“Your Highness, the queen requests your presence in the banquet hall,” one of the older soldiers says, glancing at Croi as he speaks.

Irial hesitates.

Croi rises to her toes and pulls him down to whisper in his ear. “Two of these soldiers are from the rebel forces. Be careful.”

Irial stiffens and looks at the soldiers again. His fists clench. “I’ll come get you for breakfast tomorrow. We’ll figure some things out. Be careful.”

“You too.” Croi hesitates. “Maybe I should go with you.” She doesn’t think Daithi will do anything to Irial in the Caisleán, but what does she know?

“No, I will be all right. I’m not entirely helpless,” Irial says, squeezing her shoulder. “Follow this path to the kitchen. They’ll give you something to eat. We’ll have breakfast together tomorrow. I will take you to my favorite places in the Caisleán. I’ll go now?” Croi nods and steps back.

She watches him leave before following the cobbled path to a room that opens up to an herb garden. She crosses the garden to a room that looks, feels, and smells like the paradise the humans in the city spoke so reverently about.

It is a large room, with wide windows that open up to the herb garden. Green pots of fragrant bushes line the windowsills. Croi can see no silverware as one would expect in a kitchen, no metallic pots and pans. Instead, there are cauldrons and stoneware. Enchantments are used to bake and cook. A dozen or so kin dressed in uniforms bustle around a red-faced brownie, the cook, who barks commands and occasionally sends kitchen-hands scurrying. Croi wishes she could bottle the smells coming from the bubbling pot.

There’s also the aroma of a cake in the air, something filled with honey. The next moment the savory smell of roasting meat rises from the hearth. Vegetables, chopped and ready, line the table in the middle of the kitchen, and jugs of nectar sit pretty on a corner table created from a block of ice. The kitchen kin are preparing for the evening banquet, which means her arrival is extremely timely.

One of the kitchen kin notices Croi standing in the doorway and comes forward. “Can I help you, lady?”

“Could I get something to eat, please?”

“Of course, please follow me.” The little kin leads Croi to a small room right beside the kitchen without asking questions and seats her at the only table in the room. Soon the table is laden with dishes containing savory and sweet delicacies. Croi is overwhelmed with the flavors. She feasts until she can’t eat any more.

An hour later Croi steps out of the kitchen, wondering what to do next, where to go.

I don’t want to return to the pavilion.

Croi is in accord with her other self. She’d much rather not return there either. “Let’s look around the Caisleán. We didn’t see much of it during the day.”

Thus begins her exploration of the Talamh Caisleán. She finds rooms laid out warmly in invitation, and rooms empty of furniture and light, cautioning any who thinks to trespass. Doors open to cavernous chambers filled with tall trees, stuck in the middle of winter. Other doors lead to corridors that become filled with forest paths in autumn. She follows a narrow hallway that culminates in silver doors that move apart to reveal a garden thick in the middle of spring, overflowing with the fragrance of flowers and the buzzing of bees. A staircase leads down to a pergola in the middle of a lake. Fireflies hover over the surface of the water, and a full moon holds the sky and the stars captive.