Vices and Vixens: Exiles of Eire, #3

By Brie Tart

She will have her vengeance, even if it costs her everything.

Riona has risen to become the new High Queen of the Irish fae. Her greatest enemy, her uncle, falls before her at her mercy. She will finally have the retribution she craves after a lifetime of waiting.

She was happy once, a child raised in the fae wilds with her mother by her side. 

Then her uncle came and beheaded her mother, burned down her home, drove her into hiding.

She went to her brothers for aid. They only hunted her and everyone who gave her shelter.

So she turned to dark magic, and freed the fae's oldest foe.

But is all her power worth what she lost to gain it? 

 

Come join Maya, Daire, and Riona on their epic, twisting journey together to determine the ultimate fate of the ancient Irish fae, the Exiles of Eire.

*Also available to read on Royal Road under the title Exiles of Eire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brie Tart
• Release date: Mar 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393248484

Brie Tart

Brie Tart writes character driven fantasies (with a touch of romance) for teens and adults. Mythology and folklore have always inspired her work, and with every story she seeks to find the humanity in the monsters of legend. When not writing, she deciphers languages and makes her own adventures with her family: her jack-of all-trades husband and photogenic, fluffy cat.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

One man stood against the newly elected High Queen as her chariot crested the next hill.

Riona glared down at Aengus Mac Og as he pushed himself upright in the valley below. She tugged back on the reigns of her glamoured steeds, and they came to a halt. Three other chariots flanked her, each holding three of the five leaders on the reigning council of Tir Na Nog—the other two had rebelled. Midhe’s king had presently inserted himself between Riona and her coronation. Laigan’s queen, Brigid, fled in the distance with two others in tow, a blond Aos Si in green garb and a stout figure covered in purple.

The fine hairs of Riona’s neck stood on end when she realized who they were. She had to get them back. Daire’s power was vital to fulfilling her campaign promises, and Maya must have been taken against her will as a hostage.

Aengus swayed on his feet as he dared to draw his sword, a silver blade covered in enchantments that enabled it to slice through flesh and bone like taut satin. The man’s true strength lay in his ability as a magician. However, his power seemed utterly spent from how his shoulders rose and fell with his panting breaths. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. The bright sheen of his ostentatiously pastel attire had dulled. It would not take long for Riona to dispatch him and chase after her aunt.

She beckoned with her hand toward the chariot Uliad’s king occupied. His powerful father, Manannan Mac Lir, would lurk there too, hidden under a cloak of invisibility. The only magical practitioner who could rival Aengus was him. Hold his power in check, Riona ordered, but do not touch him. I shall fetch this traitor myself.

Storm clouds began to gather in the sky overhead. She tasted a briny tang on the breeze, evidence of Manannan’s oceanic magic at work. It stirred long repressed memories of when she could summon storms, and the currents of the winds told her so much more than mere smells. But she had sacrificed her girlhood connection to the elements to gain her power over iron long ago, all to take down the man standing before her one day.

Riona stepped from her chariot with her gown trailing behind her. The illusionary steeds pulling Tir Na Nog’s monarchs stayed quiet as she passed them, not anxiously pawing as real horses would when she was in such a mood. The chain bracelets hanging from her wrists lengthened with every stride she took down the hill. How many years had she waited for this confrontation? She had endured so much to make this opportunity happen, the neglect of her family, the slow cruelty of her former lover, the political machinations of the Aos Si elite. 

So what now, my sly tyrant? Aengus said, not advancing on Riona as she neared. He didn’t cast down his weapon either. Likely, in his state of weakness, he would try to combat her with his wits more than his might. Will you kill me the same way I ended Fuamnach? One swift chop and off with my head. Wouldn’t that be poetic?

The temptation to follow Aengus’ suggestion had crossed Riona’s mind more than once over the years. Something about him saying it aloud gave her pause. She examined his face, his clenched jaw, and the self-righteous superiority in his lavender eyes. He projected the confidence of a hero martyring himself for a greater good. Her stomach clenched with revulsion. If she killed him like this, she risked making him an inspirational figurehead for her opponents. No, she wanted him bowed low, as hopeless and alone as she had been when he struck down everything she held dear.

She whipped out one of her chains toward his sword. It wrapped around the gleaming silver and its spells. Her iron links ate away at the integrity of Aengus’ soft metal, his magic rotting under the chain’s toxic effect. The blade tarnished and cracked as if it had become its true age, growing brittle and weary with its centuries of existence.

She threw her other string of chains at his ankles. Aengus tried to skip away, but stumbled over himself as the links bound his feet together. The binding slinked around his knees, captured his arms, forced itself between his teeth like a gag. Smoke rose wherever the iron touched as it wore holes in his soft boots and flamboyant cloak. Gray lines spread across his skin and left red, blistering burns in their wake.

