Rhiannon helped Bee to her feet with Dorn clucking at them like an old hen. The air was still thick with the dust of the maelstrom, making the place gloomier than it was when they arrived. Bee stumbled and grabbed her mother’s forearm. Her breathing still came in ragged gasps and—if possible—she felt more tired than when Dagda woke her.

  Luchta claimed the tools and checked that the compass wasn’t damaged. Nodding his satisfaction, he slipped them out of sight. Bren remained where he’d fallen to his knees, unmoving, staring at the space where Dhuosnos’s apparition had been floating only moments before. A fine film of dust still covered her brother, making him look like one of the Undead.

  “No! No! No!” he groaned.

  A welcome change from whining, so, Bee thought, as her mother, one arm around her and the other hand on her belly, affectionately, guided her towards the tunnel. She wanted to wriggle free of the embrace but lacked the energy. Dorn was still clucking, and she could feel anger rising.

  “Why are ye helping?” she hissed at her mother. “I betrayed ye. I betrayed all of ye.”

  “I think it was we who betrayed you, Bechuille,” Rhiannon said. “If you had known what was at stake from the beginning, this scéal would have been recited differently.”

  So, why wasn’t I told? her mind screamed. But she knew why. Who would talk to their stones during a game of fidchell? No one. She’d been a piece in the game from the outset—a game being played by committee. The only unclear aspect was who led the players. Bee suspected it was the Mother Goddess—the play had been too subtle for Dagda—but it could have been any of them. Before the demon appeared, Credne said Morrigan played no part, but that didn’t mean it was true. Morrigan had been married to Dagda before Danu, so perhaps there was lingering jealousy there. The Realm needed a mother and a father. For some reason, the Silversmith had entered the Arena. Might a reason be that Credne and Morrigan plotted to throw down the regime, the God because he craved power, the Goddess because she craved revenge. Might the story of Lia Fáil being hidden under the Arena have drawn the God into the trap before the possessed Credne disguised as this mysterious Goddess used it to lure the mad druid there. Or, maybe, Myrddin’s Goddess was Morrigan from the outset. Credne banished to Tech Duinn didn’t change the simple fact that discontent was rife among the Higher Tuatha.

  And why not? Change was needed as far as Bee could tell. The old order had begun to stink worse than the damned Void. She was starting to see why Danu begrudged Dagda’s fixation with his Kingdoms. It was indicative of his waning interest in the Realm.

  Having a leader with more interest in themselves than their people ain’t good.

  As they started to climb the stairs, Bee looked up at the tunnel exit and was surprised to see the grey light of dawn. They had walked into the Arena’s tunnel not long after sunset. Had a whole night passed? It seemed incredible, but then who could really follow time when standing on the threshold of Tech Duinn?

  “What now?” she asked, as her mother helped her into a fresh winter’s dawn.

  “Luchta will cut a way into the Void. We will go to Danu and Dagda,” Rhiannon said. “They need to know what happened.”

  Standing with his hands on his hips, Dorn said, “I am going to Sliabh Cuilinn. I told Ruirech I would follow him there.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with that tóin,” Bren hissed, nodding at Bee. “My life is ruined because of her.”

  Bee shook her head and turned her back. She would have argued, but for once her brother was right. She’d ruined their lives. She didn’t care what Rhiannon, or Luchta, or Dorn said about it. She tried to send Credne to Tech Duinn with the tools that would deliver the planes to the demon horde, but she’d failed, so Dhuosnos stripped them of their power. A powerless witch would be as effective as a cauldron with a hole in it. And they would not be welcomed back home when the news spread, which it would.

  News always spreads. And bad news spreads faster than any other.

  She didn’t care about not being High Priestess anymore, but she did care about being ostracised by the Fae. Although she’d grown up in the Kingdoms, the realm was her home. Turning back, she saw Luchta had already cut a hole. As before, the ragged edges stirred in an unfelt breeze. She wondered briefly whether the stench was causing them to flutter like a door blanket.

