Page 38 of The Prince or the Bard?
As if I would wait.
She knows me better than that.
With a resigned sigh, Fiadh says, “Tadhg wanted to tell you both together, but since he’s yet to reappear, Ruairí’s probably pried it out of him in the barn.”
She pauses, as if reconsidering how to phrase the news.
“Well?” I prompt, nudging her knee with mine.
Fiadh smiles—and it doesn’t look forced. My heart begins to ease at once.
Until she says, “Tadhg and I are stepping down.”
For a moment, I can say and do nothing but stare at her with what I’m sure are bulging eyes. “Why?” I finally manage.
“Because it’s time. I’m low fae, and I won’t be young forever. Pádraig is ready to make the transition to High King—as ready as he could be, anyway. This way, we’ll both be around to advise him for a long time. Tadhg never had that advantage.
“Besides”—her back straightens, and I brace myself for less pleasant news—“I think it’s best to spend time with the girlsbefore the inevitable. Eithne and Muir will both require prudent matches sooner rather than later.”
I can’t deny it. I knew this day would come. Still, there is no amount of sensibility that could keep my heart from feeling sadness for my nieces.
I think of how Fiadh was thrown into court life, far from the sea and everything she knew. But she had the comfort of a love match; times are such, in this unified earthen realm of ours, that her daughters will have to find husbands from politically advantageous candidates.
One of my older nieces might well end up as a bride to a dark fae—perhaps even all of them will. The dark fae undercourts of this very island have made themselves nuisances of late. I do not envy Fiadh and Tadhg their task of trying to bring these fae to heel through a marriage bargain.
“Must Eithne and Muireann both marry for political gain?” I press, the boiling kettle behind us half forgotten. “If one could make a good match, then what need has the other—”
Fiadh shakes her head. “Please don’t suggest it within earshot. Muireann has already declared she will only marry for the most passionate love. Tadhg and I were hopelessly in love when we married, and even what we have is like a flickering candle compared to what Muir expects.”
I roll my tongue along the inside of my cheek, thinking before my sharp tongue can be given the reins. “Seems I’m not the only one who needed to bargain away her foolishness.”
Fiadh presses a hand to her breast, and I can’t quite tell if she’s sincere. “Perish the thought! Muireann has a head full of dreams, it’s true. But what’s the sense in diminishing them before it’s time? I couldn’t bear it.”
I inch closer, narrowing my eyes. “I could diminish them for you.”
“Laoise!” My royal cousin recoils.
“I’m not suggesting anything sinister! Only Diarmuid’s Row is a fine fit for me, now that I’ve more sense than not. Your girls have been raised in a castle, with every comfort. Send them here to work for me. They’ll both get some sense, learn the value of hard work, and be the better for it. Besides, I saw the way they galloped up here on horses when they have perfectly good hooves themselves.”
Fiadh winces. “I would’ve preferred to come in púca form myself.”
“I know you would’ve.” I pat her hand, finally turning to the kettle. “Let them work with me, Unagh and the twins for a while. I could use the help, and Unagh’s brood aren’t quite old enough to handle the work yet. That’ll teach Muir and Eithne the value of their unseelie forms.”
“I don’t know, Laoise. It seems harsh.”
I shrug. “Life can be harsh. Do you want them to have experience at it now, or when the circumstances can’t be avoided?”
Without being asked, Fiadh rises and fetches both cups and an ingenious little cannister—a far better way to transport tea leaves than the stale-tasting bricks most fae are used to. She prefers the leaves of the tea plant to anything else, after all those months of downing herbal tisanes to help with her headaches, and I’m always sure to have it ready and waiting for her when she arrives.
Soon, the high court will develop a taste for this plant from the eastern courts. We’re going to revolutionize faerie, one cup at a time—if only I could have a little help to get it done.
“Eithne hardly needs to take things more seriously than she already does,” Fiadh says, measuring the leaves and dropping them into the pot while I hold up the lid. “You’d think Pádraig wasn’t ready and willing to take the crown, the way she behaves—as if the fate of the realm will rest on her shoulders at any moment.”
“That’s its own sort of foolishness,” I reply. “It sounds like both of my nieces could use a solid helping of the púca ways.”
Fiadh sighs. “There is one other problem, of course.”
“What’s that?”
