“Gods don’t change.” She reached for the long branch at her side and used it to pull the teapot from the hook. “No matter how much they might want to.”
“Sídhe don’t change much either,” I told her.
She barked a laugh. “I suppose it seems that way. Sometimes you have to walk backward to truly see.”
“Did Balor mark me?” I asked.
The woman searched the ground, muttering about cups. “Balor?” She repeated the name a few times. “I haven’t heard that name in an age.”
“Balor in the Aos Sí,” I told her.
She nodded approvingly. “You’re remembering.”
“Balor killed...Ah!” I cried out in pain, pressing the heel of my palm against my forehead.
“How did you die?” The woman asked, finding a cup by her foot. “Did Balor kill you?”
“No.” My brow creased. “The Kraken’s eye. Cormac reached for it. He...He reached for it...”
“And then?” She poured the tea and handed me the cup. The tea was sharp but not unpleasant.
“He turned to foam, and I went with him.”
“There is a moment when a soul moves through the ether.” She nodded approvingly. “It's a hole the size of a pinprick. You must have been mixed up nicely to have wormed your way through.”
“Whoareyou?” I squinted.
“You may call me Bríd.” She searched for another cup. “Balor has a weakness, you know.”
“They do?” I sat up straight.
“The gods called himthe Scorching Sun.” Bríd gestured for me to drink. “He could destroy any being, any stronghold with a single look from that horrid red eye of his. The sky turned white, and destruction followed.”
“We call him Balor of the Deep, in the Aos Sí,” I added. “I didn’t see his eye. Just... Holes.”
“Many years ago,” She rubbed her face. “Balor brought the Fomorians here, promising them a new home in the Tuatha Dé Danann. He wanted the throne and killed Nuada to do it.”
“Nuada...” I echoed.
The Siren Queen’s face floated before my eyes. Her endless black eyes and dark wings.
Bríd sighed. “We all make mistakes.”
“Killing the ruler of the Tuatha Dé Danann was a mistake?” I scoffed. “I’d say that’s too light a word.”
“The Battle of Mag Tuired raged for many years.” She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “But Balorwasdefeated. In the end. Too weak to do much of anything, except for haunting a cave for thousands of years.”
“How?” I asked incredulously. “If the whole pantheon of the Tuatha Dé Danann couldn’t defeat him, how am I going to? How is anyone in the Aos Sí going to?”
“Why do you want to defeat him?” Bríd posed the question, cradling the teapot as she examined its tarnished body. “Why not let him rule the Aos Sí? He’ll do less damage, I’m sure.”
My teeth gritted. The scars no longer sullied my body; death had wiped them clean and left unmarked skin behind. But that didn’t mean I didn’t still feel them. Burning under the surface. The harsh crack of the whip. The blood leaked into the water. The throne and its horrid magic.
“He hurt me.” I met her gaze. “He took my birthright. He poisoned the lake. He poisoned my home, and he hurt my—”
My... What?Whodid he hurt?
A sharp pain began to form behind my eye.
