The Faeries' Harp

24: A New Home

“Test me, Your Majesty?” Rhys questions, trying and failing to keep his considerable apprehension out of his voice.

“A trifle, really, compared to all you have gone through this day,” the Faerie Queen replies, dismissing his concerns with a wave of her hand.

“Begging Your pardon, Your Majesty, but might we be permitted to assist in that endeavor?” someone interrupts from one of the galleries.

“Of course. I should have suggested that, myself. Please, Duke and Duchess of Wisteria, come to the throne and be reunited with your son.”

Rhys can hardly believe his ears, and his astonishment grows even greater when another faerie couple approaches the Throne and perform their obeisances to the Faerie Queen before turning their attention to him. The Duke looks like an older version or Rhys, only with dark purple wings and hair instead of dark blue; the Duchess has wings and hair of deep turquoise, a beautiful smile, and kind eyes.

“Thank you so much, Your Majesty,” the Duke of Wisteria says.

“My son!” the Duchess of Wisteria exclaims at the same time while indecorously crushing Rhys in an impromptu embrace.

“Muirgel, my love, please do not be too hasty. This must all be quite a shock to the lad.”

“But, Aonghus, it has been so long since our wee lad was taken away—”

“What?” Rhys asks weakly; his questions are far more numerous and complicated than ‘what’, but the single word is all he can manage at the moment, even as Duchess Muirgel reluctantly releases him so that he can breathe again.

“We did not send you to the human realm ourselves,” Duke Aonghus explains. “It is believed that one of my rivals at court was responsible for that, but we never knew who took you or where you had been hidden from us.”

“How can we be sure—”

“That you are their son?” Magister Diarmaid interjects, and Rhys nods. “As if the resemblance between yourself and Duke Aonghus were not sufficient, I will vouch for it. Your energy feels to be a blend of theirs, of a hereditary kind.”

“No one in my realm is more to be trusted in such matters than Magister Diarmaid,” the Faerie Queen assures Rhys. “I take it that the two of you wish to have him reinstated as your son?”

“Very much, if the lad is willing,” Duke Aonghus replies while his wife nods vigorously; her eyes are brimming with tears of joy.

“Rhys? What say you?” the Faerie Queen prompts him. Rhys struggles for words. He would very much like not to be left figuring out the fae realm on his own, but so much has happened and so much has been revealed in so very little time, he is having trouble processing it all.

Saoirse looks on with a mixture of happiness for Rhys and a little bit of jealousy at the warm reception he has received from his fae parents. When he glances her way, his eyes make it clear just how overwhelmed he is. She gives him a smile of encouragement and a slight nod.

“It would be an honor,” Rhys manages to say despite feeling completely overwhelmed and out of place.

“Very well, then. As Queen of the Faeries, I hereby reinstate Rhys as the son and heir to the Duke and Duchess of Wisteria,” the Faerie Queen declares. A shimmering golden wind streams from her fingertips and winds its way around Rhys and the Duke and Duchess, connecting the three of them together, before abruptly disappearing. “And let it also be known throughout the realm that Saoirse is henceforward apprentice and ward of Magister Diarmaid.” Polite applause can be heard through the galleries as a glittering silver wind wraps around Saoirse and Magister Diarmaid before disappearing as the golden wind had.

“And thank you so much, Flower Guard, for handling today’s events so professionally and with such efficiency,” the Faerie Queen continues, this time addressing Seamus, Kyrie, Aeowyn, Alastair, Myghal, and Elowen. “You will take tomorrow as a day of rest, to recuperate from the considerable exertions of today.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the Flower Guard answer severally.

“I believe that concludes the major business for today, and that it is high time all of us found more restful pursuits in which to spend our time. Determining the full extent of Rhys’s and Saoirse’s abilities can wait until tomorrow. This session of court is adjourned.”

The Queen rises from her Throne and floats out of the room, accompanied by several attendants who heretofore have been making themselves scarce. Once she has left, the galleries are abuzz with conversations amongst the noble fae. The Flower Guard say a quick goodbye to Rhys and Saoirse before departing the room, though Alastair wishes he could linger and speak with Saoirse for a few moments.

“Can either of you explain about the test?” Rhys asks the Duke and Duchess of Wisteria; in no way is he ready to consider them his parents yet.

“We can try, though we would much prefer to speak of other things. You have been gone for so long!” Duchess Muirgel replies.

“It is truly nothing to worry about,” Duke Aonghus assures Rhys. “Your magical abilities are probably similar to ours. We will just spend some time together teaching you how to access and use them and see what comes most easily to you. It should be fun, and certainly not some unpleasant ordeal.”

“Now tell us, what was it like in the mortal realm? We’ve never visited, ourselves,” Duchess Muirgel continues before Rhys can say anything while she and Duke Aonghus each take one of Rhys’s arms and pull him with them out of the Throne Room in the direction of their private residence within the palace compound.

Meanwhile, Saoirse timidly approaches Magister Diarmaid, with Bergljot accompanying her every step of the way.

“My Lord…. Forgive me for speaking out of turn,” she begins, to which Magister Diarmaid responds with a surprised chuckle.

“Please, Saoirse. You need not be so formal with me except when Court is in session,” he tells her kindly.

“Then…how shall I address you?”

“Just ‘sir’ or ‘Magister’ will be fine. I do not think you will agree to call me Diarmaid.”

“At present, I cannot. I am most appreciative of what you have done for me today.”

“I would not deserve my title if I did any less. Do you have any sense of just how incredible and unheard of your gifts are?”

“No, sir. How could I? I dreamed of the harp every night, while I was in the mortal realm, but not even my wildest dreams could have envisioned this context for it, nor….what I am.”

“You dreamed of the harp?”

“Yes. And voices, calling my name. Every night, for as long as I can remember.”

Magister Diarmaid stares at Saoirse and shakes his head slowly. “Unbelievable. The charms the Duke and Duchess of Chrysanthemum had placed on you were some of the strongest we have, and even so, your true self and your true home were connected to your consciousness. That the harp figured at all in these visions of yours is most interesting. It will take every ounce of self-control I have to refrain from testing the nature and limitations of your gifts before morning.”

“I…greatly appreciate your restraint, Magister. I first approached you to ask where I might find a place to rest this night.”

“Ah, yes, of course. And we will need a place for Bergljot, as well. Come with me. I believe we can make the necessary arrangements in my lodgings.”