Page 2 of Made

Our little Rhiannon would be blessed with an overabundance of grandmum role models. One of us was hoping she’d love dragons. The other of us was hoping she’d love clothes. Since Maeve had no daughters, she was excited by the prospect of mentoring a future queen of Irish fae. Although she hadn’t yet fully confronted the prospect of attention being trained on someone other than herself.

When Connor was able to get an occasional word in, I found him much like Diarmuid, just as Evie always said. Affable, entertaining, and selfless. Certainly, selflessness would be key for someone intending to stay married to Maeve.

Of all her many aggravating traits, some of which made my teeth grind loud enough to be heard, the one I’d never forgive her for was ignoring my husband. She acted like he was invisible and had been doing so ever since our marriage.

If it bothered him, he didn’t let on. And I didn’t ask.

The last thing Maeve shared, just as dessert arrived, was the pièce de résistance. She’d been saving it like a big reveal. Relishing the announcement was woven into both her speech and smile.

“I’ve just returned from a trip to see a dealer of rare goods in Gramoric-Schtihl,” she said. “He’s agreed to hold a newly unearthed dragon egg for me. It’s presumed to be the last of its kind.” Her light laughter was full of artifice. “But of course, that’s what they always say when another dragon egg is found. This one is a gorgeous teal blue. What’s inside is probably aBarveshi. I hope it’s the same color as its shell. They’re smaller than most, but have long, lethal-looking teeth and horrific claws at the end of their wings.”

My self-satisfaction didn’t last long. My blood pressure skyrocketed at the thought of my granddaughter having a pet with lethal-looking teeth and horrific claws. My eyes shot to the expecting mom to see if she was having the same reaction, but she and Diarmuid had their heads together in some private tête-à-tête.

Maeve was rambling about how the exorbitant price, paid in full at the time of reservation, was not dependent on hatching. There was no guarantee of a dragon. If none hatched, the egg would become a beautiful object d’art. A conversation starter. A museum exhibit or what have you.

That might seem nonsensical to the non-fae, but to Maeve, it was worth almost any price. “Naturally, he’d be fair knowing that, if he insisted on too much, he’d simply cease to be. And I’d take the egg anyway.” Her laughter was a little more pronounced in defiance of the fact that she might’ve shocked at least two of her guests – Evie and me.

Connor cleared his throat. “Maeve,” he said in a warning tone.

“Oh, pshhhhh,” she told him.

I wasn’t entirely sure about the meaning of “pshhhhh”, but I got the gist.

For what it was worth, and clearly that wasn’t much, I’d been up front from the beginning that I did not approve of dragons as pets for a baby. But vocalizing resistance to Maeve had made me a match for my mate. We were a pair of ghosts in chairs.

The topic hadn’t been discussed between Evie and me. Why borrow trouble? After all, there was no guarantee the dragon peril would come to pass.Was I going to be one of thosehovering grandmothers offering advice whether requested or not? NO! With this one exception.

Glancing again at the elaborate nursery mural plans affixed to the wall, I couldn’t help but ask why the focal point was a life-sized sephalian.

“You know, Maeve,” I said, “I can’t help but wonder why you chose to depict a sephalian rather than a dragon.”

“Because no creature can compete with a sephalian when it comes to security,” she replied, managing to compliment herself indirectly.

“I see. Then why isn’t Rhiannon getting a sephalian instead of a dragon?”

I heard Keir’s small gasp and only then realized what I’d said. I’d just suggested that Maeve create a magnificent sephalian for the purpose of functioning as a child’s pet. Or nanny!Oh geez.I wished I could go back three minutes and stuff a sock in my mouth.

Maeve smiled like she was about to deliver a bombshell. “The creation of a court enforcer was a commission job. And I’m committed, contractually, not to create a fourth. Obviously, the controllers want the enforcer to be more powerful than any other creature who might end up in your courtroom, Magistrate. Still, I like the image and the idea that the consummate protector is watching over our little princess.”

CHAPTER TWO Green Eyes

Ilmr sighed. “Alright. Admit him,” she told her chief aide. The fae queen of the Scandinavian territories, House of Ulfrwulf, turned the document she’d been reading facedown. Even though it wasn’t confidential, it was a reaction that had taken on muscle memory after hundreds of years of repetition.

Vidar was waiting outside her private rooms. The demigod of the northern hunt had kept to himself for almost a millennium, choosing the solitude of the tundra and the company of furred creatures over life at court. But upon meeting his obligation to attend the coronation of a new queen some centuries past, he’d beheld Ilmr and fallen in love at first sight. The attraction was one-sided, but that didn’t deter Vidar. He remained at court most of the time, returning to the north for occasional visits, just enough to ensure the balance of nature was maintained.

Despite his status as demigod, Ilmr found him unfashionable and unsophisticated. These undesirable characteristics were tiresome, but didn’t rise to the level of complete rejection for two reasons. First, he was undeniably attractive, as are all demigods. His looks were striking enough to turn heads at court whenever he was present. Rather than detracting from his beauty, the weathered skin of his face onlypunctuated his distinct masculinity. That tan face was framed by hair and beard that were light brown with bold-contrast blond highlights – the sort any human salon would kill for. But what made him so extraordinarily handsome, even among fae royals, were the piercing blue eyes that sparkled when the skin around them crinkled ever so slightly.

The second reason why Ilmr tolerated Vidar’s pursuit was this. It is an undeniable universal principle that adoration is hard to resist. That was particularly true for fae, whose vanity is so consuming that it must be constantly fed.

Ilmr was feeling particularly melancholy that day. She wasn’t keen on entertaining visitors and wished she could simply be left alone. Seclusion wasn’t just a luxury. It had become such an unattainable state for Ilmr that she’d come to consider it a prize second only to one thing - her status among fae.

There’d been a time when Ilmr craved the excitement of crowds and liked nothing more than being the center of attention. That was before she’d realized that she was considered, by most fae, to be last in rank among the fae queens. After discovering how she was commonly judged by others, it had begun to niggle at her. She was stricken with a condition humans would call mild depression, coupled with imaginary heartburn. Between themselves, far from Ilmr’s sharp ears or those of her informants, the queen’s physicians called her condition “imaginary”. It was a good bet they were right since fae typically enjoy the benefits of perfect health. Never once in theirlong lives are they likely to experience real physical suffering. Court physician is more or less an honorary title as none are ever called to practice medicine.

Ilmr had put together a team of healers specifically for the purpose of addressing her complaints. They were forced to pledge secrecy on penalty of death, but of course, they were stumped. Exchanging frequent side glances, they silently agreed it was a psychological issue. Though queens’ bodies were practically incorruptible, their minds were as vulnerable to compromise as the humans they considered far inferior. When not in Ilmr’s presence, the healers whispered this fact, sometimes referencing Maeve as an example of things gone wrong.

In a fit of failure and frustration, she fired the lot of them, planning to turn to the ice witches instead. The ice witches were a last resort because, rather than graciously accepting the honor of serving their queen, they required high-end remuneration.

With considerable effort, she’d managed to keep her feelings about her low status among queens to herself, thinking that admission of her disgrace would give it more substance. She was right, of course. But that didn’t mean she could contain the inner volcano forever.

---