Bee didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was a blinding, unwelcome light causing the throbbing pain above the bridge of her nose. This shouldn’t be happening. There shouldn’t be any light or any pain. She should be deep within her induced sleep, cocooned in hides and warmth—safe within her Sídhe, her mound hidden in the forests of the realm.

  Why have I woken? she thought, feeling the weight of her slumber still upon her. With the giant, Partholón defeated and back in Tartarus, and the demon army back in their prison under The Point of Death, what could bring her back so soon?

  Is it soon, though?

  Bee could sense the answer lurking even before she asked the question. Her limbs, torso, and mind ached with a tiredness that spoke of exhaustion. It was the exhaustion of a war just fought, not a war from centuries long past. She could still feel the nick on her chin itching. She got that wound when ducking away from a demon’s axe slightly late—more than a nick because the Whitehead needed to put some stitches in it.

  “Bechuille?” a voice asked—a voice she had not expected to hear for at least a millennium.

  Am I dreaming? A dream would explain it.

  Bee shook her head, fighting for clarity that wouldn’t come. You shouldn’t be here in my Sídhe, her mind screamed inwardly. She screwed her eyes tighter in defiance of the voice trying to drag her out of warm comfort.

  “Leave me in peace,” she moaned, rolling over, putting her back to the voice.

  “Come, I say. I need you,” the voice boomed, doing nothing to ease the pain between her eyes. Doing nothing except stressing their relationship. He the master, and she the servant.

  Why is he here?

  “Come, Bechuille. Up now. There is work to do.” His tone spoke of a rising anger as well as a sense of urgency.

  I still need to sleep, she wanted to scream. She could not. She had to yield. The brightness combined with her Master’s voice meant she had no defence. She felt the floss of sleep unravelling, the words wrenching her from her drowsiness.

  An Dagda can’t be ignored or denied, at least not by me.

  “But it is so soon,” she exclaimed.

  “When the need arises, you as my cailleach must awaken,” he said, his tone suddenly conciliatory. “You know this.”

  “What is so important that you drag me from my slumber?” she hissed, despite knowing that angering a God could be fatal.

  “It is your brother.”

  “Brenós?” she asked.

  “You have more than one?” the God teased, sounding cheerful and malicious.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “No, only Brenós,” she said, unable to stop herself despite knowing he was venting his anger with sarcasm. Finally opening her eyes, blinking against the harsh glow radiating from his staff, illuminating a room that should have been shrouded in darkness, Bee saw nothing but the stark reality of her surroundings. A room and a bed—all that she needed in the dreamworld she was meant to be inhabiting. The world she would be inhabiting still if not for her older sibling.

  What have ye done, brother?

  Her older brother had never done anything to deserve the scrutiny of An Dagda, never mind his enmity—an enmity that could prove fatal, had proved fatal more often than not.

  He might be cheerful, but he’s also as venomous as a pit full of vipers.

  Whatever her brother had done, he would rue it, and probably sooner rather than later. An Dagda was a Chieftain of Danu’s People, the Tuatha De Danann. As a chief, he didn’t suffer transgression with a forgiving nature, and only some form of wrongdoing would cause him to wake her. Only mischief or Danu herself. Bee doubted Danu ordered it because the Mother Goddess never bothered with the lesser Gods, more especially An Dagda, not since their love dried up and died because of his fixation with The Five Kingdoms.

  “What possible interest could you have in my half-witted brother?” she scoffed, unable to stop herself from baiting him.

  “He stole through the portal.”

  And there it was: the cherry atop her oatcake. Bee felt her heart skip several beats, and her drowsiness vanished. The portal was the path to the world An Dagda had created, a world separate from the Fae Realm. It was sacrosanct—the roadway she used when it was time to end the Scourge and force the demon horde back into their prison. She hadn’t even known her brother was aware the portal existed. But then, she remembered, he’d been toying with divination, using bird entrails and guano to seek insights—sacrificing small animals to Danu. Perhaps by some happenstance, he’d discovered a clue? Some lump of cac with a certain tilt or shade; a particular purple tint to a pile of animal offal; some pointer to the portal’s presence and location.

  But what does he hope to achieve? He’ll just be joining the little creatures he’s been killing, lying with his offal piled beside him.

  “I don’t understand, Lord.”

  “Nor I, Bee. However, understanding is not my first priority. Punishment is what I require.”

  You have gone too far this time, brother. “What can I do?” she asked, pushing herself up in the bed.

  “None should pass through without my permission—”

  “I know, Lord, but what do you expect of me?”

  Despite the anger apparent in the rosiness of An Dagda’s cheeks, which were flaring more than usual, Bee continued to stare at him eye-to-eye. She knew that interrupting was never advised, but doing so with a surly tone and a jutting chin could prove fatal. As she stared, Bee found herself drowning in the depths of his orbs, sure she could lose herself in them when he finally spoke, breaking the spell.

  “I need you to bring him back to face my wrath.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, Finn has already gone. I sent him ahead to track Brenós. He will return and wait for you beside the Western Wastes’ door. Get dressed. He will be there soon, and we have much to discuss before you travel through the portal.”

  The Wastes. Oh, Tuatha, this gets better and better.

  “Why me, Lord? Surely, one of your warriors would be better suited. Another Finn.”

  “Finn is more of a tracker than a warrior. You, Bechuille, are my cailleach. You know the Five Kingdoms. You know him and what he might be planning. To find him in the vastness of the Five Kingdoms will need the Neit’s Maidens, and you and the Whitehead are acquainted. Tell me, who else should I send?”

  Anyone but me. Bren’s my brother.