The crowd of Fae ended abruptly about twenty yards from Brighid's throne. It provided a nice little area for subjects to feel small and weak during their audience. It also provided some space, to either side, for some VIPs to sit and offer catty remarks or snide questions. To Brighid's right sat the Tuatha De Danann, and to her left sat representatives of the various Fae factions. also provided some space, to either side, for some VIPs to sit and offer catty remarks or snide questions. To Brighid's right sat the Tuatha De Danann, and to her left sat representatives of the various Fae factions.

A quick glance at the Tuatha De Danann showed me that nearly all of them were present. Manannan Mac Lir, wrapped in his cloak of mists, winked at me from underneath his bushy black eyebrows. His wife, Fand, sat next to him, small and delicate and ethereally beautiful in a white sheath with the same sort of knotwork designs Flidais had embroidered around the neck; since she was Flidais's daughter, perhaps it was a family thing. There was a liquid grace to her, even when she sat still.

Ogma was there, tall and tanned and sporting a shaven head these days, along with two large gold hoops in his ears. He wore a golden torc around his neck and a kilt-nothing more. He'd always been a bit vain about his six-pack. His expression was one of polite interest, but you got the feeling it was a facade for his indifference. Next to him sat Goibhniu, the master smith and brewer who had made cold iron amulets for the Morrigan, Granuaile, and Oberon. Unlike Ogma, Goibhniu was riveted by the spectacle of an old Druid approaching Brighid with his friends. He sat on the edge of his seat, grinning with anticipation, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together between them. Brighid was his mother, and he was therefore probably one of the few people who thought it was funny to watch her get worked up. His brothers, Creidhne and Luchta, lounged next to him, quietly exchanging words and not even paying attention to our passing.

There was another row of seats behind them, and a couple of these were empty. One seat was presumably for Flidais, and I noted that the Morrigan was conspicuously absent.

While most of the Tuatha De Danann had dressed modestly and with very little ornamentation, Brighid had gone out of her way to look like a model for a Frazetta painting. Conscious of how it set off her red hair, she wore a sheer green sleeve on her left arm, bound at the top of the biceps and at the wrist with a circlet of gold. She had a golden belly chain holding up another sheer cascade of cloth between her legs, but it highlighted rather than concealed what was there. Aside from these purely ornamental accoutrements, she was naked, the tattoos on her right side-among other bits-proudly on display. She also had two wolfhounds lying at her feet, their heads up and watching our approach closely. They were black hounds with glossy coats. modestly and with very little ornamentation, Brighid had gone out of her way to look like a model for a Frazetta painting. Conscious of how it set off her red hair, she wore a sheer green sleeve on her left arm, bound at the top of the biceps and at the wrist with a circlet of gold. She had a golden belly chain holding up another sheer cascade of cloth between her legs, but it highlighted rather than concealed what was there. Aside from these purely ornamental accoutrements, she was naked, the tattoos on her right side-among other bits-proudly on display. She also had two wolfhounds lying at her feet, their heads up and watching our approach closely. They were black hounds with glossy coats.

No commentary now, Oberon, I warned him. Remember, she can hear you Remember, she can hear you.

I received the mental equivalent of a grunt in reply.

The last time I'd seen Brighid, she was similarly provocative. She'd asked me to be her consort, I refused, and then she tried to kill me when she found out I'd had sex with the Morrigan. Fragarach had helped me out of that fix, but I didn't have that sword to get me out of this. Brighid's eyes flicked down to Moralltach, so I sheathed it before getting any closer, thinking that might be a tad more diplomatic than pointing it at her.

Flidais halted before the wee knoll on which Brighid's throne sat. It was made of iron she'd forged herself; originally a master of copper and bronze, Brighid had made a special point of becoming proficient in the magic-repelling metal when the Milesians had brought it to Ireland long ago. They thought they'd driven the Tuatha De Danann "underground," but in fact they'd driven them to create a plane of magic, and so the Milesians were indirectly responsible for the birth of the vast panoply of magical "little folk" that plagued and blessed them and their descendants for generations afterward. Brighid's throne was a palpable symbol of who exactly was master of the Fae. It occurred to me, for the first time, that my cold iron aura exactly was master of the Fae. It occurred to me, for the first time, that my cold iron aura here here, in her place of power, was a challenge in itself. I had visibly mastered iron to a degree that she had not. And I could move around and stuff. Her throne just sat there. But judging by the hardness in her eyes, that particular issue was far down on her list of bones to pick with me.

"Majesty," Flidais said. "The Druid Siodhachan O Suileabhain, as you requested."

A tiny nod of dismissal gave Flidais permission to take her seat amongst the rest of the Tuatha De Danann. I found myself wondering with mad distraction who Perun was currently staring at. Would he follow Flidais to her seat or fix his eyes on Brighid's bare breasts?

