Page 32 of The Prince or the Bard?
I can't answer that. I won't.
I don’t stay long enough to see him mount his horse again. But soon I am off, and by the sound of hoofbeats, so is he.
And I think to myself,These royals are nothing but trouble.
I'd be a fool to return to the high court.
Chapter Seventeen
They tell me thequeen has recovered, and also that I’m due a reward.
The letter that informs me so comes with surprising contents: a certificate stating I am now the owner of a parcel on the outer edge of Diarmuid’s Row; and the design for a sweet little cottage with a high roof and a loft.
Everything, from the builders to the supplies, is being paid for by a grateful crown.
Of course I haven’t quite worked out how I’ll afford the upkeep of such a place, now that I’m no longer a queen’s maid and my arm is still in a sling, but for now my savings have me living decently in my little town.
I am finally happy again, being here by the sea, and amongst family and friends. And, thank the sea goddess, my headaches have eased a great deal now that I'm enjoying the comforts of home.
Yet I would be more comfortable still if everyone wasn’t so intent on telling me something’s wrong. Not with the cottage, which is going to be perfect. With me.
"They're right, Laoise. You've changed," Niamh says one afternoon, fanning her multicolored tail onto the rocks. My little sister Unagh nods in agreement, hugging her knees.
“You’re just jealous I have my own cottage, and the two of you must live with your parents,” I say, watching two crabs meet in the tidal pools.
Niamh slaps her tail on the rocks. “You don’t have your own cottage yet. Unagh tells me you’ve barely a foundation row!” She lowers both her head and her voice. “That isn’t it, and you know it.”
The crabs in the tidal pool snap their claws at one other.
“So I’ve lost a bit of something in the bargain for the pearl,” I say, pulling the crabs apart with my usable arm. The one I hold snips at the air as I drop it in a separate pool—only to watch the two scuttle towards each other again. “It’s just as you said, Niamh. I don’t even know to miss it.”
“If we knew what it was, I bet you would,” Unagh says.
I laugh it off. “And how can we, when no one can quite agree on what it is?”
I’ve heard it all by now: I’ve lost my joy in things, my púca's sense of curiosity, my fae spark, my emotions. It’s not any of those things. The proof comes in how frequently my family and friends quarrel over the nature of it.
The crabs begin their battle again. I turn away with a sigh.
“Why did you do that?” Unagh asks me, already reaching for one of the crabs. Unlike me, she stands, her dress tied high around her legs, prepared to carry the flailing creature a distance away.
“You mean why did I pull them apart?” I furrow my brow, confused.
“No. You just looked away,” she calls back over her shoulder. “You cared enough to separate the crabs the first time. Then you just—stopped.”
“Maybe you’ve lost your compassion,” Niamh suggests.
“Then why would she bother in the first place?”
Niamh's tail slaps the rocks loudly. “That’s it!”
Unagh nearly gets her finger caught in the crab’s pincers as her head snaps up. “You figured it out?”
“It’s the bother of it all. Doing it once was well and good. But twice, when they’d simply find their way back to each other again?”
“You’re saying the faerie clam made me lazy?” I jab Niamh in the pearly scales of her arm. “I don’t think that was it.”
“It’s not that.” Niamh bats my hand away when I try to poke her again. “Repeating your actions, with no result—that would simply be foolish.”
