The Sun Sídhe

10 - Useless Beauty

"Morri!" Aeden said cheerily as the door creaked open and a short woman—shorter than me, for once—peered around the crack. Firelight spilled past her, breaking apart the dim, moonlit forest with colour and warmth. "Good afternoon. Or night. Or perhaps morning."

The first thing I noticed about Morrigan was the jewellery. She wore earrings that dangled, bracelets on each wrist and both ankles, and not one, but several necklaces. She also bore cuffs on her upper arms, which were connected in the back by about a dozen thin, silver chains. They swung as she moved to get a better look at us, creating an ever-moving cape of shimmering metal.

It was so. Loud. She only had to glance between Aeden, Ronan, and I to set all the metal bits tinkling against one another. The woman clinked. She chimed. If sparkles made noise, this would be it. Horribly, horribly annoying.

"Mae, Ronan, meet Morri," Aeden announced, making some utterly meaningless gesture with his hands.

The woman's bright red eyes widened. "Aeden," she whispered. She lifted one hand, her fingers hesitating a mere breath from his chest. Her lips parted, though it took her a while to find her voice. It was soft, so much I struggled to hear it. "You came back."

"With friends!" Aeden nodded at Ronan and I. "May we come in? It's dark outside. And Shayne's chasing us."

Morrigan sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. With my auburn plaits, I'd been called red-haired, but this woman fit the definition far better. Her curls, which were twined with silver thread and spilled down the length of her back, were vivid scarlet. If that wasn't unnatural enough, the tips were stained white, as if she were ageing in reverse.

"Come in," she relented, opening the door further to allow entry. We slipped past her, Aeden casting an uncomfortable glance at the interior as he stepped over the threshold. Morrigan dipped her head politely; a series of delicate tinkles followed. A headache began to pound at the base of my skull.

I jerked my gaze to her dress as I moved inside, ignoring the discomfort of entering another home. It was a sea of delicate, purple swaths of fabric and silver embroidery. Painfully elaborate, just like the rest of her. I wrinkled my nose. "Were you sleeping in that getup?"

She froze, as if something about those words was shocking. "No, no," she said, closing the door. She gestured primly at a chair in the corner of the room, beside the fire. It was surrounded by woollen clothes, all neatly folded, and enough strings to create many more. "I was knitting. It's how I repay those in the town below for providing me food and other supplies."

I ignored her and walked to the fireplace, using my walking stick to support myself as I collapsed to the floor. It was made of wooden boards, smoothed and polished. Much of the cottage was finely crafted, in fact; it looked as if more money and time had been devoted to it than any building in Tirlagh. I held my fingers to the flames, letting the heat soak into me. It brought only a faint relief, but the energy of the fire was enough to keep me from feeling too half-dead and frozen.

"Moon and sun, is that blood?" Morrigan gasped. Apparently, she'd only just noticed we were all covered in it—particularly Aeden. She curled her fingers, whispered something in the old tongue I couldn't understand, and an orb of silvery light formed above her palm. It illuminated the room far better than the weak fire, hovering in the air as she took action. Thankfully, she had enough sense to save her questions. Ronan was the first target of her concern; she rushed to him, peering up at his face before guiding him to the chair. "I apologise: my home isn't fit for humans, but I can make you some food in a moment. Please, rest."

Ronan all but collapsed into the seat, and I suddenly remembered that his body was not as suited for hard travel as Aeden and I, and he'd been walking nearly the entire time. Still, he gently pushed Morrigan aside. "Maeve is the most injured, I believe."