Brighid quirked an eyebrow at me, waiting to see how I would address her. It was the first of many challenges, I knew. If I called her Majesty, it would acknowledge her as my sovereign and establish her as someone who could order me about. Taking a knee would also signal submission, and I wasn't about to do either of those things. Instead, I bowed quickly and courteously and said, "You wished for an audience, Brighid." Conditioned by my years in the United States, I almost blurted out, "What can I do for you?" That would have been disastrous. Instead, I coughed once to cover my mistake and confined myself to stating the obvious: "I am here."

"You delve quickly to the heart of the matter," she sneered. The triple voice was gone; only the alto register remained. "I was told you died twelve years ago."

"Whoever told you must have been mistaken."

"The Morrigan is never mistaken about deaths."

"Did she specifically say that I was dead?"

"Yes."

"She used my name?"

"Yes. She said the Druid Atticus O'Sullivan lay chopped to pieces in the Arizona desert. This was corroborated by several thunder gods." to pieces in the Arizona desert. This was corroborated by several thunder gods."

"Begging your pardon, Brighid, but that is not my name."

Brighid's eyes narrowed. "So I have been intentionally duped."

I did not ask forgiveness. I stuck to the facts. "It was a necessary deception, liberally applied to all. I did not wish to be pursued by the aforementioned thunder gods forever."

"Why not simply slay them, as you did Thor?"

"I never slew Thor. That was someone else. And since I returned Fragarach, I thought that was sufficient payment for a harmless subterfuge."

Brighid darted her eyes over to Manannan Mac Lir, who shrugged, obviously confused.

"Say that again, Druid," the goddess said.

"I never slew Thor."

"No. What was that about Fragarach?"

"I returned it. Via the Morrigan."

Brighid's eyes widened in fury. "The Morrigan!" she spat. "You gave Fragarach into the keeping of the Morrigan?"

"She promised to return it to Manannan Mac Lir," I explained.

"I remember my promises well, Siodhachan," a raspy voice chuckled from my left. The Morrigan stood there, naked save for an iron amulet around her neck, skin like cream in porcelain and hair darker than a mine shaft. Her eyes glowed red as she stared at Brighid, Fragarach cocked over her head and her taut body ready for battle. "I never told you when when I would return it." I would return it."

"Catheide!" Brighid shouted, and she was suddenly transformed from barbarian princess to badass knight, covered from head to toe in magnificent armor she Brighid shouted, and she was suddenly transformed from barbarian princess to badass knight, covered from head to toe in magnificent armor she had made herself. It was one of the coolest bindings I'd ever seen. had made herself. It was one of the coolest bindings I'd ever seen.

I recognized the armor; she had made it specifically to counter Fragarach and be the immovable object to its unstoppable force. The armor came with a weapon: She hefted a massive bastard sword in her right hand and kindled a ball of flame in the gauntlet of her left, then set herself defensively on the hill next to her throne.

These two had hated each other for as long as I could remember, but I never thought they'd actually throw down. Maybe I just hoped it. But I never hoped I'd be in the way.

Chapter 4

A hush fell over the Court as the Morrigan and Brighid faced off. Perun could no longer contain his enthusiasm. After spending years as an eagle, within the past hour he'd been seriously flirted with, watched two goddesses appear starkers, then saw them prepare for battle. Joy in every syllable, he shouted, "Yes! I love Irish peoples!"

The Fae thought this funny and erupted in laughter behind us. The Tuatha De Danann, not so much-except the Morrigan. She chuckled and lowered Fragarach, but Brighid didn't budge.

"You may relax, Brighid," the Morrigan said, her red eyes cooling down to their normal dark brown. "I am not here for battle. I am here to fulfill a promise. You see that I have the Druid's sword. I've been holding it for a good while now." The tone of her voice made clear to everyone that she was enjoying the double entendre. The Morrigan's mouth twitched upward at the corners.

"The Druid is quite the swordsman. I'm sure you can imagine. Of course, imagining is all you'll ever be able to do."

I wanted to tell the Morrigan to shut up, but I didn't dare. She was dangerously close to revealing that she knew Brighid had offered herself to me. I'd promised Brighid never to tell anyone about it, but the Morrigan had guessed the truth. Brighid would probably not care about such distinctions if the Morrigan made it public now. She'd be humiliated in front of all Faerie and she'd want to char someone to a cinder as a result. about such distinctions if the Morrigan made it public now. She'd be humiliated in front of all Faerie and she'd want to char someone to a cinder as a result.

Brighid didn't move or say anything, and it was her best option. The Morrigan would hardly want to charge her when Brighid held the high ground; it didn't matter that the Morrigan was Chooser of the Slain-it wouldn't be fun. She'd be set on fire, for one thing. And taking a quick glance at the hill in the magical spectrum, I could see that said hill was warded extensively and prickling with defensive traps. You'd have to be insane to charge Brighid there, and the Morrigan wasn't; she was malevolent and petty and damn scary on a regular basis, but not insane.

