Suddenly a clamor rises up among the women, and Croi watches as they separate to allow another fae woman through. This woman looks familiar. Croi watches her smile and realizes that she just saw a younger version of her earlier, chasing the younger Robber Queen. This fae woman, whoever she is, walks quickly to the older woman and embraces her. Following this woman are a bunch of other kin who look very much like the handmaids that follow Ceara. One of these handmaids is expecting and walks slowly and carefully.

“Mother!” the fae woman says, beaming at the Forever King’s consort. At least that’s who Croi assumes the queen is. The only person she can be. “My womb has quickened! I’m going to have a child!”

The older woman is overcome with happiness at her words and springs to her feet with an agility that surprises Croi. “How long has it been?” she asks her daughter, cupping her face in her hands.

“Two months!” the younger woman says, laughing gleefully. “If Lilia hadn’t asked me to check, I wouldn’t have realized until much later!”

The expecting handmaid smiles at the other two.

“My lady is glowing as if the sun lives inside of her.” She caresses her stomach gently. “My child will serve my lady’s child as faithfully as I serve my lady.”

Good wishes pour forth; the atmosphere in the garden is frothy, indicative of a happiness Croi isn’t familiar with. She blinks, and when she next opens her eyes, the garden has changed. The grapevines that were lush not a moment ago are now withered, and the grass is dry as if unfamiliar with rain. No gaiety lights the air. No kin, fae or otherwise, frolic in the spaces not covered by the withered vines.

“Oi! Why have you been staring into the distance for the last five minutes?” Tinder says, tugging at Croi’s ear.

“Stop that! It hurts!” Croi shakes her head, dislodging the pixie.

“What happened?” Tinder demands after regaining her seat on Croi’s shoulder. “Did you see another ghost?”

Croi shakes her head, not wanting to speak about something she hasn’t made sense of yet.

The Caisleán is showing us the past. What’s complicated about that?

“Was that Mabh and the Forever King’s consort, do you think?” Croi thinks.

Who else could they be?

“The pregnant handmaid was called Lilia… Lorcan’s wife?” Croi remembers the gentle face of the fae woman.

The Fire Princess resembles her.

“Hurry up! Otherwise, the revelry will be finished by the time we reach there!” Tinder urges.

Croi, still a bit dazzled by what she saw, starts walking absentmindedly. A few minutes later, they reach the maze, and she’s stunned all over again. The maze in front of her looks nothing like the maze in the human city. That maze was a series of manicured hedges with nary a leaf out of place. The maze before her is constructed of trees instead of hedges, paths appearing here and there, inviting the traveler to take a chance. Wildflowers tumble over each other; their fragrance sweetens the air. Croi follows the paths randomly, shimmying between trees to cross to the side when she walks wrong. Tinder chatters relentlessly along the way, telling Croi everything she knows or has heard about revelries.