Page 48 of The Scald Crow
“I long for the same things as you, Ciarán.” Her voice chimed low and sweet, meant to seduce even the most robust soul. She sought the love of mortals, knowing full well that if they refused, she would become theirs. None refused.
“And what is that, luv? What do you think I want?” I watched the wee vixen. She gave that look that had been the end of many mortals—theLeannán Sídhe, the faerie lover. Fair play to her.
“You’re such a bore, Ciarán. Why can’t you have a little fun now and then?” Her eyes lit with darkness.
“Why are you following me?” I lounged in the rickety chair Eamon had left in the corner. I pictured him there on a summer’s day, a straw stick in his mouth, nodding off in the cool shade.
“Because it’s fun. And because I can. Why are you eating such ghastly slop?” She seethed, eyeing me with disgust.
“How many souls are enough? Those are people with families who need them. They are not puppets meant for the Tuatha’s pleasure.” I blasted her, continuing the conversation we had the night before.
“Tell me about it, boyfriend.” She smiled lazily, twirling a golden curl around her finger. She would take me to hell if I let her.
“I’m not your boyfriend. How many souls have you taken, Nemain?” I turned my back on her alluring gaze—eighteen at last count. I sighed and shook my head. At least they died happy.
“I know. I’m not your type. You could have anyone in the realm, yet you pine after a mortal witch. You know she’s getting wrinkles? And grey hairs on her privates. She is. She is.” She jutted out her chin.
“Have you been spying on Saoirse? What have you been up to?” I narrowed my gaze. Reading thoughts was her forte, not mine.
“Nothing.” She pouted.
“And now you’re following me? What would your father say?” I knew the answer to that. Finvarra knew not of my existence; I was a pawn in the grand scheme of things.
“I don’t care. I am an independent woman.” She batted her eyelashes, but doubt flickered in her eyes.
“Of course you are,” I smirked. Raised by an adoring father and ignored by a spiteful stepmother, Nemain and her sister Macha were alike, yet different—both dangerous in their own right—two sides of the same coin.
“And you know that slop is an offering to my people.As if the Tuatha Dé would touch lips to that. Such a silly belief.” She huffed.
“This is my only hope of returning home. You know that.” I stretched my legs. Time drew near.
“You could have anything or anyone: sex, love, whatever, and here you are. Why? Life is good for you in the Kingdom.” She jutted her pretty chin.
“I never asked for this. I agreed to help—one tournament game. I kept my promise. They didn’t.” I sighed through my nose.
“Buck up, Ciarán. Take one for the team. Besides, you have more freedom than the rest. Hmph. Don’t think your sneaking away doesn’t go unnoticed.” She held her head high.
“This is my world. This place. These people. This is where I belong.” I drained the remaining warm milk from the ceramic mug.
“I don’t get you, Ciarán. Satisfied with a life of drudgery. This cesspool of sadness. Why don’t you hook up with someone? Odette follows you around like a wee lost puppy. Aye, and she’s not the only one. And yet, here you are. Feasting on sour milk and cold mash. Like a common barn animal.” She tossed her golden mane.
“Nemain, you will never understand.” Raised in the royal household, how would she know the difference?
“But I do, Ciarán. I want what you want. Freedom.” She whirled her hands in the air, giving me room for pause. Halfling or not, she wielded mighty powers.
“Nemain,” I said her name. She was not my enemy. She was the king’s daughter. “You have no cause to leave your father’s realm. You are free to come and go as you like.” I left the empty bowl where it was. Best not to frighten Eamon.
“And if I did, I would face banishment. Father would never forgive me.” She lingered outside the box stall. The brown pony raised its head and nickered.
I realized the horse knew her.
“Oh, I doubt it. You and Macha are the chosen ones.” I considered her words.
The king’s bastards would never succeed him. Queen Nuala did not recognize their existence, never gracing that court, preferring the grandeur of Knockma.
I recalled my visits there with trepidation. The hurling jamboree brought the four kingdoms together and lasted over seven days. The grueling tournament was exhausting—a culling of sorts. Finvarra sat upon his dais, surrounded by the kings and queens of the realm. Win or lose, he selected the strongest hurlers from the Ulster team, banishing the rest. Had they banished me, would they have set me free or sent me to another realm?
“Macha? With her nose stuck in a book all day. You’re kidding, right? She would never leave. I can’t believe we are related. I want to experience life. I want a man who bleeds. Not those pansy-ass creatures calling themselves men.” She loosed a breath and slipped into the pony’s stall, landing on its broad back in one easy leap, her nimble fingers twisting the pony’s mane into tiny braids.
