“In old times, folk thought of the Tuatha De Danaan as gods, or something close to gods,” I told him. “The druids debate exactly what they are, and find various answers. Over the years the Fair Folk have shaped the path for the Sevenwaters family, for good or ill. Sometimes they seem a mouthpiece for the gods; more often they have their own intentions for human folk, their own plans. They are an older race than we are—wiser, subtler, longer-lived. But not so different, for they have sometimes formed bonds with men or women, and there have been children born in whom the two races are blended. Another night, I will tell you a tale of such folk.” No need to explain that Cathal, who lived here at Inis Eala and was married to my sister Clodagh, was one such person, and that Ciarán was another. While we did not exactly keep such information secret—it was known on the island that Cathal’s parentage was somewhat unusual—neither did we go out of our way to spread it abroad. “But for now, my story is complete, and I have kept you awake too long. Time for sleep.”

I got up, reaching to tuck in the blankets. As I straightened, a fleeting smile crossed the man’s wan features, and for a moment I saw him as he must be when well and happy—a fine-looking person with a sensitive mouth and thoughtful eyes. I imagined him throwing a ball for a dog, or painting a picture, or playing games with his friends. Or writing; those were not the hands of a farmer, a fisherman, a builder.

“I’ll bid you good night,” I said, suddenly awkward. Whatever the man was, wherever he had come from, it was for him to tell us his own tale, in his own time.

In my little chamber, huddled under my blankets as the draft seeped in under the door, I prayed that he would survive to do so. And I thought of Deirdre of the Forest, who had guided me so wisely, and whom I had not seen now for many years. She is gone, Ciarán had said. Gone away over the sea, never to return. Many of her kind had departed this shore as humankind stamped its authority on the green land of Erin. And when the wise ones are gone, oftentimes those left in their place are a lesser breed, folk for whom ambition and the lust for power overrule justice and compassion. Such a one was Mac Dara, father of Cathal. In time, this devious prince could do untold harm among the various races that shared that place, and to our kind as well. I wondered who might have the power to stop him.

CHAPTER 3

~Felix~