Page 29 of Queen Takes Blood
“Are you thirsty?” A woman asked.
Startled, I whirled around, looking down into a crack among the rocks. So deep in my heartache, I hadn’t heard her approach.Some Blood I am…
I closed my eyes, a sharp breath cutting through my lungs.I’m Blood no more. There’s no queen. No nest. No magic.
She laughed softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You look weary. A drink from this spring may heal what ails you.”
No mere mortal water would ever heal me but I didn’t have to be rude to this human. She meant well, despite not knowing what I was. Or at least what I used to be. I had a difficult time estimating a mortal’s age—they died so quickly—but she couldn’t be more than thirty years old. A blink of an eye. Her red hair was long enough that she’d wrapped the braids around her head in an intricate design. She wore simple loose pants and a linen shirt. Worker’s clothes. Though I caught the flash and glitter of beads and charms around her neck and wrists.
I climbed down from the upper rocks to where she squatted, filling up a leather flask. “It’s probably contaminated by the sea.”
Shaking her head, she smiled. “Even when the tide rolls in, the spring is strong enough that I’ve seen cattle drinking from it. The locals believe it’ll heal cholera and other illnesses.”
I filled my cupped palms from the cold pool and splashed my face, washing away some of the grime of old tears, smoke, and dirt. Then I wiped my face with the hem of my plaid and accepted a battered tin cup of water she offered.
“Drink,” she encouraged. “It’s best from the source.”
Sighing, I took a long drink of water and offered the cup back to her. “Thank you, miss.”
“Not miss, just Brigid.” She waved her hand in a “go on with you” gesture to finish the cup. “I’ve got some porridge on the stove at home. By the looks of you, you could use a good meal.”
I didn’t intend to fuel this body any longer. I had no queen who needed my blood ripe and pumping. What did it matter if I lost a few stone?
No queen would ever want a broken Blood from a dishonored and destroyed house.
“Not true, son of Morrigan.”
I recoiled a step, my hand immediately reaching over my shoulder to the sword strapped on my back.
The seemingly ordinary mortal woman stared at me—but beyond and through me as if I didn’t stand before her. Her blue eyes soft and unfocused, her voice echoed as if she spoke from a great distance. “Another queen will call your name. You must be ready.”
I tightened my fingers on the leather-wrapped hilt. “How do you know this? What are you, woman?”
She blinked several times and gave herself a little shake. Her face had paled enough that a sprinkling of freckles stood out on her cheeks like Gaia had brushed her with holy fingertips. Tears dripped down her cheeks.
I fell to my knees at the look of sorrow in her eyes. Sorrow for me.
“Och, the trees. You came from the grove. I’m so sorry, sir. I mourn them with you.”
I swallowed the cold lump of grief in my throat. “You know the grove? How?”
“Morrigan’s tree.” Lightly, she reached out and touched the brooch on my chest that held the plaid in place over my right shoulder. “I’m a druid. I’ll take you to my tree if you’d like. She would love to welcome you beneath her shade until your heart is eased.” She stood, holding her hand out to me. “Come, son of Morrigan. Let us soothe your soul until it’s your time to fly once more.”
Numbly, I took her hand and allowed her to lead where she chose.
After all, I had no other place to be.
15
NEVARRE
On my knees, my forehead pressed to rough bark, I wept for all that I had lost. The human, Brigid, witnessed my grief and shared my tears. Her small hand circled on my back while she sang a lament that wasn’t words as much as tone and melody accompanied by the gentle rattle of leaves and the scrape of limbs in the breeze.
Several hundred years old, the hoary oak had sent roots deep into the earth. The filigree of roots spread like sensitive antenna through the terrain, broadcasting and receiving messages. Every tree on the isle knew what had happened to the south. Across the land, trees were dropping leaves and going dormant early. There’d be few apples this fall. It’d be a lean year for the wildlife and people alike who depended on the trees for sustenance.
Especially the flocks of ravens that had always lived in our grove.
Many innocents would suffer. My throat tightened with shame. I had failed so many lives.
