Page 27 of Broken Veil
Laura looked up from her bowl of soup. “You can rebuild a castle in a year?”
“Only with magic.” Dru spread his hand on the stone table. “When you build of the earth and not with bones of trees, the earth does not fight you.” He was still staring at Naida. “You will not eat of my table, Naida Brightwater?”
Every eye turned to Naida, whose cheeks were slightly red.
“I am not hungry.” Naida glanced at Laura, who was sitting on her right. “But please enjoy the food. If the unicorns have prepared it, I’m sure it is safe and wonderful.”
“But you will not eat of it, though I know you are hungry.” Dru’s voice was sharp. “Am I so hated by you now?”
“Watch your tone.” Godrik’s voice held the menace of his wolf. “We are not your subjects.”
Dru turned to Godrik and cocked his head. “Acknowledged, wolf.”
“I hate no one.” Naida picked at the tablecloth, keeping her voice soft. “You should know that better than anyone.”
“Daughter of the Valleys,” Dru whispered, “Singer of my song, will you not even look at me now?”
Naida finally looked up. “I can look at you, King Diarmuid.”
Dru was silent for a long moment. He seemed to drink in Naida’s attention like a parched man.
Carys reached for Duncan’s hand under the table. He squeezed her fingers and knit them with his own.
Dru finally spoke. “And what am I to your eyes, Naida of Gwenlais, Brightwater of the Valleys?”
The room went so silent Carys heard nothing but the crackle of blue flames in the fireplace.
“Son of Aíne ,” Naida said, “I… acknowledge your crown.” Without another word, she stood from the table, set her linen napkin on the table, and walked out of the room.
Dru watched Naida leave with hooded, hungry eyes, then narrowed them when Godrik stood and followed the small fae woman out of the room.
“Dru,” Carys said, “I don’t want a favor, but I was wondering if I could ask for some advice without forming an obligation.”
Dru looked away from the door where Naida had disappeared and shook his head as if waking from a dream. “About the Morrígan?”
“Yes.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Why do you think I brought you here?”
Carysand the high fae king met privately after the meal while the rest of her friends waited in the library with Dru’s private retinue of unicorns.
“How do you defeat a goddess?”
“Defeat one?” Dru sat across from her in a wingback chair, his head resting on the back of the chair and his legs stretched out before him. “You don’t.”
They were sitting in what looked like a woman’s morning room. There was no art hanging on the walls, but the round chamber was decorated with enamel, inlaid gemstones, and rare metal, creating a floral pattern that grew from streaked green malachite, forming grass and ferns at the base of the wall to soaring tree branches that stretched nearly to the ceiling.
“You don’t defeat a goddess?” Carys was perched in a chair where her feet almost didn’t touch the ground. “Like, at all? Then what is the point of all this?”
Dru opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed. “You’re accustomed to thinking of gods as something from legends and myths. But gods are not fictional characters. Except when they are.”
Carys closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. “Why did I think I could get a helpful answer from you?”
“Gods are born when humans adore.” He crossed his long legs at the ankles. “It’s always a relationship.”
“Gods exist because humans believe in them.”
“Yes. And all gods are fictional, but that doesn’t mean they’re not also real.”
