Soul of a Rose: Clash of Goddesses, #2

By S.D. Huston

A quest through the underworld. The rumblings of greater threats. An unfathomable choice.

When Rose last attempted to help someone, she was cursed, kidnapped, and nearly killed. In the safety of their home, at last, Rose and Lily attempt to recover from their grief when Quintus arrives asking for their help.

Against her judgment, Rose agrees to aid Lily's love to search for a way to turn Quintus's brother back into a man. Only moments pass before the goddess Artemis appears, demanding Agathon so she may avenge the cuckold, Zeus.

The skirmish results in a devastating loss for Rose. Only a higher power stops her from making a grievous mistake. At the bidding of the Morrígan, Rose journeys to Tech Duinn, the Otherworld realm, to beg a favor from Donn, the God of the Dead. The way to Donn's fortress is rife with unimaginable dangers. One wrong move, and Rose will lose her soul forever.

An intriguing blend of adventure, romance, and myth, Soul of a Rose will alight primal magic with the heart readers. Embark on a journey where imaginations know no bounds. Delve into the worlds of gods, goddesses, and more. The second book in the Clash of Goddesses series will leave you breathlessly awaiting the next book.

Soul of a Rose is book #2 in the Clash of Goddesses series:
Book #1: Blood of the Lily
Book #2: Soul of a Rose
Book #3: Tears of the Marigold

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.D. Huston
• Release date: Jan 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737429838

S.D. Huston

S.D. Huston grew up in several places across the United States, but now lives in Florida’s panhandle with her husband, her youngest son who is autistic, four cats, and one special Siberian Husky. Her oldest son is off serving the country in the U.S. Army. She’s always had a love for the written word, asking for her first typewriter when she was nine years old (yes, a typewriter!). However, her multiple career paths meandered through seven years in the military, then working in administration, before completing her masters in Writing. She spent the next seven years teaching college English and Literature while also running her own business as a Writing Coach, helping students and writers all over the world. Today she concentrates solely on her writing career and her family:  human, furry, and faery! S.D. Huston loves connecting with fans! Find her on her website (https://sdhuston.com) or YouTube (https://bit.ly/346WVpf).

Book preview

Preface

Some of the stories and tales in this book are based on ancient narratives from various translations of the Lebor Gabála Érenn ( The Book of Invasions ) and the Forbais Dromma Damgaire ( The Siege of Knocklong ).

The Lebor Gabála Érenn has a variety of versions but it is a collection of poems and prose narratives in the Irish language intended to be a history of Ireland and the Irish from the creation of the world to the Middle Ages. Today it is regarded as myth rather than history. The Forbais Dromma Damgaire is a text about the legendary invasion of Munster by Cormac mac Airt.

This book is a work of fiction and some liberties have been taken with the translated texts such as providing motivations and reactions nonexistent in the original stories. Additionally, some place names used in this novel appear in Irish history or are known today, while others are completely fictious.

A glossary with approximate Irish pronunciations has been provided at the end of this book.

Chapter 1

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Under a warm sun a lush, green field swept through the valley between sloping hills. Normally, white dots of grazing sheep and lyrical music on the wind pacified the Morrígan’s soul. But today, she surveyed the battle from the top of a hill. A metal clamor rose above dying screams and monster roars. Her heart pounded.

This was supposed to be Tír na nÓg, the Land of Youth, an island paradise and other realm of everlasting youth, beauty, and health, but her people were dying, and it frightened her.

Nothing had ever frightened her before. How would they survive?

At the far edge of the emerald plain, a gray wall of mist hung like a curtain, obscuring anything beyond. Jagged flashes of black light pulsed like lightning, yet quietness followed the light show instead of thunder in a storm, until a new monster emerged, expelled at random intervals. The Tuatha Dé Danann, a magical race and ancient tribe of Éire, charged the gruesome creatures as each one stepped into their normally peaceful world. Yet they were careful not to touch the wall of mist—certain death followed.