Riona took Aengus’ sword by its fragile, dull blade and forced it across her knee. The weapon splintered in half. She tossed the pieces aside like old scraps. She would do the same to Aengus, wearing him down until he lay as broken as his brand.

She threw her arm up, signaling to Mannanan wherever he skulked. Hold him secure in Tara’s dungeon until after the coronation. She turned around, addressing the gathered leaders of her court. Await me at the Stone of Destiny. When I return, the Aos Si shall begin a new golden age where humanity will know us once more!

Riona shrank to her fox shape and disappeared among the long grasses of the hills. She pursued toward where Brigid had stolen away with her half-brother and sweetheart. Aengus’ pained screams serenaded her as they faded into the distance. Her victory, her ultimate happiness, was almost assured. She let herself think back to her girlhood and reflected on how far she had come since then. While she was nearly a High Queen in the present, in her past, she had started as naught more than a titleless outcast raised in an isolated grove.

CHAPTER 1

Iflared my nostrils to get a better scent of the wind as I moved my soldier piece on the stump-turned-game-board in front of me. The point of that day’s lesson was simple but challenging: practice concentrating on multiple tasks at once.

Taking in what the wind told me was second nature, but not while playing fidchell against Mama. Tir Na Nog’s breeze rustled the hawthorn, rowan, and birch trees of our grove. Its power carried a tinge of foreboding moisture as it grazed my cheek. As for the fidchell, it was a game of strategy with simple aims. The attacker, which I played, had to capture the opponent’s high king piece. The defender, Mama’s role, had to move their king a space at a time from the middle of the board to one of its four corners.

Mama had put forward questions and whittled my force down while I followed her instruction of stretching my magical senses the furthest they could go. What is the key difference between Aos Si druids, like Bresal, and mortal ones in Eire?

Aos Si use their direct tie to nature to fuel their arts while mortals must depend solely on rituals and outside amplifiers. I paused as I examined where to place my next piece. She had so many traps, and her high king was only two spaces from victory.

Don’t keep your opponent waiting too long, Riona, else they’ll think they have an advantage, Mama said, interrupting my consideration. How would I cross into Eire if I wanted to commune with humans?

Using… I trailed off as I moved the piece at random. Perhaps blind luck would favor me.

Yes?

Using magical portals like those found in mushroom rings or tree hollows.

Correct, but you’re as easily distracted while you play as my old friend, Bres. Whenever he and I bet something on the outcome of our game, all it would take for me to win was calling over his wife to watch, Mama chided in her sweet but stern teaching voice as she advanced her own soldier to counter my move.

Often I wished I’d inherited more from my mother than her crimson hair and affinity for weather magic. The sun’s rays breaking through the canopy dappled her elegant soft blue gown and beige features with warmth. The added light only made my plain dress and paler complexion seem sickly by comparison. Her longer figure showcased an Aos Si’s innate grace while my lean, athletic build was better for running and climbing. She effortlessly excelled in the arts of a noble lady, and I always struggled to do better.

Do you remember who they are, Bres and his wife? she said, breaking me from my wandering thoughts.

Bres, as in the half-Fomor Bres the Betrayer, I recited, former High King of the Aos Si—

We were called the Tuatha De Dannan before humans drove us into Tir Na Nog.

—of the Tuatha De Dannan who started the final Fomor war alongside Balor of the Evil Eye in order to win back his throne. He was poisoned to death by the hero, Lugh of the Long Arm.

I never forgave Lugh for what he did to poor Bres. The way that ‘hero’ died still tickles me. His boorish personality had driven his wife to take a secret lover. Upon finding out, Lugh killed him. Then said lover’s sons drowned him in a river. Very fitting. Mama rewarded my answer with a pleased smile before she continued. And his wife?

She is… I fumbled my next piece forward as the foul feeling on the air tugged at me. What was it? And who was Bres’ wife again? I should know this. Um…

Brigid the Bright, queen over Laigian, my girlhood confidante, and Midir’s sister. And how does that make her related to you?

Midir is my father’s name. That would make Brigid my aunt?

Careful not to sound so unsure when you are correct about something. Mama maneuvered another of her soldiers to flank the one I had just moved. She easily captured it from the board. Do you sense something, little cub?

A disturbing wetness. I licked my lips, tasting the air. My closer sampling only revealed rain clouds, so why had it seemed so ominous? A coming storm?

Ah, I feel it now. It seems like that, but it’s tainted. Mama brought her thin red eyebrows together. Her airy white irises became tinged with gray. They only turned that shade when she read ill omens in her divinations. I hoped she wouldn’t make me glamour to my fox shape and stay in our den for the coming days. Bad signs made her so stiflingly protective, but nothing ever came of them. It feels like a druid or magician’s work.

