Age of Saints: Druid's Brooch Series: #7 by Christy Nicholas

Author:Christy Nicholas [Nicholas, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
Published: 2019-03-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Conall hadn’t gotten used to the lack of any measure of time in this place. No sunrise, no sunset, no darkness, no storm, no stars. Nothing to mark the hours, the days, or the weeks. He only grasped that Ammatán left for a while. In the meantime, they ate, rested, and explored the roundhouse.

The Fae’s home stood larger even than Sétna’s luxurious roundhouse. Six alcoves radiated off from the central hearth and main room. No dust from the thatch floated in the air. Instead, the sweet aroma of wildflowers and honey permeated the room. Flowers bloomed in the ceiling, vines wrapped around each wooden support, and Conall realized each support remained a living tree, entwined with a central trunk. The entire roundhouse shifted and rustled in spite of a lack of breeze, as if breathing.

One alcove held food and tools for cooking, though most of the food didn’t require actual heating. Like Adhna, Ammatán preferred fruits, vegetables, nuts, and mushrooms. Foods to gather or forage, rather than bake, cook or boil. No bread, no meat, no milk nor cheese sat in his larder. While Conall did spy a small pot of honey, he suspected this was the product of trade with the mortal realm rather than a product of any industry from the Fae himself.

Ammatán’s sleeping alcove contained rich, brightly-dyed fabrics, but Conall didn’t pry further into the Fae’s personal space. He didn’t know if Fae had a sense of privacy as humans did, but it seemed common courtesy.

Lainn helped him make a small meal of nuts and fruit, offering several choice items to Sawchaill, who accepted each morsel with dainty dignity. The raven preferred to take items from Lainn’s hand. Conall experienced a brief flash of resentment at his sister’s talent with animals but squashed it. He could work the stone and had his father’s brooch, both considerable talents. Why should he envy her abilities as well?

With a smile, he grabbed three Brid’s apples and juggled them, making Lainn giggle. Sawchaill didn’t seem to grasp the demonstration. He cocked his head back and forth several times as if trying to get a better look at the spinning fruit. The bird squawked, settled on his perch, and turned up his beak at the performance.

With a chuckle, Conall bit into an apple, offering Lainn another. “Why don’t you sing us a song, Lainn? Something to soothe both us and our raven companion until Ammatán returns?”

At the mention of their host, the memory of the terrible voice returned, stealing the warmth from the day. The light dimmed, and his terror returned. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breath, forcing himself to take each one with measured concentration. When he opened his eyes again, the world had contracted, as if pushing on him with a gray force, pressuring his vision into a narrow focus. Then, as rapidly as the panic arrived, it fled once again. He sat at the large wooden table and raised his eyebrows at his sister. “Well?”

With a glance at the raven, she sighed and rolled her eyes.

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