She could see that Brighid was ignoring her gibes, so she resorted to outright mockery. "It's odd that a goddess of poetry should be at such a loss for words. Does this mean no one in the mortal world can remember their dirty limericks right now?"

"Return the sword as you promised and leave," Brighid said.

"There's an effort!" the Morrigan crowed. "You managed a line of pentameter." She rested the flat of the blade on top of her shoulder, holding it casually, the way a baseball player might while walking to the plate. With seeming indifference to Brighid, she strolled to her left toward Manannan Mac Lir. She knew Brighid wasn't going to move off her hill; she'd effectively trapped her there. If Brighid left, she'd surrender all her advantages in battle-and you needed every advantage you could get if you were going to cross swords with the Morrigan.

Manannan stood from his chair and waited, his hood up and his arms crossed underneath his cloak. The entire Court grew still and strained to hear whatever might be said, for Manannan did not speak often in public. The Morrigan paused in front of him and brought the blade down horizontally in her hands, holding it chest high in a clearly ritualistic way, reminiscent of the formal transfer of possession practiced in Japan. blade down horizontally in her hands, holding it chest high in a clearly ritualistic way, reminiscent of the formal transfer of possession practiced in Japan.

"Manannan Mac Lir, I am here to return Fragarach to you as I promised the Druid Siodhachan O Suileabhain I would. Its original scabbard was lost long ago. Will you accept it?"

"I will," he said, disappointing everyone who was hoping for some more drama. I thought the Morrigan would have had a few more shenanigans up her-well, not up her sleeve. She didn't have a stitch on. But then I flicked my gaze over to Brighid and realized what the Morrigan was doing. Brighid still stood as if she expected the Morrigan to charge her at any second. The Morrigan's sudden appearance with the sword had goaded her into a defensive position, but now that the Chooser of the Slain was behaving in a completely nonaggressive and even polite manner, Brighid looked as if she had overreacted at best and like a frightened coward at worst.

The Morrigan placed Fragarach gently into Manannan's outstretched hands and said, "It is done." Then, without a farewell or even a backward glance at Brighid, she morphed into her crow form and flew into the grove surrounding the Court. She'd followed Brighid's curt instructions precisely, and now Brighid looked ungracious on top of everything else. The ball of flame still glowed redly in her gauntleted hand, and all eyes swiveled to her and registered that she was ready to fight a nonexistent threat. Realizing this, she muttered a couple of words, and the armor and ball of flame disappeared. To Perun's great delight, she was once again clad-if one could call it that-in nothing but wispy, transparent gauze.

She was seriously annoyed, however. Her eyes blazed with a glowing blue light. "How long has she had Fragarach?" she growled. with a glowing blue light. "How long has she had Fragarach?" she growled.

"About twelve years, I suppose. But I thought she'd returned it."

"And what of the amulet?"

I shrugged. "I'm sure she's been working on it, but you could see as well as I that it's not finished yet."

"The point," Brighid said, her eyes cooling while her voice took on three notes of creepy, "is that it will be finished someday. And I would rather that day never arrive." The unspoken bit we both understood was that Brighid did not want the Morrigan to be immune to fireballs hurled by the goddess of fire, as I was.

The two black wolfhounds near the base of the hill had remained stationary and quiescent all through the Morrigan's visit; now they rose to their feet, bared their teeth, and growled. At me.

Hey, that's rude, Oberon said.

Stay silent for now, I told him.

"If you have naught but threats for me, Brighid, I will take my leave."

"You may leave when I allow it."

"We are none of your subjects, and you guaranteed us safe passage."

"True, but I did not specify how long it would take you to pass through."

I made a mental note to demand a fixed time period in any future negotiation with the Tuatha De Danann. Being duped twice by the same loophole in the space of a few minutes will drive a point home. Now you can growl Now you can growl, I told Oberon, and he did so with gusto.

"You and I had a conversation once, if you recall"-I raised my voice over the din of three growling hounds-"about the finer points of hospitality." She could take that one of two ways. She could remember that I had completely outmaneuvered her, take it as a warning that I had similar plans laid now, and calm down. Or she could listen to her pride, already wounded by the Morrigan, and flare up. The building blue glow in her eyes pointed toward the second option, and my heart dropped as I realized I'd have to kill somebody to get out of here. as a warning that I had similar plans laid now, and calm down. Or she could listen to her pride, already wounded by the Morrigan, and flare up. The building blue glow in her eyes pointed toward the second option, and my heart dropped as I realized I'd have to kill somebody to get out of here.

This is awesome, Oberon said. If I wasn't already involved, I would totally want a bag of popcorn right now.

