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  Ciatlllait enjoyed wielding power, but she disliked getting her hands dirty. That remained Sylas’s job. The thought of Aowyn taking her own life pleased Ciatlllait. It pleased her very much.

  Love, the one thing protecting Aowyn, would ultimately be her downfall. For love made one weak.

  ***

  Ciatlllait was weak. Aowyn saw it clearly. Summer was drawing to a close, and the she-witch would soon be in her childbed. The war had drawn to a stalemate. Aowyn wondered how long Xander could hold his men together. She wondered how she could tell them that she needed them. She found a way one night when Xander expressed his frustration on the matter. Xander paced anxiously as Aowyn sat on a log by the fire, listening. Men left Xander to either make homes in town or find a way to sail home to the Twelve Kingdoms. If his ranks were sparse before, they were bare bones now.

  Aowyn got Xander’s attention after a long bout of venting and ranting when he mentioned Aodhagáin. He was angry that Aodhagáin had never shown his face on the battlefield. Had never even bothered to send him letters of diplomacy. The war had gone on too long without so much as acknowledgement from the king, and didn’t anyone find that strange?

  Aowyn placed her hands upon her head as if bearing a crown.

  Xander watched her curiously, still too vexed to unravel the sign.

  Aowyn sighed and did the only thing she could think of to get his attention. She pulled him near to her and kissed his throat. It caught Xander off guard. He stared at her and sank down beside her.

  Aowyn wrinkled her nose. Now that I have your attention…. She made the sign again.

  Xander sighed, perplexed.

  Aowyn continued making the sign until Xander figured it out.

  “King?”

  Aowyn nodded.

  “King Aodhagáin….”

  Aowyn braced her hands around her neck, crossed her eyes, and stuck her tongue out. Her head flopped to one side.

  “King Aodhagáin is dead... sick?”

  Aowyn made the sign more exaggerated.

  “King Aodhagáin is… dying?”

  Aowyn frowned sadly. She made the sign for crown, shook her head, and then touched her forehead.

  “He doesn’t know about the war.”

  Aowyn confirmed.

  “Then who has been fighting us all of this time? The other army bore his colors and the emblem of the sun.”

  Aowyn held up a finger. Hold your thought. She laid her hand on her heart, made the sign for king, and then pretended to cradle a baby.

  Xander’s eyes widened. “You are his child?”

  Aowyn confirmed and sighed.

  Slowly it dawned on Xander. “You’re… a… princess?” He leapt to his feet. “You’re the princess!” He sank down again and ran his hand through his hair.

  Aowyn gently turned his head to her. She used her hands to try to explain how she suspected Ciatlllait of killing Sulwen. How Ciatlllait had taken the throne. Aowyn suggested that Ciatlllait had terrible magical powers and waged the war.

  And now, Aowyn thought, desperately wishing he could hear her. Now I need your help ending it.

  Xander motioned to himself. “You need my men?”

  Aowyn chewed her lip.

  Xander wove his fingers with hers. “They’re yours.”

  Aowyn leaned her forehead against his. She inhaled deeply. Thank you.

  On the day the leaves began to fall on the Summer Isle, Aowyn bid her brothers goodbye. Initially they had protested, eager to be part of the fight. After some time, they all agreed that it was safer this way. Aowyn did not want them around for the oncoming battle.

  That night, Aowyn led Xander and his men to the castle. Xander had spent the time since their discussion preparing his men. Aowyn would go in alone at first while Xander’s men gradually took up positions behind and around her.

  Aowyn’s hand slipped from Xander’s. She retraced her steps the night her brothers had been cursed. Aowyn mentally recounted how many marks she had carved into the tree at An Cuan Áille. Six-hundred seemed right. She walked past the stone bench where her bard brother, Caoin Croí, had been innocently playing his lute to his misplaced love. She moved through the kitchen and remembered the pots clanging and the terrified honks of her newly-changed brothers. Then up the stairs and down the hall where they had bashed clumsily about with disorientation.

  Aowyn clenched her fists.

  The castle was unusually quiet.