We had eradicated these beasts centuries ago. The high-pitched voice belonged to a faery woman, no larger than a hand-span. She flittered gossamer wings around the Morrígan, her tiny face scrunched in anxiety and pain. Miniature drops of tears slipped down her pale cheeks. And the mists moved last night, taking more of the land.

Mórrígan glanced at Plor, remembering a time when the faery had been one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, a tall goddess, fair-haired and kind. Now some unknown magic crept through the lands of the Otherworld, changing the peoples of the ancient tribe indiscriminately. How far did it move this time?

A round of new tears shimmered in the faery’s light-colored eyes. It jumped nearly several hundred paces in a single breath. It swallowed many of our warriors and… She scrubbed her red-splotched cheeks. It took my brother.

The Morrígan drew in a deep breath, surveying the strange, ominous magic, willing her stomach to stop quivering. The chaos of the world-eating mists wreaked worse than just a few months ago. Her fears from last year manifested before her. An imminent war threatened if she failed to turn its tide. Feeling the faery’s gaze, she responded. Which brother?

The faery fluttered closer to her. Her voice came out small. Fionn.

The Morrígan barely nodded before a new grunt thundered above the sounds of the fighting men and women. The ground shook. In rising anger, the Morrígan clenched her fists and narrowed her eyes on the mists. Now what?

A giant, at least twenty feet high, stepped out of the gray wall, swinging great fists at anyone who dared approach. A single eye in his forehead blinked at the bright sun.

Plor cried out in her small, silvery voice, hands over her ears. It’s been almost a thousand years since we last saw a cyclops.

The Tuatha Dé Danann warriors surged toward this new threat. Atop a white and gray dappled horse, one man led the charge. A standard bearer stayed close on his mount’s heels, carrying the Donn Nimhe banner, the Dark Deadly One. Around the leader’s reddish-brown hair, a gold crown gleamed, marking him as Oisín, the king of this land.

The Morrígan frowned and hissed. Fools.

She turned her study to the faery woman, whose agony seemingly increased, her eyes tearing at the sight of the king.

No, Father!

The Morrígan huffed. Why haven’t you fled to new lands?

Zipping back and forth on the hilltop, Plor bit the tips of her fingers. Her father swiped a great sword at the back of the cyclops’s ankles, severing tendons. The giant fell with a howl. Several warriors rushed forward to strike the cyclops.

Plor released a long-held breath before stopping in front of Mórrígan, her brows drawn tight. Some have left. Many have taken residence in the Sídhe hills of Éire, because the mists are forming in the other lands.

Great mother goddess, no—not the other lands.

If Mórrígan couldn’t stop the destruction, the Tuatha Dé Danann wouldn’t have any choice but to join the mortal realm. Sweeping her midnight hair back, she paced across the hilltop. She watched the faery from the corner of her eye. What about you?

In some ways, it might be better if Plor were to die. Mórrígan hoped she never had to reveal her secrets and explain the choices she’d made. The tiny faery and her parents wouldn’t condone what she’d done. At the same time, she wanted to keep her people safe. Her prophetic visions put her in a unique position to do so.

Plor clasped hands over her heart. My parents won’t leave. They must fight for the land where our people have lived for hundreds of years since losing to the Milesians in Éire.

You will die if you stay.

Plor fluttered in front of the Morrígan, her hands held up. Please, tell me about the girls? I’ve tried to visit, but I didn’t want to stay away too long. Her tiny eyes pleaded. The Morrígan winced as she halted. You have told me so little since Marigold. The faery landed on her shoulder. Before something worse happens here, tell me something, anything about Rose and Lily?

The Morrígan shrugged, pacing once more, and Plor took flight again. The girls are fine. There were more important things for the small woman to worry about, like her own life. In my visions, I have seen the disintegration of the Tuatha Dé Danann lands and it’s already begun. All of you should think about migrating to Éire.

But we will be vulnerable to aging and death.

The Morrígan shook her head. Aging—and death from aging—yes. The Otherworld revitalized them and kept them young but made none of them impervious to death. Violence caused death here as in Éire, the land of mortals. But Plor meant a death by other means, like disease and starvation, things her people didn’t experience in the Otherworld.

