My jaw hardened as the stranger held his belly and threw his head back, as if I had done the funniest thing in the world.
“Belisama’s ilk.” He guessed, snapping his fingers and pointing at me. “You may call me Ruadán. It seems that I have been tasked as your guide.”
“Are you a god?” I asked. “One of the Tuatha Dé Danann?”
“Aren’t we all? I was once, I think.” Ruadán smiled wryly. “Though I don’t think you are. Not truly. One foot in the Aos Sí, and another in theMistéireach.”
“Do you know my mother?” Hope entered my voice, like a raindrop in the ocean.
He ignored my question. “Are you sure you want to walk this path, god-child?” He glanced at the compacted dirt as he began to walk. “There are less painful ones.”
My brow wrinkled, and I thought to myself for a moment. I didn’t know why, but something about the path feltright.
“I’m sure.” I nodded as I followed the strange man into the forest.
The light of the moon broke free from the canopy of branches above my head, as the scent of wood smoke and cooked meat filled my nostrils. The stranger sauntered through the undergrowth without making a sound.
We reached a break in the trees. Another clearing, but bathed in the orange light of a fire. Warmth washed over me, highlighting how cold I had been without even realizing it.
I glanced at Ruadán, but he was gone.
I froze, searching the shadows, but found nothing.
“Is someone there?” A frail voice drifted from the fire.
My heart leaped to my throat.
The clearing was no longer empty. A hut made of sturdy wood, and a log bench by the fireside. A teapot hung over the flames, on a hook. A female fae warmed her hands by the fire. Pointed ears and floor-length silver hair. A face free of wrinkles, and a cloak around her shoulders. She searched the clearing with milky eyes. When I shifted from one foot to the other, she found the source of the sound immediately—turning to face me.
“Did Ruadán bring a guest?” The blind woman asked, her voice as delicate as the wind in the trees.
I cleared my throat. “Hello.” My tongue tripped over the word.
Relief settled over her features. “Come, God-child. Sit. Have some tea.”
I studied the camp, waiting for some unknown instinct to tell me what to do. When I found no hint or unspoken sign, I walked over to the fire and sat on the end of the log.
“I can’t stay long,” I told her, rubbing my arms. “I have to get back.”
“Where?” She smiled, the fire reflected in her milky eyes. “To Manannán mac Lir? Or to the Aos Sí?”
“How do you know about that?” I frowned.
“TheMistéireachwhispers.” She nodded knowingly, waving the fragrant smoke in front of her face. “If you can’t remember, perhaps, sit a spell. The smoke has a way of revealing the truth.”
“What does the smoke tell you?” I wondered.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “That one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, a god banished long ago, has placed a mark on you.”
I reached up, rubbing the skin over my heart, though I didn’t know why.
She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Not that mark.” She placed her fingers to the column of her throat. “You’re all fragmented. A broken Silver, without a destination. There were places you were meant to go. Things to do, but it's all muddled.”
“Are you a soothsayer?” I asked.
The woman tittered a laugh to herself. “No.” She shook her head before finding a second wind of mirth. “But the Aos Sí has been written. The Fae have been born and remade more times than I can count.”
“What about the Tuatha Dé Danann?”