  Aowyn marched to the throne room and waited at the center of it. She clutched the dagger at her waist. How could she get Ciatlllait’s attention if she could not speak? Aowyn shut her eyes to think. Instead, a flood of memories entered her mind of all the times Ciatlllait had wronged her. Not just her, but her father and brothers as well. Then her mind stilled as two voices came to her.

  Your love… Eagnaí suggested

  Your love is enough! Stór peeped.

  Aowyn’s eyes opened, bright with the fire within her. She squared her shoulders and clenched her jaw.

  The torches in the room silenced one by one from an unseen force.

  Aowyn held true in the center of the room.

  The sound of someone clapping slowly, bitingly, filled the room. “Very good, Aowyn.”

  Ciatlllait, clothed in a black dress, moved through the shadows like a knife.

  Aowyn clutched the hilt of her dagger more tightly.

  Ciatlllait circled her. “You know, I was beginning to wonder when you would show up. I was so worried about my little princess.”

  Aowyn ground her teeth.

  “What with your father so ill, I had grown lonely and have been yearning for some time alone with you. And now here you are...”

  Aowyn backed slowly toward the windows where only a night of stars could be seen.

  Ciatlllait advanced cattily. “…Alone.”

  Xander and his men began to emerge from the shadows. A pure light filled the room as a full moon climbed behind Aowyn.

  Ciatlllait reeled back as Sulwen’s voice filled the room. “My love is like the moon—shining and eternal. And as long as it rises in the sky, you shall never be alone.”

  Aowyn raised her chin defiantly, bathed in the fullness of moonlight. I am never alone!

  She drew her dagger and rushed at Ciatlllait.

  Xander and his men swarmed them.

  Ciatlllait’s eyes widened with horror. She could barely muster her magic fast enough. One soldier swung at her fiercely. Ciatlllait deflected the blow with a shock of green light. Another soldier charged toward her but got knocked back by a blue bolt. Ciatlllait looked around her wildly.

  Aowyn circled her, biding her time to strike.

  Xander and his soldiers would not give up the advance and kept coming at Ciatlllait with all the ferocity of a winter gale.

  Ciatlllait panted. She stumbled backwards, miscasting her spell. It bounced off of the rafters and rendered several men unconscious. Ciatlllait glanced up and snickered. She began throwing her bolts of blue and green toward the rafters. The soldiers yelped as they fell to their knees. Ciatlllait’s breath raced. She cackled with glee and raised both of her arms to cast two bolts simultaneously. But they fizzled.

  Ciatlllait stared at her hands and shook her head. She toiled to recast. The bolts eeked forth, no greater than blue and green static. Her chest heaved. “No.” She labored once more and now nothing came. “Oh, no.”

  Aowyn was riveted before her, dagger drawn. Oh, yes.

  Ciatlllait backed slowly toward the door. Her mouth opened and shut. “Aowyn. Dear, sweet Aowyn. You wouldn’t hurt a woman with child, would you?”

  Aowyn pressed the advance.

  Ciatlllait shook her head, her voice high and sweet. “Goodness flows through you, Aowyn. You shouldn’t do anything to diminish that.”

  Aowyn grabbed Ciatlllait by the collar and raised her dagger.

  Ciatlllait sank to her knees and clutched her belly. The dagger plunged toward her heart.

  Aowyn stumbled through a pl
ume of billowing black smoke as Ciatlllait vanished from her grip.

  BEALTAINE

  Aowyn coughed and sputtered in the black fumes. She waved her hand in front of her face to clear the air. A pile of ash lay at her feet.

  Xander rushed to Aowyn’s side. “Are you alright?”

  Aowyn stared at the ashes. Was Ciatlllait dead? Aowyn did not quite know what had happened, whether the dagger had found its mark and ended the witch, or if some darker tide had swept Ciatlllait away.

  Xander put his arm around Aowyn’s shoulders. “It is done.”

  Aowyn chewed her lip and examined her dagger. No blood. Well, would that heartless witch really have had any blood coursing through her, or was she so cold-blooded it had simply evaporated when she burst into ash?

  Xander turned Aowyn slowly to face his men.

  Those who were conscious took a knee and bowed their heads before her. “My queen.”

  One by one they followed suit.

  “My queen….”

  “….My queen….”

  “….My queen.”

  Aowyn’s mouth formed a soft O.