The faery wrapped her arms around her slight body, shivering. It doesn’t matter. Some will not listen, even as many of us turn into this.

The Morrígan still hadn’t figured out what had caused Plor’s change and many others like her. Her visions hadn’t been truly clear beyond the destruction of the Otherworld lands, gobbled into obscurity by the gray mists. She discerned no clue to why some Tuatha Dé Danann across the realms changed in nature.

Needing more information, she descended the hill, heading toward the gray mist. The faery woman darted after her. Don’t go to it. We never know when it will move or how far. Even now we are too close.

The Morrígan gazed at her, this tiny faery, this diminished goddess, and responded with a tight-lipped order. Don’t follow.

Holding her hands up, she continued her descent, murmuring low, calling on the winds. They came with a rumble, sweeping the land ahead of her and smacking into any of the creatures who spied her. Those who rushed toward her spun back and crashed to the ground. Whirlwinds circled out from her, clearing her path. The beasts from the mists ran away to find easier prey.

Dropping her arms, Mórrígan allowed the winds to die.

She didn’t look back at Plor. Instead, she deviated toward a small stand of oak trees to the east, which partly disappeared into the gray wall of mist. After finding a circle of oaks with their strong and knotty branches creating asymmetrical crowns, she grasped a fallen acorn and closed her hands over it with a quick incantation that dried the nut. She cracked the shell and popped the seed into her mouth. Chewing the tough acorn, without swallowing, she closed her eyes and angled her head back. She raised her arms, palms up to the sky, feeling the life forces of earth, air, and water, and drew in a deep, slow breath. She held it for five heartbeats, then released her air ever so slowly. Her mind focused on each inhalation, stop, and exhalation, her mind clearing.

She called for the Imbas Forosnaí, her gift of illuminated inspiration. Then the vision came.

She opened her eyes to a changing landscape. Trees melted into the ground. Mists rolled along the earth, covering emerald plains, devouring everything. The sun blotted out.

Blood from a massacre. Magic. Brown sheep with impenetrable skins of horn, heads of bone, and iron beaks reeking of poisonous vapor. Hundreds of men dying. With these men, the Tuatha Dé Danann disappeared, replaced by the One God. Teachers and priests sweeping through the lands of Éire, changing history with a sanitized version.

She scowled. One face swam above the others. A leader of men. The Ard-Rí, the High King of Éire. Cormac mac Airt.

Then the visions melded into the surrounding landscape of Tír na nÓg, the sounds of battle around her. Even feeling exhausted, as if she’d been running the whole day, she rounded her shoulders back.

She knew what she needed to do next.

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Chapter 2

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W e need your help. Quintus’s harsh accent marked him unmistakably foreign, a Greek man standing in the middle of An Caorthann Coill , the Rowan Woods.

A smattering of spring sun peeked through rowanberry trees, slanting across a well-worn forest path, highlighting the brown eagle sitting on the Greek’s shoulder. Standing next to her sister and hound, not more than twenty paces from Quintus, Rose swallowed hard with a queasy stomach. What can we offer if your gods have failed you?

Failinis, a parti-colored greyhound, growled at hearing Rose’s tone and brushed against her leg.

If Agathon, Quintus’s brother, was still an eagle, then the mission to see the Greek god Zeus had been unsuccessful. What could two mortals like her and her sister, Lily, possibly do?

Lily threw her a dirty look, green eyes narrowed in warning.

We’ve had trouble. Quintus took several strides to close the gap between them on the trail, hesitating only a moment when Failinis bared his teeth. Just barely taller than Rose’s and Lily’s six-foot height, the Greek was darker skinned than the most tanned person in their settlement. Short, black hair framed his face. He stretched out a hand to the hound, letting him sniff.

Rose remembered now that Failinis had traveled with Quintus when he’d been a bear last year. Failinis woofed in recognition and sat on the trail.

With a small chirp, Agathon lifted from his brother’s shoulder and perched on a branch near Rose. He turned his head, showing her his golden nape. From one side of his face, a shiny eye studied her, and then he bombarded her with mental images.