  “What will you do?” Rhiannon asked Bren.

  “I will go with Dorn. He’s the only one shows me the respect I deserve.”

  “I am?” Dorn asked.

  “You know you are.”

  “Listen, Lad—”

  “I’m not a lad,” Bren whined. However, Dorn ignored him, as Bee would have.

  “—beyond collecting Ruirech from Sliabh Cuilinn, I have little idea what I will do. Except, I know I will be fighting a resurrection,” he mused.

  “I will fight with you.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve already decided, Dorn. There are no buts.”

  Dorn, not ready to play father to the hapless witch, continued to argue. Sick of listening to her brother’s whining, Bee all but ran through the rent Luchta had cut with his dagger. She regretted not saying goodbye to Dorn but couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Standing just inside the Void, Bee was surprised. For some reason, the stench seemed less this time. She waited patiently for the others to gather, then followed Luchta as he led the way. It seemed like no time before they were at the door. Stepping through the portal, Bee started when she saw Dagda and Danu waiting there with concerned expressions.

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  As soon as they were all in the room and Rhiannon told them that Bren refused to come, Dagda led them to the feast hall with a frown creasing his usually jovial face.

  Cheerful God me butt cheeks, Bee thought as she followed Dagda and Danu into the hall.

  Reaching the dais, Dagda sat on his throne and placed his fists in his lap. Danu stood beside him with a hand on his shoulder.

  “Tell us what happened from when you entered the portal,” Dagda said, waving at the shadows. Recognising the signal, servants brought chairs and a table, which they stacked with food and drink. “Do not leave any details out of the story, Bechuille. Assume we are dense pupils.”

  Easy assumption, so.

  The company pulled out chairs and sat. All except Bee, who stood between Rhiannon and Luchta with her arms crossed. Before she began, she drank a cup of mead in one pull. Bracing herself for the coming ordeal, which in some ways would be worse than those just gone, she put her hands behind her back and told a story she thought would be entered into the books. When she began, Bee spoke as dully as she could, determined to create the illusion of indifference. Despite the lack of inflexion, she told the story as well as she could remember, starting with the death of the Two-Swallow Maidens and ending with the whirlwind of dust when Dhuosnos stripped her of power. She tried to tell it all, but Rhiannon interjected on some points of detail that she’d missed or forgotten. By the end, like Dagda, she was sitting with her hands in her lap.

  “I still don’t understand why ye sent me,” she said after sitting silently for a while.

  “We needed to test you,” Danu said with a sympathetic smile. “Whitehead noticed a certain reluctance at the end of the last Scourge. She said you cringed when the Maidens killed a rogue—”

  “It wasn’t the rogue, but the cruelty. Besides, how did ye know Dhuosnos would try to escape?”

  “When the Bull’s Head roared, we knew something was in the air,” Dagda said. “It was a matter of watching. When Credne recruited Myrddin—”

  “Why didn’t ye stop him?” Bee interrupted. “Even if ye didn’t know about Marbh’s possession, as soon as ye knew about Myrddin, ye could’ve stopped him.”

  “We did not know who was orchestrating it until just now, when you described what happened in the Arena. We were lax, I admit, underestimating the effectiveness of a mad druid. But none of it would have changed how we acted. We needed the game to—”

  “That’s just it, so. To ye, it’s a game.”

  “I can assure you, Bechuille, it is no game, not even to us. We needed to know who was behind the theft of the tools.”

  “Ye knew about the dagger and compass?” she asked Dagda.

  “Not straight away. Danu told me after I sent you. When she asked Whitehead for Maidens to stop Bren—”

  “Why order Bren killed when ye’d already sent me?”

  “We decided Bren couldn’t be trusted. Simply that.”

  “What is it ye’re not saying? I’m hearing a lot of words but no answers.”

  “You were fulfilling your destiny, Bechuille.”

  “Fulfilling me what? How can any of this be me destiny?” she asked.

