Page 161 of Cathmoir's Sons

“Earth, Air, Fire, Water, return, return, return. Mother of All, the seedling in the earth, the breath on the wind, the spark in the hearth, the tear in the ocean, return, return, return. Goddess of Light, Goddess of Dark, Goddess of Life, return, return, return. Mother of Mothers, hear our call. We seek justice for the wrongs Gwyn Ap Nudd has wrought.”

The moonlight sharpens until it blinds me. In the middle of our circle, a small figure coalesces from mist and the tatters of oak moss, crowned with the crescent moon, draped in a cloak of shifting, silvery light.

“What do you ask of me, my daughters?” she asks, her voice the midnight breeze.

“Justice,” I say.

“Vengeance,” Hraena says.

“Blood,” says Brangwy.

“Safety,” Kathu says.

“Peace,” says Didrane.

“The Oak King’s time is run,” the Mother answers. “He’s a husk, bound in his bark. Is it justice to kill him? Is it vengeance to burn his stump? Is it his blood you crave? Will his destruction give you safety? Will ending his reign give you peace?”

Didrane answers for all of us. “Yes, Mother.”

“What will you give for your justice, vengeance, blood, safety, and peace?”

“What do you ask of us, Mother?” I ask, with my heart in my throat. If it’s one of my consorts, if it’s one of their loved ones, if it’s the life growing within me, I’ll give up my vendetta. They’re worth more to me than my past.

“I ask what I ask from every living creature. That you move carefully through the world I’ve created. That you honor the life I’ve given you. That you give more than you take. Have you done those things, young crow?”

“Not always, Mother,” I admit. “I’ve been careless. I’ve been dishonorable. I’ve taken more than I’ve given. But I’m learning, Mother. The men I love are teaching me. They’re making me a better person. A better queen. And soon a mother myself. I promise to keep learning their lessons. Your lessons.”

“And to pass them on to the young you succor?” The Mother asks.

“Yes, Mother.”

Her cowled head dips. “That’s all I ask.” She turns to Didrane. “What of you, old crow? You’ve given me no young. But you’ve learned my lessons best of all. You know war rarely leadsto peace. Are you willing to risk the suffering your call will bring to this world?”

Didrane bows her head. “Do you ask me to bear young, Mother?”

“No. An unplowed field can bear as much fruit as a plowed one, if the right seed is scattered over it. Pass my lessons on. Teach your sisters. Teach their young. Use the peace you’ve asked for well.”

“Yes, Mother,” Didrane says.

“Red crow,” the Mother addresses Brangwy. “Few wars are bloodless. Will you bathe in your enemies’ blood?”

Brangwy bares her teeth, stained from the still oozing piercing through her lip. “I’ll drown in it if you let me.”

“No, child,” the Mother says gently. “It’s not your time. You still have lessons to learn.”

“Yes, Mother,” Brangwy snarls.

“Blue crow,” the Mother says to Kathu. “I’ve let you wake from your Cold Dreaming. I’ve given you back your wolves. Do you not feel safe?”

“No, Mother,” Kathu whispers, looking overwhelmed by the Mother’s attention. “Like Caileán, I’m breeding. I cannot sleep or eat for fear of what will happen to my young. What if the Mists rise again?”

“Then you and your child will sleep together,” the Mother says. “All mortals sleep, child. All mortals die. Even the oldest trees. Even the oldest crows. Fear will not make your child strong and happy. Let go of your fears, daughter. Find happiness with your consorts. Make your nest secure. Raise your young to find joy in the moment. A life lived joyously is a life well-spent, no matter how long or short.”

“Yes, Mother,” Kathu says, her voice a little stronger.

“Fierce crow,” the Mother says to Hraena. “You have been my talon among fae. You have felled the strongest and proudestof them. I stayed my hand when you unleashed the Black Empyrean who felled Ferran. I turned my face away from my children who huddled in Dominik Iron Hand’s shadow when you destroyed his court. Is that not enough?”

“Not while he who orchestrated my sister’s murder lives,” Hraena responds. “Not while his poison continues to spread throughout Faery.”

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