Picture after picture flickered in her mind, images only she could understand. Both she and her sister had a tíolacadh, a gift. While Lily could speak with land animals, Rose communicated with sky animals.

Rose rubbed her temple. Slow down, Agathon! The eagle dipped his head. Seems like you’ve had quite the adventure, but I don’t know what you think we could do.

Without the eagle holding onto his shoulder, Quintus had opened his arms to Lily, and the two shared a kiss. Slow heat flushed Rose’s skin, and she ground her teeth. He’d been gone for months. How could he think that Lily would want his attentions now? But even as she thought it, something else fueled Rose’s rising anger. Lily’s feelings about the man were clear, but what if Quintus hurt her, damaging her further?

No one could be trusted anymore.

Rose could not lose the one person left in the world she could unconditionally trust and love. The one person who would not betray her. Not like Ana, or whatever she called herself now.

Rose? Quintus’s voice cleared the heated spots dancing in her eyes when he looked beyond her sister to her. It’s good to see you are well.

She lifted her chin. We were fine before you showed up.

Lily stepped away from Quintus, her smile faltering. Although Lily was no longer a self-imposed mute as she had been after their sister, Marigold, had drowned last year, she remained quieter than she had been before the tragic accident. She spoke with a hoarse voice. Are you upset?

Stamping her foot, Rose thrust a hand toward the Greek man. How do you know he is worthy of your loyalty? He’ll ruin everything. She crossed her arms. Failinis whined. Our home was just settling into a normal routine. A normal without our sister, a normal without the devious Ana or Mórrígan or whoever she wants to be. We don’t need this interference in our lives.

Lily turned a palm up. Should we deny them help?

Yes!

Pursing her lips, Rose studied the Greek warrior. Once, she had thought him handsome, but he hardly compared to Rose’s constant companion, Lugh, the Sun God. Failinis actually belonged to Lugh. We would be better off not getting involved.

There was a time when Rose would have helped anyone in need, but she’d learned better.

From his branch, Agathon bowed and brushed his beak through her mass of red curls. She tilted her head away, giving him a scathing look.

Quintus’s dark brow lowered, his eyes tightened, but Lily placed a hand on his chest. Tell us what happened.

The Greek exhaled. You’d think Zeus would be upset with his wife for turning her lover into an eagle and then chasing him across several continents. Instead, he wanted to kill Agathon for having an affair with her.

Several months ago, Quintus had left on a mission to approach Zeus, the King of the Greek gods. In exchange for Lugh’s Goblet of Truth, a magical artifact, he asked for the return of his brother, who had been turned into an eagle by Hera. Hera and Agathon, Quintus’s brother, had been having a love affair until Agathon had learned Hera was married—married to the most powerful god in the Greek world.

Lily nodded, as if she’d expected no better outcome. But you escaped.

Luck. His brown hand touched the layered mantle over his shoulders. The Cloak of Invisibility hid us, but Zeus sent his daughter. We’ve eluded Artemis so far, but I don’t know where else to go. And… He tucked Lily’s white-blonde hair behind an ear, his thumb caressing her cheek. I couldn’t wait to see you again.

Rose sucked in a quick breath, holding back anger. It felt as though someone had punched her in the chest. She didn’t want to lose Lily. With deft motions all too familiar to her, she untied the animal skin at her hip and gulped ale as if she’d gone days without drinking anything. The welcoming sensation of alcohol seared her throat.

After giving Rose a curious look, Lily twined her fingers with Quintus’s. Her voice was low when she spoke. She steered him toward their home ráth, their ringfort. I will help you in any way I can.

If Lily meant to help, then Rose would follow, but she wouldn’t like it. She took another large swig before closing the waterskin and following the pair, Failinis bounding beside her. The alcohol brought warmth to her cheeks. Then she remembered something. What about Hera?

Lily jerked, wincing.

Last year, Lily had made an oath to bring Agathon the eagle to Hera in exchange for the goddess’s help to open a portal to the Otherworld. Lily had gone to the Otherworld to rescue Rose from Lugh, who had been a nasty and ill-tempered leprechaun at the time. Rose would have promised the same thing to save her sister.

