Trapped

either side, for some VIPs to sit and offer catty remarks or snide questions. To Brighid’s right sat the Tuatha Dé Danann, and to her left sat representatives of the various Fae factions.
    A quick glance at the Tuatha Dé Danann showed me that nearly all of them were present. Manannan Mac Lir, wrapped in his cloak of mists, winked at me from underneath his bushy black eyebrows. His wife, Fand, sat next to him, small and delicate and ethereally beautiful in a white sheath with the same sort of knotwork designs Flidais had embroidered around the neck; since she was Flidais’s daughter, perhaps it was a family thing. There was a liquid grace to her, even when she sat still.
    Ogma was there, tall and tanned and sporting a shaven head these days, along with two large gold hoops in his ears. He wore a golden torc around his neck and a kilt—nothing more. He’d always been a bit vain about his six-pack. His expression was one of polite interest, but you got the feeling it was a façade for his indifference. Next to him sat Goibhniu, the master smith and brewer who had made cold iron amulets for the Morrigan, Granuaile, and Oberon. Unlike Ogma, Goibhniu was riveted by the spectacle of an old Druid approaching Brighid with his friends. He sat on the edge of his seat, grinning with anticipation, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together between them. Brighid was his mother, and he was therefore probably one of the few people who thought it was funny to watch her get worked up. His brothers, Creidhne and Luchta, lounged next to him, quietly exchanging words and not even paying attention to our passing.
    There was another row of seats behind them, and a couple of these were empty. One seat was presumably for Flidais, and I noted that the Morrigan was conspicuously absent.
    While most of the Tuatha Dé Danann had dressed modestly and with very little ornamentation, Brighid had gone out of her way to look like a model for a Frazetta painting. Conscious of how it set off her red hair, she wore a sheer green sleeve on her left arm, bound at the top of the biceps and at the wrist with a circlet of gold. She had a golden belly chain holding up another sheer cascade of cloth between her legs, but it highlighted rather than concealed what was there. Aside from these purely ornamental accoutrements, she was naked, the tattoos on her right side—among other bits—proudly on display. She also had two wolfhounds lying at her feet, their heads up and watching our approach closely. They were black hounds with glossy coats.
    No commentary now, Oberon , I warned him. Remember, she can hear you .
    I received the mental equivalent of a grunt in reply.
    The last time I’d seen Brighid, she was similarly provocative. She’d asked me to be her consort, I refused, and then she tried to kill me when she found out I’d had sex with the Morrigan. Fragarach had helped me out of that fix, but I didn’t have that sword to get me out of this. Brighid’s eyes flicked down to Moralltach, so I sheathed it before getting any closer, thinking that might be a tad more diplomatic than pointing it at her.
    Flidais halted before the wee knoll on which Brighid’s throne sat. It was made of iron she’d forged herself; originally a master of copper and bronze, Brighid had made a special point of becoming proficient in the magic-repelling metal when the Milesians had brought it to Ireland long ago. They thought they’d driven the Tuatha Dé Danann » underground, « but in fact they’d driven them to create a plane of magic, and so the Milesians were indirectly responsible for the birth of the vast panoply of magical » little folk « that plagued and blessed them and their descendants for generations afterward. Brighid’s throne was a palpable symbol of who exactly was master of the Fae. It occurred to me, for the first time, that my cold iron aura here , in her place of power, was a challenge in itself. I had visibly mastered iron to a degree that she had not. And I could move around and stuff. Her throne just sat there. But judging by the hardness in her eyes, that particular issue was far down on her list of bones to pick with me.
    » Majesty, « Flidais said. » The Druid Siodhachan Ó Suileabháin, as you requested. «
    A tiny nod of dismissal gave Flidais permission to take her seat amongst the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danann. I found myself wondering with mad distraction who Perun was currently staring at. Would he follow