Song of the Fairy Queen (78 page)

“Close your eyes, Morgan,” she said softly.

He looked at her, at the look in her eyes, at the desperation, a trace of hope and fear…

The clouds parted. A single shaft of light pierced to strike the trio on the rise.

It was enough.

So very beautiful
, Morgan thought as he looked at her, as the light touched her, warmed her eyes, gilded her hair and sparkled from her wings.

“Close your eyes, love,” she said.

“Kyriay,” he said, not a question, a statement.

Brightness.

On a breath, she said, “Yes.”

Her face lifted to the light and he closed his eyes.

Kyriay, the Bright One, Queen of the Fairy, spread her wings wide, wider and called down the Light. Called it down to her, down to her crystalline wings, opening them as wide as she could to take it, all of it. She called the light down and into her, into her wings, to fill her and them with brilliance, them and her with heat and light.

It poured into her, seared through her, battered her, filled her to bursting with glorious, radiant light, so bright, so intense, so much, so much, more, more… It streamed into her, overwhelmed her. She was lost in the brilliance as it filled her, absorbing it, more, the light of the sun, all the light of the sun…burst through her…

To those watching, incredibly, her wings began to glow, brightened.

The light intensified, grew eye-searingly bright, so brilliant they had to turn away, going white hot… A sound rose from her wings, the sound of crystal on crystal, ringing, shrieking…

Kyri arched as her wings gathered the light, cupped it, focused it.

A keening cry burst from her.

She was Brightness…

Released it.

Light exploded across the plain. It burst brilliantly, searing, radiant, as if a thousand bolts of lightning had all struck at once in the same place.

To those there the world seemed to shatter into a million shards of glorious incredible radiance. If light could be translated into sound then it thundered, it rang, it screamed brilliance. The whole world reverberated with a sound like bells, like shattering glass, like the breaking of a thousand hearts. It was life, it was love and healing, it was hope, it was the defiance of death, it was the sound of grief.

It was as if the sun had been born again in the midst of the plain and Kyriay, Brightness, the Queen of the Fairy, and Morgan in her arms, were at the heart of it.

Light splintered, blasted, blinding…

And everywhere her tears had fallen, light burst, too…

In the dark shadows of Haerold’s dungeon and the misty darkness of abandoned Caernarvon, in the blighted heart of the Central Forest and a fertile plain in the depths of the heartlands, there was light, glorious light. It stripped away the shadows, burned away the darkness…

Silence.

The world came back from glory slowly, from the astonishing brilliance, as the light receded and the eyes tried to adjust. It was for a moment rendered only in black and white, as it came back into focus once more. Color seeped back by degrees. The clouds were gone as if they’d never been and the lowering sun bathed everything in soft, warm amber light.

A gentle breeze blew, brushing across the skin lightly, ruffling the hair gently.

Across the battlefield soldiers stared around them, incredulous…

For a moment Oryan couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened. No one could. He was dazed, uncomprehending and then his heart went still as he looked for his son…and for Morgan and Kyri.

In the center of the plain, Kyriay still knelt as she had it seemed only a moment and a lifetime before. Her beautiful wings were still spread and resplendent, glowing brilliantly, light still dancing in and through them.

Morgan was braced in her arms, Gawain at her back.

Before them, Haerold’s soldiers had fallen like wheat before a scythe, although some few were slowly stirring.

The wizard was gone. Vanished as if he’d never been. His horse wandered, riderless.

On the plain between the two forces a tumble of arrows was scattered loosely and wildly like a child’s game of pick-up sticks.

A little dazzled, stunned, Morgan opened his eyes and looked up at Kyri.

Her face was as still and serene as marble, tinged lightly with color. The light from her wings shifted over her delicate features. Her remarkable eyes were lowered, the golden lashes sparkling a little in the sunlight. She was barely breathing.

He raised a hand to her smooth cheek.

For a moment her beautiful sea-colored eyes fluttered, saw him. Her lips curved… and then the light in them vanished…

“Kyri,” he said, his heart twisting.

A terrible fear burst through Morgan….

It seemed as if Gawain had been frozen and then sense and feeling came back.

A small voice in his head seemed to whisper,
See, I can do magic
…

He looked at her, at Kyri. Her beautiful eyes were closed, her lovely face as pale as milk.

Gawain caught her as she crumpled, as Morgan scrambled to take her up in his arms.

She was gone.

As the shock of it hammered him, Galan whispered, “Kyriay, my Kyri…” as his feet hit the ground beside them.

On the far side of the plain a voice in the distance shouted, “I can’t see.”