Perhaps Bresal is performing a rite he forgot to tell us about. I inhaled deeper, but couldn’t feel the same tang of magic she did. Bresal, the grove’s guardian and keeper, was a druid whose work I had trouble sensing sometimes. Though, I couldn’t think of a seasonal solstice, equinox, or other minor holiday that called for one of his ceremonies. And he only cast protective wards after Mama’s patrols—ever since I could remember, they both had been wary of a threat they refused to name.

An owl’s hooting sounded over our heads. I couldn’t tell what it said since the language of winged creatures had always escaped me. Yet why would it be out flying with the sun shining? Perhaps it wasn’t a natural owl, but Bresal transformed into his favored animal shape.

The hooting abruptly stopped. Something careened from the sky overhead, piercing the grove’s canopy and landing on our game board. A mess of charred feathers and roasted fowl lay before my eyes with a rounded head and a sharp, deadly beak. I knew the broiled corpse of that owl. Bresal.

Bile built in my stomach. A scream bubbled in the back of my throat.

Mama clapped her hand over my mouth.

I whimpered as I looked up at her, the new fear in my heart surely showing in my eyes. What should we do? Who took our guardian from us?

Mama slowly took her hand away. Her gown melded with her tawny skin as she shrank, and her vibrant red hair covered her body in fur. She became the familiar pointy-eared vixen who taught me how to hunt small creatures that scurried along the forest’s floor.

She tilted her black nose up at me, signaling me to copy her.

I imagined becoming my own smaller form with its brown paws, white belly, and fur of an even deeper crimson shade than Mama’s. When next I gazed upon her, my fox shape’s predator vision picked out the finer details of the forest’s underbrush so much better.

Head for the burrow like we practiced, Mama projected to my mind. I will call you out when it is safe.

Slinking away among the bushes and roots nearby, I dampened my aura until I would seem as mundane as any other creature who scampered among the grove. When I was younger this routine had been a game to see how quickly I could escape while staying hidden. But this time, Mama wouldn’t be there waiting for me at our burrow.

A twinge in my chest made me stop in a hollow under a nearby oak. Bresal’s shriveled owl shape flashed through my mind. Mama’s aura had disappeared as well, and her scent came from further upwind. I couldn’t leave her behind. I had to know she was safe.

I crept out of my hiding place and snuck from shrub to shrub back to where I left her. What if the threat was too much for her alone? Surely if Bresal couldn’t defeat the menace with all of his ancient knowledge, Mama would struggle. I could lend her my power, and we’d flee to the burrow together.

A strange pair of boots landed upon the forest floor an arm’s-length from my nose. The masculine-garbed figure who wore them navigated the underbrush without making a sound, stepping between scattered twigs and leaves. He was as fair as his head of whimsical curls, and had a slight, lean physique that became obscured in his lavender cloak as he passed by me. A brazen power radiated off of him and pressed against the winds that ruled the grove. The ill feeling from the coming storm I’d sensed hit me a hundred times stronger than before.

It had been him all along.

Terror rooted me to the spot. Stay small and quiet, my scavenger’s instincts told me.

Fuamnach, show yourself! the stranger called, using Mama’s given name as he stalked forward. His cloak swished aside as he turned. A long sheath and jeweled silver hilt hung from his belt, like a larger version of Mama’s eating dagger. A sword. Mama had told me about those weapons, used for slicing through enemies rather than food. Your druid cannot hide you anymore. I made sure of it.

I flattened my ears against my head, trying to soften the boom of his voice. He must not sense Mama nearby, or else he wouldn’t broadcast himself so loud. But what about me? I shrank further into my bush and held my breath, every hair of my fur standing on end.

You remember me, don’t you? Aengus Mac Og, your least favorite marriage-brother you helped raise. The man turned around, his back toward me again. He had called himself Mama’s marriage-brother, which meant he was the blood brother of my father, my uncle. Did you know I was the one who delivered Midir’s new wife to him, in whose domain they fell in love and wed while you wallowed?

Silence answered his taunts. Mama always went quietest when something made her angry. She used her energy to sharpen her focus and study her situation first. Like a successful hunt, she would scold when my temper erupted like my sire’s supposedly did, you wait for the opportune moment, then act.

Afraid you cannot best me, witch? Aengus Mac Og asked the empty trees. Do you tremble now that you must face someone mightier than a helpless insect?

The wind shifted direction. I couldn’t even smell Mama anymore. Had she escaped to the burrow by a different route?

I laid with my belly flush against the grass. My small body trembled, but I resumed my slow, silent breaths. Hiding was simple. Stay still, don’t make a sound, and no one will find you.

Aengus Mac Og stepped