To break his family's curse, Faolan mac Domnall seeks to marry the beautiful Saoirse, princess of Mide. Spirited and outspoken, the wild Saoirse wants nothing more than to escape the life that's been decided for her. Determined to outmaneuver a twis...
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"They're just preoccupied, is all. Eh, Banner?"
The dappled horse snorted.
"Well, what do you know about women?" Faolan replied, dragging his hand through his hair. He had spent a week moping over Saoirse's absence and worrying for Siofra, without a word from either.
So when the strange lump flew from the mirror and landed into a waterlogged pile of horse dung, Faolan pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. The mirror had sat quietly, covered with a tattered plaid for over a week. He stood in frozen shock a moment before scrambling out of Banner's stall to rescue the bundle from its soggy fate.
Peeling back its layers, the cheerful yellow weave appeared to wink at him. With the tiniest touch—to avoid streaking muck across it—a riot of golden wonder splashed across the stable walls, alive with the memory of summer. The ghost of honeysuckle on his tongue, Faolan swore he heard his mother singing.
Realization thundered. She finished the weaving. Faolan glanced at the mirror, at the bundle in his hands. But why didn't she come?
Determined to find answers, Faolan's plan fell into place. If he sent the weaving with a note, he could nip into Otherworld to check on Siofra and return well before his princess arrived. Tucked under his arm, the weaving sent a flood of encouragement. As he led Banner from his stall, it trickled cheerful confidence until Faolan was certain that his plan would not fail.
It took more time than expected, posting the package to Saoirse. He got caught promising to help with chores in the village. He couldn't refuse sympathizing with Cuinn Ó Broin's grievances. He stopped to free a fox from a snare. The gloomy day afforded him little insight in estimating the time, and the hours had passed before he'd realized.
I'll be quick, he reasoned. In and out, just to check.
Faolan stepped into Siofra's cottage to the familiar sounds of weaving. The cloud of worry he'd worn slipped from his shoulders.
"Good. You're here." The familiar rasp held its usual impatient edge.
Though still dressed in the same silvery clothes, Siofra wore a new cloak with a shadowy hood. Despite the balmy temperature, she had wrapped herself in its thick layers. Faolan thought the bulky thing looked ridiculous, but who was a stable boy to question the fashion of the fae realm?
"You're all right!" he said instead, swallowing his questions.
"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Siofra, you pushed us into the mirror so suddenly. I worried that something happened to you."
"Otherworld is dangerous for humans. I told you that."
He noticed that she had yet to turn towards him. She was locked in uncomfortable stillness, draped in shadows, a feral cat backed into a corner.