It had taken some time, but the castle at Caernarvon had finally been restored to its former glory. At long last it was done and just in time for the winter holiday. The Great Hall had been decked out in pine and winter berries so the room smelled of nothing else. Under Geoffrey’s direction the slate floor had been polished almost to the point of being a hazard and carpets laid over them. A fire burned in the long fire pit. Spits turned with a whole roasted pig, two half sides of beef and several chickens. Pots of mead and honeyed wine hung over the coals to warm. Torches burned, the soft light from them warming and softening the look of the stone of the room further.

Oryan looked it over with satisfaction.

It had taken nearly two years to put everything to rights again, but things were returning to normal.

Haerold had been sent to Remagne, where he brooded in his castle alone. Like many of the wizards that day on the plain, the light had taken Elissa. It hadn’t taken Haerold, but it had taken his sight. A blind wizard was little threat to anyone.

That incredible light that day had burned away the darkness. It had been beautiful and it had been terrible.

Gawain came down the steps two at a time as usual. He’d grown even more and now topped his father in height. Wandering along the tables he stopped to sample something from each.

He’d also become an eating machine
, his father thought fondly.

“Just a little longer….” he said.

Only Morgan was here at the moment, brooding by the fire…his fair head bent, his blue eyes on the flames.

A little shot of joy raced across the room on tiny gossamer wings. Morgan snared his daughter out of the air with one hand out of long practice. Her little face beamed up at him, her eyes impish. At two and some she’d just learned to fly and gone from fluttering to zooming. She’d her father’s fair hair, her mother’s aqua eyes and sense of mischief and wings that matched the color of her eyes. In every other way she was her father’s daughter and so she was already a handful. He bounced her in his arms and she giggled, her hands on his face, patting it happily.

Diana.

Morgan smiled back at her.

From above came a sharp piercing cry. That was the signal. He knew what that sound meant. He’d heard it once before, with this one.

“Let’s go see your mother,” he said, bounding up the stairs to peer around the door, smiling, followed by Oryan and Gawain. “Is it safe?”

Kyri laughed, sitting up in bed, reaching to Galan, who was beaming proudly, to take the baby from him. “Come see your son, Morgan.”

She smiled at him, her eyes on his beloved face.

He settled onto the bed beside her as she pulled back the blankets to settle the boy to nurse with a smile of contentment. With a gentle finger, Morgan smoothed the boy’s thin cap of hair. Gold, like his mother’s. He wondered what color his eyes would be once they changed. His son. Their son.

Oryan leaned against the doorjamb, grinning. “Congratulations.”

Ducking around his father, Gawain peered over the top of the blankets. “Hungry, isn’t he?”

“Reminds me of someone else I know,” Oryan remarked, dryly.

Gawain rolled his eyes.

Kyri looked up at Gawain and grinned. He’d turned into a fine Healer, after a literal baptism by fire that day on the plain. Gawain and Galan had both been tried that day and come out the stronger for it.

A crystalline wing found its way out of the blankets, fluttering. Morgan went still as Kyri looked at him, abashed, and then she grinned.

It was as clear as crystal, that tiny wing, like his mother’s.

A small smile tugged at Morgan’s mouth as he reached out and touched it. It fluttered automatically.

“Say hello to Ky, the next King of the Fairy.”

Morgan shook his head, tucking an arm around her. “What will I do with two of you?”

Kyri grinned.

Below, they heard the sound of the doors of the Great Hall opening.

Clearly torn, Oryan looked back toward the Hall.

Smiling, eyes sparkling, Kyri said, lifting her chin at Morgan. “It’s his fault, blame him. He couldn’t wait just a little longer to have another.”

Morgan laughed. ”Go, we’ll be down in a little while to show off our new arrival.”

It was another benefit of Fairy Healing, that she could recover so quickly, although she would still be tired and a little weak. Kyri looked up at Morgan and he smiled, tracing a finger down the baby’s cheek, Diana fluttering above his shoulder to look down at her brother in fascination.

They couldn’t miss this first holiday in restored Caernarvon, though.

Galan took the baby, holding him so Diana could see as Morgan helped Kyri dress, taking her hand to steady her as the long pale blue dress slipped over her now flat belly to swirl around her feet, his hands lifting it a little so her wings could settle before sliding down over her waist. He looked into her eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, “for our son.”

She smiled, raising a hand to his face. “I love you, Morgan.”

Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it. “I love you, too. Are you ready?”

She nodded and he led her out, a curled arm inviting his daughter to settle in the crook of it, Galan following with Ky.

The Hall below was filled with familiar faces, people chattering and talking, Fairy nearly indistinguishable from the others in the crowd, save for the wings.

There were faces that were missed and the grief there had just begun to fade.

Caleb was gone, he’d fallen only a moment before the arrow struck Morgan or it never would have, his wound so grievous even Kyri couldn’t have healed him.