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CHAPTER XLV

LIR

Lir gathered the bairn in his arms.

They were always lighter than he anticipated, the Sidhe king pressed the child against his chest tenderly. The bairn warmed, nuzzling its rosy cheeks into the fabric of Lir’s ritter until its wails softened to coos.

Despite its passing, the child smelled of mortality, of iron, of flame. Still, the backs of Lir’s eyelids burned as he held the creature, his hands almost larger than the entire bundle.

“ Take flight, little wolf ,” Lir sang, barely a whisper. “ Let no hunter catch you, no fox outwit you, no devil master you. Take flight, little wolf .”

The draiocht heated, buzzing as the chorus of insects rose to a crescendo.

Lir struggled to find his breath. He held the creature more tightly, accidentally rocking it in the cradle of his arms.

“ The time is nigh, m’Lord ,” a changeling piped softly behind him.

Lir gritted his teeth but nodded his head regardless. This was always the most painful part: saying goodbye.

Lir pressed his lips to the bairn’s forehead, blessing it fully.

“ I hereby knight thee and invite thee into the hallowed afterlife of the Other: Caoimhe, child of the mortal plane. Sail onward ,” Lir recited, his voice thick. “ Sail onward and never look back .”

Lir laid the child back onto the lily pad, wincing as if he were laying down a piece of himself, freshly gouged from his body.

Caoimhe cried, suddenly cold without Lir’s warmth. Lir cherished its cries for it was alive and beating with magic now.

Lir shut his eyes.

“ Arise knight of the Sidhe and be recognized .”

The bells of Simril rang thrice over and the lily pad carried the bairn back through the falls, and into the Other. The spell was complete; another mortal child christened by the high king of the Sidhe and accepted into the sweet planes of the Other by honor of his blessing. A small mercy Lir believed every bairn, Sidhe or not, was owed.

Still, Lir bled tears from wounds he knew would never heal. The loss of his own child, a fresh memory despite the passing of time. Grief, the enemy he preferred to keep alive.