Neither of them would have ever turned the eagle over to the goddess. Neither believed in forcing an unwanted union, and Agathon was keen to get away from her. When Hera had sought them out after they’d returned from the Otherworld, they convinced the goddess that the eagle had not been found. Hera had left, although Rose thought she had been suspicious.

We haven’t seen Hera, Quintus said. Not since the High Druid’s fortress months ago, but I doubt she has given up.

Rose kicked at a loose rock as she followed behind the pair. Lily liked to be in charge all the time and Rose didn’t usually mind giving her sister the lead, but she didn’t like where that might take them now.

Even now, her sister linked her hand with the Greek’s, her head bowing toward the man when she spoke. Have you had any visions of us?

I’ve had one, he said.

Rose squeezed her eyes tight for several paces. Lily had her own visions. Fantastical scenes of war and animal transformations. Lily swore they preserved memories of a different life.

My vision was like a sad dream, the Greek said to Lily. You were my wife, but we fought in a great war, where I died.

Rose stuck out her tongue, itching to release her pent-up emotions. Without another thought, she hiked her dress to free her legs and sprinted past Lily and Quintus. Agathon chirped and sailed beside her as she sped by the rowanberry trees. Failinis loped beside her.

It felt so good to run.

The air rushed in through her nose, exhaling from her mouth. The muscles of her legs lengthened with each step. Her feet briefly touched the ground with each leap through the space to the next step, and she felt free.

She could almost fly.

During her captivity last year, the eagle had kept her sane with his images of flying. There might be a man inside the creature, but she knew he would miss the freedom of the sky once he reverted to being human again. She wondered if she would still have a connection with Agathon when he wasn’t an eagle anymore, but that thought disintegrated quickly.

People could not be trusted.

Even if it had worked for Lily. The moment Quintus had transformed from a bear back into a man, he and Lily had had an instant connection. Rose couldn’t deny that Lily loved him.

What would their love cost Rose?

Rose shook her head at herself.

Lily deserved to find happiness. She had punished herself so much for Marigold’s death. But could any of them trust Quintus?

Look what happened when they had trusted Ana—a woman who had been a second mother to them for most of their life.

Could Quintus have his own ulterior motive?

Rose couldn’t dwell on so many unanswered questions right now, so she ran harder.

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Chapter 3

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Rose ran until the forest expelled her onto the beautiful emerald-green valley dotted with rainbow-colored flowers leading uphill to her ráth . She halted, raising a hand over her eyes against the bright spring sun that had begun its descent in the clear sky. Ráth Bláthanna ’s wooden palisade encircled her home against the side of a large hill. Her settlement was small, housing just over a dozen people, but they were secluded from most dangers here. Better yet, they were hidden from the detection of the draoi , the druids who would take her and her sister away if their tíolacadh , their gifts, became known.

Early on, their mother and father had decided it was best if they’d kept secret their abilities to communicate with various animals, so her family—along with a few friends—had left their clan’s main fortification to settle here in a secluded valley filled with flowers, giving rise to the name Bláthanna, or flowers.

Looking over her shoulder back into the forest, Rose considered waiting, but shook her head. She would show Lily that she was upset about Quintus’s return. Agathon stopped on an overhang and dipped his head.

He would wait for his brother.

She lifted her hem again and jogged to the ráth’s causeway, with Failinis staying beside her. On a wooden rampart above the gate, the dark tousled head of a young boy peeked at her, Odhran mac Domangairt, one of the Winkle brothers, so named for picking nothing but periwinkles one spring with his younger brother. The hound barked, his tongue lolling.

Rose is back!

With a gap-toothed grin, Odhran waved at her before disappearing behind the wooden wall. Moments later, the gate opened.

Lily is on the way. She clenched her hands together, moving under the gateway. She has a visitor with her.

Odhran met her at the end of the causeway, his eyes bright. His unruly hair flopped all over as he shuffled from foot to foot. Who?