  Xander moved in front of her and dropped to one knee. He pressed a fist against his heart. He glistened with admiration. “We would follow you anywhere.”

  Aowyn’s hands trembled. She punched the dagger toward the ceiling.

  The men hurrahed.

  Aowyn thrust it upward once more.

  The men found their feet and echoed her motion. “Aowyn!”

  Aowyn repeated it over and over until they chanted her name. “A-o-wyn! A-o-wyn! A-o-wyn!”

  Xander beamed at her. “Long live the queen!”

  His men tilted their heads fervently. “May she ever reign in goodness and grace.”

  Aowyn sheathed the dagger. She offered her hand to Xander so that he might stand beside her.

  Xander kissed her hand and did so.

  Aowyn clutched his fingers and raised their hands above them for all of Xander’s men to see. They cheered again.

  Aowyn turned to Xander, knowing what she must do now. She pulled him to the royal quarters as the soldiers began caring for their fallen and wounded.

  Aowyn came to the chambers of the king and made her way inside. Soft light in the room glowed. Aowyn wondered where all of the servants got off to. She held tight to Xander’s hand until she found Maeb sitting in a chair in a dark corner near the king’s bed. Aowyn nearly jumped when it registered she had been hiding there.

  Maeb rushed to Aowyn and swept her into a hug, showering her with kisses. “Praise the Dagda you are safe!”

  Aowyn held her back a moment and glanced toward her father’s bed.

  Maeb led her over to Aodhagáin who stared at the moon outside.

  Maeb lifted his hand from his stomach and placed it in Aowyn’s. “My Liege, look who is here.”

  Aodhagáin slowly turned his head. His eyes still glazed over and milky. “Sulwen?”

  Aowyn sank beside him. No, Father. It’s me.

  Maeb brushed back a stray hair from Aodhagáin’s forehead. “It’s Aowyn.”

  Aodhagáin’s mouth opened and closed slowly as if trying to remember such a name. Tears welled as recognition dawned on him. “Wynnie? My little princess.”

  Aowyn kissed his withering hand and pressed it to her cheek. Aodhagáin had wasted away under Ciatlllait’s spell. His long, flowing hair grew nearly white now. His skin shriveled. Liverspots dotted his hands, and the veins and bones beneath them were knobby and visible. Aowyn fought back the urge to weep.

  Xander stepped closer, in awe of the king he was supposed to be fighting a war against.

  Aodhagáin’s gaze wandered to Xander’s face. “Aonwys a Stór? My, how you’ve grown.”

  Xander frowned. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, but no. I am Xander, Barwn of Blackthorn of the Twelve Kingdoms across the sea. I speak for your daughter.” Xander took a knee. “Aowyn wishes to take up the throne as Queen Regent under the direction of her glorious father. Would you allow it?”

  Aodhagáin appraised Aowyn. “Queen? But where are your brothers? Where is Áodhán an Choróin?”

  Maeb sniffled. “They are lost to us, Sire.”

  “Aodh Caoin Croí?” Aodhagáin asked. “Lorgaire Aodan?”

  “Gone,” said Maeb sadly. A tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Rógaire Aohearn and Aogán Eagnaí?”

  Maeb’s voice quaked. “All gone.”

  Aodhagáin glanced at Xander. “Are you sure you are not my Stór?”

  Xander shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  Aodhagáin returned his fading sight to Aowyn. His lip trembled. “You are all that is left?”

  Aowyn pressed her forehead to her father’s hand and choked back a sob. I swear to you I will restore our family and the crown.

  A tear slipped down Maeb’s cheek.

  Xander placed his hand on Aowyn’s shoulder and squeezed it.

  Aodhagáin’s voice was weak. “Why do you not ask for it yourself, Wyn? Why do you not speak?”

  The muscles in Xander’s jaw flexed. “Grant her regency, and your voice shall be hers.”

  Aodhagáin pulled on Aowyn’s hand to sit himself up. Maeb and Aowyn rushed in as he wobbled with dizzy disorientation. He touched his forehead and blinked. “The throne is no longer mine to give. It has been taken from me by another.”

  “Ciatlllait no longer has power here, Your Grace,” Xander assured. “Aowyn saw to that.”