  “As my High Priestess—”

  “I’m not yer High Priestess, though, am I?” she interrupted. “No coven would follow a powerless witch.”

  “They will follow whoever I tell them to follow!” Dagda roared, causing Bee to shrink into herself. For all her recriminations, she recognised an angry Dagda as a serious threat.

  “Dhuosnos stripped me of my draíocht,” she said, just above a whisper.

  “It will be there, hidden,” Dagda said, as if his roaring of moments before hadn’t happened. “From Tech Duinn, Dhuosnos has no power in the Kingdoms other than the power of suggestion. He has beguiled you into believing him.”

  Aye, and done a good job, so.

  “You must be patient,” Danu said.

  “It’s not there,” Bee shouted, angry that they were refusing to listen. “There’s nothing but emptiness.”

  “Please believe me, Bechuille, when I say I know what you are feeling,” Dagda said.

  “How could ye. Ye sent me into an impossible situation. Ye lied to me.” Rhiannon leaned out of her chair and patted Bee’s forearm, making her want to lash out. Luchta had walked to the other end of the room. He was studying a boar’s head, leaning very close, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Besides, with your training, you can tap into Dhuosnos’s source.”

  “Dhuosnos has a source?” Bee asked.

  “How else do you think he can get the power to escape Tech Duinn?” Dagda asked, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice, missing her sarcasm. “I thought you knew.”

  Bee shrugged. She knew but was unwilling to continue playing the game. “Tell me about the brothers,” she said.

  “We trusted Dorn,” Danu replied, which brought a throat clearing from Dagda. “All right, I trusted Dorn. However, it was obvious one of the others was not to be trusted. There was always the question of how the thief knew where the tools were. In truth, we suspected Luchta—it was his set that was stolen—until Dorn found him in Breshlech protecting your brother, which unmasked the culprit.”

  “Another thing confusing me. Why did Credne implicate Morrigan?”

  Danu and Dagda shared a look, which Bee caught. It reminded her of Whitehead and Credne in the map room, a look that told her they were not taking her seriously.

  “We think he was playing with us because he could,” Danu said.

  “That’s nothing but more fidchell moves,” Bee scoffed. “Ye’re pushing me about yer board like an eejit.”

  “Why are you being so aggressive?” Danu asked.

  “Because ye sent me into the Kingdoms unprepared. Now, I’ve no draíocht and no hope.” And a brother who hates me, she didn’t add.

  “It will return,” Dagda repeated with the same nonchalance she’d been hearing since they arrived back in the Realm. Bee was sick of listening to it. Sick of their inability to see that an issue existed.

  “I think ye’re wrong. About all of it.”

  “I am never wrong,” Dagda said, this time his voice dangerously quiet.

  “And there it is, yer arrogance. I wondered how long ye could hide—”

  “Get out of my sight,” Dagda interrupted. “This whining self-pity is giving me a pain between my eyes.”

  Bee didn’t need to be asked twice. She stormed from the feast hall, her mind swirling with emotions. That the leaders of her people were so arrogant they couldn’t admit to fallibility didn’t come as a shock, was a shock in itself. During the last Scourge, she’d begun to doubt her position. Now, she was doubting the whole of her race. She didn’t want to be part of a people whose leaders considered themselves too good to be doubted, even with overriding evidence to the contrary.

  Reaching the portal room, Bee was surprised to find Luchta had followed.

  “What will you do now?” he asked.

  “I’m going back to the Kingdoms. This place suddenly has no appeal.” Luchta nodded but said nothing more.

  Bee set the portal glyph for the Cave of Cats, because she thought Tayvir’s portal too risky. She couldn’t go to Sliabh Cuilinn because she had no doubt Whitehead would enforce her exile. She was about to enter when Rhiannon came in. Taking her into her arms, her mother kissed her once on each cheek and said, “Remember your duty, My Child.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Dagda and Danu are wrong. This is a scéal not yet concluded.”

  Aye, that I already knew, so.