If he knew one thing, he would encounter Arawn there.
And enact vengeance for Elizabeth.
Within the Forest of Dean, Deirdre roamed the outskirts of the Tuatha de Dannan army, ignoring the stares that a human aroused, in search of her father.
While she had traveled with Richard, Bran, and Snedeker to Caer Llion, Lord Gerallt had gathered two companies of his most hardened warriors from Mochdrev Reach and brought them to the Seelie Court. The rest of their forces he left behind, to guard the stronghold and people he fought to protect. He had been displeased when he found out she had left Arendig Fawr to guide the knights; she had not repented her decision, making him all the angrier. Neither had spoken to each other since.
But, on the cusp of battle, Deirdre would not let the possible last words between them be those of anger.
“He will still be angry, I can tell you that!” Snedeker said, flying alongside her and annoying her more than usual.
“He gave me free will to aid the Morrigan and the fight against Caer Llion,” she said. “The knights are a part of that. I was best suited to take them. He has no say in the matter.”
“The knights almost died, by the way,” the fairy snorted.
“They were going with or without me.”
“And you received that awful burn.”
“Good thing the halfbreed came through the portal then and helped save Richard and Bran,” she said. “They in turn healed me, leaving me unwilling to put up with your sass. So watch it.”
The fairy cursed under his breath about redheads and their stubborn natures. Deirdre was happy he kept it to himself for a change. She slipped through the fey, thinking about two nights ago. The Kreche had come out of the darkness to set her toward the Forest of Dean with the Rhedewyr even as he went to confront Caer Llion to free the knights at the behest of Myrddin Emrys. She had only seen two halfbreeds in her life but the Kreche was easily the most impressive, the heart of a poet within the body of a behemoth. If it hadn’t been for his diversion, Richard and Bran would not have been freed.
“Why do you think the Heliwr hates me?” Snedeker interrupted suddenly.
“Never had a conversation with yourself, eh?”
“Hilarious, Red,” the fairy said, dripping sarcasm.
“Richard doesn’t hate you,” Deirdre said. “He simply has impatience for those who add nothing to life.”
“Hey, I add a lot to li—”
“As he sees it,” she cut him off. “Why do you even care, anyway?”
“The Lady is not pleased with me,” he said.
“How do you know that?”
“She mustn’t be,” the fairy said, glancing around him as if the Lady could hear. “I am not guiding her Heliwr, not that he has shown any interest in my help at all, of course.”
“Maybe you need to reach out with more sincerity.”
“He will probably fry me to ash,” Snedeker said. “Just for talking to him.”
“He could,” she said with a smile.
Snedeker rolled his eyes.
After she thought she had seen every quarter of the army, Deirdre came to the camp of Mochdrev Reach. Two hundred of her countrymen prepared for the battle, some men sharpening their weapons while others checked their armor. All shared a look on their faces that bespoke the fear of not knowing what was to come. Deirdre navigated through them, feeling the tension, and eventually found her father’s tent.
When she entered, Lord Gerallt stared hard at her before returning to the battle formation maps two hellyll members of the Long Hand shared with him in preparation for the next day.
“You should not be here, Deirdre,” he said, not meeting her gaze. “My time is precious now that Mochdrev Reach is in the thick of your decision.”
“Father, I—”
“You should not have left Arendig Fawr.”
“Father, I did what I thought I had to do,” Deirdre said.
“And almost got yourself killed.”
“For a very good cause.”
Lord Gerallt continued to speak to the two Long Hand soldiers as if she were not there. From where he sat on her shoulder, Snedeker tapped her shoulder with impatience. After she realized he would not respond, Deirdre walked up to his table.
“Why are you acting like this?” she asked.
When he didn’t look up, her anger got the best of her and she slammed her fist down on the closest map.
“Why?!”
Lord Gerallt gave her a chilly look, his round face ruddy, before he turned to the hellyll. “Leave us for a