  Maeb gasped.

  Xander continued. “Aowyn is worthy. Your faith will not be misplaced.”

  Aodhagáin looked between the three of them slowly. Finally his eyes rested on Aowyn whose head was bowed. He reached and lifted her face.

  Aowyn inhaled as her father’s trembling lips pressed against her forehead.

  “Rule well, my queen.”

  With her father’s approval and Xander at her side, Aowyn felt invincible. She knew with their guidance she could restore the Summer Isle. Peace would reign once more.

  On Aowyn’s sixteenth nameday, her brothers returned home. Aowyn made it known that these four swans were to be present for her coronation. When the day arrived, shortly before Bealtaine, the princes were well-guarded by Xander’s soldiers whom Aowyn had made members of her personal royal guard. Many guests attending the ceremony and feast gave the creatures strange glances, but the two black swans and two white ones focused only on Aowyn and kept quiet. If anyone posed a question, Xander intervened. Aowyn had made it known to him that she did not want questions asked. All would be revealed in due time.

  A strengthening Aodhagáin passed his crown on to Aowyn’s head. She had spent the winter months nursing back his strength and mind. Maeb had been instrumental in his healing. While he no longer behaved as a puppet on a string as he had when Ciatlllait was around, Aowyn continued to be concerned about the glaze upon his eyes. He did not seem old enough to share the same sight problems as the elderly subjects in the village. And why had her brothers not changed back? Aowyn thought if she eliminated Ciatlllait it might break the spell, and save Sylas the effort.

  When Xander caught Aowyn brooding at her own celebratory feast, she forced herself to put it from her mind. She must have faith that Sylas Mortas would fulfill his end of the bargain in another two-hundred or so moons.

  Aowyn sat upon the bank of An Cuan Áille while her brothers enjoyed the sunlight. Aowyn had encouraged them to live at the castle, but they suggested they were safer here and felt more at home.

  Aowyn leaned her elbows upon her knees and rubbed the back of her neck. Right now the Bealtaine field was being prepared. Xander had long since abandoned his camp, and the field had been reseeded with new grass.

  Aowyn contemplated how the past few months had been rich with birth and renewal within her family. A year ago she would not have thought herself a regent, ready or worthy to sit upon the throne. Yet she had been born into the position upon Ciatlllait’s fall. And Aodhagáin had renewed his years with that bir
th. Aowyn did not think it would have been possible otherwise. Bealtaine was a happy time for new beginnings.

  She hoped the preparations went smoothly. Tonight the castle’s fire would be lit with the fires forged at Bealtaine. The animals the isle depended upon for their wellbeing would be driven between the fires and blessed in hopes of their continued fruitfulness. There would be feasting and games around the Maypole. And greenwood marriages that would bring forth lucky Bealtaine babes nine months after.

  Aowyn leaned her head away and blushed. She scolded herself for being silly and reminded herself that she was a woman grown now and should behave as such. As presiding ruler, until Choróin could take his rightful place, she did not think she would be allowed to choose her own king.

  Aowyn chewed her lip as she thought of Xander.

  ***

  Xander crumpled the parchment and threw it into the fire. Come home it had said. Xander leaned back in his chair. This was his home now. His father, Rab, could not make him do anything anymore. The only way Xander would return to the Twelve Kingdoms is in chains. Everything he loved and wanted was right here on the Summer Isle. He had argued with Rab over it.

  You are a fool to think you will marry that princess.

  Xander slugged down a flagon of ale. Aowyn loved him… didn’t she?

  She is using you. I cannot believe you forfeited any hope of gain for a girl. She will keep you like a dog on a chain, bidding you to do her will and never giving any slack. Bannock might have been chosen as a husband for her, but not you, Xander Blacksteed. Come home. You have a wife.

  Xander chucked the flagon into the fire and watched it melt. He didn’t feel the way about Lady Glenna as he did for Aowyn. In fact, he’d never felt this way about anyone before. Aowyn was all that mattered.

  The muscles in Xander’s whiskered jaw flexed. He leaned forward in the chair, gazing into the fire. He thought of how much it reminded him of Aowyn. He didn’t want to go home. He needed to stay. He needed Aowyn. She brought his world into focus.