Trapped

too—rather, he was hopelessly in lust with Flidais’s backside. As long as she didn’t go invisible on him, he’d probably be content.
    Fae were flooding into the Court—or the meadow—attracted by gossip that had no doubt circulated on fluttering wings. A susurrus of excitement swelled from all sides, and our audience was quickly building to the proportions of a spectator sport.
    A small formation of pixies, goaded by their friends or perhaps genuinely clueless about who I was and how I’d react to Fae flying at me, swooped in for a quick playful welcome dance over my head—or so I was informed afterward. There were seven of them one second, and two seconds later, after a couple of quick shooing motions above my noggin, there were only three left. The survivors, horrified by watching their companions disintegrate to ash in midair, stayed still enough for Perun to zap them with small fingers of lightning.
    » Big mosquitoes here, « he said, as a roar bellowed from the spectators on either side, who had seen the whole thing.
    » Those weren’t mosquitoes, « Granuaile said, as Flidais whirled, a scowl on her face.
    » What happened? « she asked.
    » Pixies, « I explained. » Maybe someone’s trying to establish my bona fides. «
    Flidais raised her voice and spoke to the assembled Fae on either side. » I warned you he was the Iron Druid before he arrived, « she said. » Molest him at your peril. «
    A three-note chorus split the air and sang menacingly, » And if the Iron Druid doesn’t kill you, I will. « It was Brighid’s voice. In her aspect as the goddess of poetry, she could somehow hit three notes at the same time when she spoke—and if she wanted you to hear her clearly from seventy yards away in the middle of an angry mob, she could do that too. The effect was that she could speak once and you’d be told three times; it gave her an authority among magic users no one could match. She couldn’t lie or tell half-truths when she spoke like that, so she didn’t employ it often and she chose her words carefully when she did. » Let him approach undisturbed, or I will have your life. «
    Cowed, the mob of Fae quieted down and gave us a wider berth. Satisfied, Flidais turned and led us again toward the throne. It felt as if we were part of a very small parade, except everyone watching was sad because the flowers on the floats had wilted. The character of the buzz around us was not only muted now, it was resentful. Flidais was striding forward confidently, thinking that Brighid’s very loud words and her presence were enough to guarantee our safety, but I was still wary. There were all sorts of Fae in the Court now, and some of them were bound to be descendants of Aenghus Óg. If those pixies had been sent by someone to confirm I was truly the Iron Druid, that someone was still out there. Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past Brighid or Flidais to have orchestrated it; I had supposedly been dead for almost twelve years, so one way to make sure I wasn’t an impostor was to watch some Fae turn to ash at the touch of my cold iron aura. And one of the best ways to absolve herself of responsibility for any further attacks would be to very publicly threaten everyone with death. She’d follow through on the threat, of course; couldn’t have her agents blabbing at the last minute that she’d sent them.
    The Morrigan had told me after Aenghus Óg’s death that Brighid had conducted some sort of pogrom here in Tír na nÓg; there had been a rebellion in his name, lots of stockpiled magical weapons abruptly found their way into angry hands, and a whole host of Fae had died. Many—if not most—had been Aenghus Óg’s spawn, but I’m sure there were other factions represented as well. That meant tension among the Tuatha Dé Danann—and I had caused all of it.
    Well. Maybe not all of it. The Morrigan had her tensions with just about everyone, but especially with Brighid, and I had not caused that so much as exacerbated it. Regardless, I couldn’t look for the same favor in Court that I might have enjoyed in the past. I might have even created some new enemies here, and until I could verify who was content to let me live and who would rather serve me a cold dish of revenge, suspicion was the best policy.
    The crowd of Fae ended abruptly about twenty yards from Brighid’s throne. It provided a nice little area for subjects to feel small and weak during their audience. It also provided some space, to