Rose didn’t have a chance to reply before the boy continued with his own news.

We had a messenger while you were gone.

Rose peered past him. A messenger would be an exciting thing for an eleven-year-old boy. Is the messenger still here?

Everything appeared normal. In the lis, the central courtyard, chickens squawked. Sheep flicked their ears, baaing. They scampered away from a young girl and boy chasing a pig, all three squealing. Behind the half circle of three roundhouses, the knock of sledgehammers reverberated. Lugh and Dermot were supposed to dig new post holes and reinforce the palisade walls on the western front.

Chewing on a clump of his own hair, Odhran shook his head. He’s gone, but Rindal an Carragh has requested our men for a coming battle.

What men?

Rindal the scabby, their taoiseach, the chief of their clan. He had the right to request fighting men from Séaghdha territory, but they had avoided such requests at their small ráth. Most inhabitants were either lame, old, women, or children. Unless the chief asked for his nephew back. Dermot was only there to marry Lily, by their taoiseach’s command.

Odhran nodded, as if following her line of thought. He wants Dermot to return, but he also wants Lugh.

But Lugh is not part of our clan.

Odhran shrugged and chewed on his lip next, a habit he’d picked up from Lily after spending so many hours in martial training with her. "Our Rí is preparing for a possible war with Cormac mac Airt."

So, their clan chief needed to supply men to their region’s king for a possible war with Éire’s High King. But why would their Rí, their king, want to battle the Ard-Rí? Cormac mac Airt was known to be a just ruler.

When the last High King had judged a woman to lose her sheep to the queen for the sheep having eaten the queen’s woad, Cormac had stood up against the judgment. Let the wool of the sheep, when they are next shorn, be given to the queen, for the woad will grow again and so shall the wool.

The people had agreed with Cormac’s judgement, and in learning he was the lost son of the previous king, the people made him the new High King.

As if reading Rose’s question, the boy perked up, having held back the most exciting part of the message. Cormac mac Airt requested another tribute since many of his cows died of disease, but King Fiacha has refused. We don’t have the cows to spare. This could mean war in Munster!

Just then Lugh came from around the back of the roundhouses, wearing only a pair of chestnut-brown trousers. The sinking sun shone behind him, highlighting his blond curls like a golden crown. His long god legs carried him toward her, a towering giant of a man at seven feet tall.

Failinis ran ahead of her, his love evident for his god. Lugh patted him on the head and ruffled his neck, but his eyes were only for Rose. He smiled.

Gods but he was beautiful.

She couldn’t help returning his smile, and her heart fluttered, Odhran’s words forgotten. Her feet moved on their own so the distance between her and Lugh closed quickly. With callused hands, he reached out and cupped her face, drawing her near so that he could rest his forehead against hers. Warmth flushed through her body.

His breath caressed her cheek. I’ve missed you, Mousie.

Mousie. The name he’d given her when he first kidnapped her when he’d been the leprechaun. He’d changed her into a mouse. She didn’t mind the nickname most of the time. After a small laugh, she pushed against his damp, muscled chest, but his hands slid to her shoulders, holding her close. His scent was that of sweaty sunshine. I was gone only a few hours.

With eyes so light in color, neither blue nor gray, he stared down into her face, reminding her of what he’d said when he had first transformed from the leprechaun into his god form.

I will stay with you until you either fall in love with me or give your love to someone else.

Rose swallowed. Do I love him?

She was surely attracted to him. But could she ever love a man who had held her captive? He’d been a vindictive leprechaun who had tormented her daily, shapeshifting her into various creatures for his own amusement. He had threatened to kill her so many times. With more resolve, she slipped out from under Lugh’s hands and gripped her waterskin, gulping several swallows, reveling in the feel of ale burning down her throat.

Hurt flitted across the god’s face, replaced a moment later by a tightening of his eyes and a mean line at the corner of his mouth. Do you need a drink for me to touch you?

She blinked, then narrowed her eyes. Surprising Lugh and even herself, she slapped him, leaving a handprint on his cheek. How dare you suggest something like that?

