. “If the King decrees it, it may be so. You will have to seek his blessing, my son.”

She pressed the packet into his hand. “Here is waybread, and a bit of honey. It will speed you on your journey.” She hesitated then went on. “What of your sister? Do you know where she has gone?”

“I left her in the marketplace,” he mumbled, eyes downcast. “She had met a mortal man, and I chided her for her foolishness.”

He heard Caoimhe’s gasp behind him and turned to her. “I had not laid eyes upon you yet, beloved, and I did not understand. Now I know what she must have felt. I can only wish her well and hope her happiness is as great as my own.”

His mother sighed. “Neither road is a happy one, my son. But what is done is done. I wish her peace. I fear I shall not see her again. You were always my stubborn children. Set apart from the moment of birth. But you are two halves of a whole. You must stay in contact with Aisling, Ailill. Neither of you will be content without that you do.”

He bent and hugged her tightly. “I will do as you say, Mother. I will not abandon her.”

“Good. I knew I could trust you for that.” She pushed him away gently. “Now, get you gone. If your father finds out you are still here, he will go mad.”

She opened the door, and shooed them out onto the landing. “Go to the King. Be your most eloquent, Ailill. You can talk the birds from the skies. Convince him.”

Turning one final time to Caoimhe, she slipped a ring from off her finger. “Take this, my dear,” she said, pressing the trinket into the girl’s hand. “It will keep you safe in time of need.”

“T-thank you, my lady,” murmured Caoimhe, dropping her a curtsey. “I will treasure it always.”

“Now go.” His mother jerked her head at the stairway as she closed the door. “It is no longer safe for you to stay.”

Slinging his bow and quiver across his back, Ailill led the way down the tree. When they reached the bottom safely, Caoimhe threw herself into his arms, sobs wracking her slender shoulders.

“Where will we go, Ailill? I’m frightened.”

“Hush, lass,” he soothed, stroking her silky hair. “All will be well.”

“How can it be? I’ve gotten you disowned, and it’s the middle of the night, and…”

He chuckled. “Come, come. It’s no so late as that. And if I had a sovereign for every time my father cast me out, I’d be a rich man,” he lied.

“Where will we sleep?”

“I have an uncle not far from here who looks at things a bit less conventionally. I am sure he will grant us space for the night, and on the morrow, we will seek an audience with the King. The King is wise and kind. He will see how much I love you, and he will grant our petition. All will be well. I promise.”

She shuddered in his arms. “If you say it will, it must be so.”

“Aye. Now come. Let us find a roof for the night.”