Chapter 5

"BWAH-ha-ha!" someone laughed amongst the Tuatha De Danann. I darted a glance that way and saw everyone looking at Manannan Mac Lir, who had clapped a hand over his mouth. Flidais threw in a girlish titter, and then they all erupted-which gave everyone else permission to laugh as well, though they had no idea what they were laughing at. What had happened is that the Tuatha De Danann had "heard" Oberon's comment. My eyes slid back to Brighid, and her mouth was quirked upward on one side; as I watched, her hounds subsided and sat down. I told Oberon to lay off as well.

You might have just saved our bacon there, I added.

You brought bacon for us? Oberon asked, a hopeful note in his voice. And I saved it? I am the Savior of Bacon! Atticus, I want you to introduce me from now on as "Oberon, Savior of Bacon."

"Please explain, if you will," Brighid said in a much more cordial tone, "why you found it necessary to conceal your existence from me and the rest of the Tuatha De Danann."

"I needed some assurance that I would be undisturbed for a span of years, for I have been hard at work training an apprentice. You may remember her." I gestured over my shoulder. "Granuaile MacTiernan."

Brighid bestowed a nod of recognition, and I assumed Granuaile returned it. A murmur of appreciation rippled through the Tuatha De Danann. A new Druid would be most welcome.

"She is not yet bound to the earth," Brighid noted, seeing no tattoos on Granuaile's right arm.

"No, but she is ready. I was on my way to begin the process when we were interrupted."

"On your way where, if I may ask?"

"I was searching for an appropriate place in Arizona."

Brighid frowned. "You cannot bind a Druid to the earth in the New World."

That set me back on my heels a bit. "You can't?"

Brighid seemed as bemused as I was. "It may be done only in Europe. Only the Eurasian plate has agreed to participate in the ritual. I thought you knew this."

"No." I had never tried to bind an apprentice elsewhere-in truth, I had bound precious few apprentices to the earth in the first place. All three Druids of my "issue" were dead now. Two had been ambushed-or perhaps assassinated, shot in the back-and another had died in the civil war that resulted in the dissolution of the Carolingian Empire. I hadn't attempted to train anyone since the death of Cibran, my last apprentice, in 997. And so it was no wonder I had never discovered this particular proviso to a Druid's binding, but it made sense. All levels of the earth, from elementals to plates to Gaia herself, must be involved, and the plates were notoriously loath to get involved in anything but their own slow movements and ceaseless grating against one another.

Manannan spoke up. "Brighid, if I may interject?" She waved at him to continue, and he rose to address me. He commanded everyone's rapt attention. "I cannot speak for all, but I hope I speak for many of the Tuatha De Danann when I say we welcome Granuaile MacTiernan to Druidry, and I, for one, would like to see you train many more apprentices. Druidry has been neglected far too long on the mortal plane." Emphatic nods among the Tuatha De Danann supported his statement. to Druidry, and I, for one, would like to see you train many more apprentices. Druidry has been neglected far too long on the mortal plane." Emphatic nods among the Tuatha De Danann supported his statement.

"Thank you, Manannan, and all of you who agree," I said, and privately cursed myself for not taking note of who hadn't visually concurred. "If I could find such excellent apprentices as Granuaile, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to continue teaching. However, for me to accomplish this goal, I need to have a modicum of security. To that end, I humbly request that you keep my existence a secret, especially from the Olympians and the Norse."

Furtive glances warned me that I had made a troublesome request.

"If...that is possible?" I asked.

Flidais spoke up. "The Olympian Bacchus asked us to inform him if you ever showed your face here."

"Well, the Olympian Bacchus can go blow a goat." There was no love lost between us. I had called him a "petty god of grape and goblet" and derided him as a pale echo of Dionysus. All the Roman gods were; their worshippers had possessed so little imagination that they hadn't even moved them off Olympus. Two pantheons lived atop the same bald peak, albeit on different planes.

"Attempting to conceal it will strain our relationship with the Olympians," Brighid pointed out.

"Perhaps you do not have all the facts here. Bacchus does not want to know of my whereabouts so he can send me a skin of his best cabernet. He wants to kill me, nothing else. He has sworn to Jupiter that he will do so. You cannot strain our relationship any more than that. So do you want more Druids or not? If you do, then don't tell the immortal god of madness where to find me, and keep a close watch on your faeries."

"Regrettably, it may already be too late," Fand said, in a liquid sort of lilt that perfectly matched her appearance. "I'm quite sure many of the Fae have already spread word of your audience here. Word will circulate quickly that you are back from the dead. Bacchus will hear of it sooner or later." in a liquid sort of lilt that perfectly matched her appearance. "I'm quite sure many of the Fae have already spread word of your audience here. Word will circulate quickly that you are back from the dead. Bacchus will hear of it sooner or later."

Three kinds of cat shit, Oberon.

And an arrogant family of squirrels.