Failinis whined again and lay down in the dirt, his head on his paws.

So what if I like to drink?

Lugh had been the one to turn her onto the sedating effects of alcohol anyway, taking her out every night to drown in the stored vats of wealthy people when she’d been his captive. She hadn’t a choice then, fearing for her life if she didn’t join in the drinking, and she didn’t like her faults aired so publicly now.

Lugh didn’t move, his face strangely stony. The spring air weighed heavy. Cattle lowed in the field outside the palisade.

Rose. Her given name whispered on his lips loosened her tight muscles. He rarely called her anything but Mousie. Have your feelings for me not changed?

Emotions swirled in her. He had been good to her since becoming a man. A god, not a man. As a god he could still control her, hurt her, if he wanted to. But he wouldn’t, would he? Ana had hurt her, proving how wrong Rose had been to put her faith in anyone, and perhaps Lugh would be the same. As the leprechaun last year, he had collaborated with Ana, before the woman had revealed herself to be the Morrígan, instigating Rose’s captivity.

How could I ever trust Lugh the god?

But here Rose was now, faced with a man, a god, who said he loved her, and she had absolutely no idea how to feel about that. She didn’t know how to answer his question. She couldn’t make sense of her own emotions.

Lugh grabbed her hand. Have I not shown the true me? I don’t know what else to do to prove to you that I love you.

Rose looked down at their intertwined fingers. How she wanted to love him. He wasn’t that nasty leprechaun anymore, but it was so hard to trust the man he’d become. She glanced back up at him, her cheeks flushed with anger. You fell in love with me. She pointed a finger at her own chest. This me hasn’t changed. But you… She jabbed the finger against him. Lugh the Leprechaun was a despicable man.

I’m not that creature anymore.

I know that, but he’s the one I knew first.

His stormy eyes flickered between each of hers. When can you see me instead? Tell me, and however long, I will wait for you.

She stepped back, nostrils flaring, and she glared at him. Why couldn’t he just understand the way I feel? I don’t know that I ever can.

With a growl, he turned away. It was then that she saw Dermot, with his expensive green tunic, standing just behind him, and her cheeks colored with embarrassment. He was a lanky youth, and at sixteen, a year younger than her and her sisters. Short, burnished brown hair touched his shoulders. His eyebrows traced high on his forehead.

A month after Lugh had made the ráth his home, Dermot had arrived to stay. He was a cousin by marriage but not related to them through blood, making him one of the only marriageable men in the area their clan controlled.

Wanting to scream, Rose stamped her foot. You’ve lost your chance, Dermot. Lily’s suitor has returned, so run along back home.

Dermot cast his eyes down, two spots of color painting his cheeks red.

Lugh pivoted on his feet and tilted his chin down at Rose. Why so mean, Mousie?

Gasping, Rose gripped her waterskin. She took several swallows. Why had I been spiteful to my cousin? A frustrated scream threatened to burst from her lungs when Odhran’s young voice broke the tension.

Lily’s home!

Agathon soared over the palisade walls and perched on the thatched roof of one of the roundhouses.

Lugh grimaced. Put a great oar in the hen’s mouth! What is that eagle doing here?

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Chapter 4

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T hat’s the doctrine of the preexistence of souls.

The bald teacher seemed to answer a question that Hera had not asked. She raised her eyebrows at him, where he sat cross-legged on the floor next to her couch. He was garbed in a rough-spun brown tunic that would touch the floor if he had stood. A simple fraying hemp rope tied around his waist. He looked out of place in the wealthy banqueting hall of the High King’s palace.

Placing a dainty fist beneath her chin, Hera reclined. She’d insisted on the couch after seeing what was considered proper seating—blocks of wood covered in animal skin. Dozens of them squatted along two long walls behind extended wooden tables. A constant hum of conversation and laughter vibrated in the air from the small army of men who ate at those low tables. At least the king sat on a throne, even if it was made of stone.

At the head of the rectangular hall, Cormac mac Airt, High King of Éire, ripped a bite off a roasted pig’s thigh. Juices