Movement in the Cadarn tunnel caught his eye. Bran materialized from the darkness and entered the chamber, Kegan at his side and Arrow Jack an obsidian blur flying to the back of the empty seat next to Richard. He returned the earnest stare of Bran. Distrust from the argument stressed the air between them. Richard offered the empty guest seat next to him. Bran took it as the clurichaun sat next to Horsemaster Aife.
The Morrigan entered the room then, red silk swirling from her black gown, her pale angular face stern, exotic eyes hard as obsidian. The lords rose, all eyes on the Queen. Two fairies hovered above each of her bare shoulders, awaiting any orders she may give. She was tall, thin, and regal, each movement graceful as she gained the Sarn Throne, her stare fixed upon her supplicants around the table as the fairies first organized the wayward trails of crimson silk and then settled on the throne much like Arrow Jack had on the chair now occupied by Bran.
The odd menagerie of lords bowed to the Queen before returning to their seats.
The chamber doors closed with a silent whoosh of air.
“Greetings to you, Lords of the Seelie Court,” the Morrigan said, her voice firm and controlled. “I know some have traveled great distances in a short amount of time. It is not without purpose. You have been gathered to help address recent events that do not bode well for your peoples and the future of Annwn.”
“We are honored to return to Arendig Fawr, Queen,” n’Hagr baritoned, two canine teeth overlapping his upper lip like yellow daggers. “It has been too long.”
“As the four empty thrones note, some of our brethren have perished, embraced Philip’s rule, or neglected to answer my calling,” the Queen said. “Of the last, Lord Fafnir has sent no word and Lord Latobius declined the invitation out of care for an ill child.”
“Lord Latobius has all to lose and nothing to gain,” Eigion argued.
“Latobius has not been a part of the Seelie Court for centuries,” Lugh countered, staring hard at the lithe merman. “He knows not what is given him so freely. The Nharth watch the trails; the blood of the Long Hand reject attack. Tal Ebolyon is kept safe by others. What does he give in return? Nothing. Let him rot. Lord Fafnir as well.”
“The Tuatha de Dannan are fractured,” Govannon said simply.
“What you all say is true,” the Morrigan interrupted. “But even the Snowdon will be unable to defend the upper conclaves of the coblynau and dragons—just as Arendig Fawr and those you lord over are safe. War is coming for us all. If we are to have any chance at surviving and ending the reign of the Usurper, we need them.”
“Need them for what?” Caswallawn slurred. “For centuries, no aid. Nothing. Did they help protect my lands, my people?” The drunk slammed his fist down on the table. “No! I agree with Lugh—traitors, both of them.”
“Lord Caswallawn, your rancor is on your breath,” the Queen quipped angrily. “Still your tongue. You dishonor my guests.”
Caswallawn fell silent under her icy gaze.
“Why have you gathered us, Queen?” Lord Finnbhennach asked.
“There are events transpiring none of us can ignore. That I cannot ignore,” the Morrigan replied, touching each person in the room with her eyes. “We have been at war now for eight centuries, longer if you consider our last days in the Misty Isles. Slowly we have lost our place in Annwn and every day we retreat further—retreat from what we are. Philip Plantagenet controls more than just land; he controls our very lives.
“Mastersmith Govannon is right,” she continued. “The Court is fractured, weakened. Every sunrise our enemy grows stronger and we remain unchanged, unable to form a cohesive battle against Caer Llion. In time, far sooner than later, our Court will be ferreted out, and when that happens, each of our peoples will die in succession.” She paused, her features cold and certain. “Unless we of the Seelie Court unite—and attack.”
“Pardon me, Queen, but is that not an impossibility?” the human man appealed, scratching his red beard. “I know I lack the experience the rest of you possess—being human without an immortal life has that disadvantage—but the Seelie Court has been undone for millennia. By your own admission we lack the might of Lords Fafnir and