The King of Eire

 …Linger here no longer, my King

You must death away

For goodness and mercy

No longer holds sway…

 Bee Bee had very carefully straddled Eitilt’s legs. He very carefully moved himself under her, careful of her stitches. “I shall just place my arms like so, on your shoulders,” she smiled at him, kissed him, and then kissed him deeper.

When he thrust upwards, contact with her heat was instantaneous. Slowly, he began rocking his pelvis. Her moans turned into panting. “Harder, please, harder,” she was  pleading.

“No,” he kissed her and held her hips still as he continued to fill her, withdraw, push back in, withdraw. A never-ending surge of heat and wet and male and female.

“Look at me,” he whispered in her ear. “Look, look into my eyes and see my desire, our life together, our children to come in the ages.”

He held her with the fire that danced from his eyes, the blues and greens dancing and peering deep into her. “Ah-h-h-h,” came out in a scream and he pulled her to him, his hands firm on her ass as he pumped into her and then lay back against the headboard, bringing her with him.

“What was that?” she asked him. “What did you do to me?”

“I did not do anything except show you my love and desire,” he nuzzled around on her neck looking for the perfect bone.

“No,” she was shaking her head, “no. There was something more. I could…could…I felt your orgasm.”

“Granny said it was possible when you had the right mate,” he put them both down onto the bed, his hand traveling up and down her back.

“I felt yours, as well,” he said sounding very satisfied. “A dragon talks with their eyes. And if you have the weaker will, you are doomed, for you are lost there and at their mercy.   That is why you never want to get caught in one’s gaze. Granny said you could express yourself to your mate like that, as well. I guess she was right.”

“Eitilt,” she snuggled on top of his chest her voice thoughtful.   “How much of The Pansy do you have to ingest before you cannot shift?”

Well drat. It was obvious where this was going…Please, just not yet….! “One ounce. That will buy you an hour. Then add a half ounce for each additional hour. Why?”

“In the three poems, and now with King Keevan, how was it that a poisoned arrow caused them to fall and die? Would there be enough poison on an arrowhead to cause that to happen?”

“No of course not my Mrs.,” he let just a bit of desire leak out into his voice.  “But,” he sniffed her hair and felt himself start to harden, this new information could be dealt with later. They had a moment before they had to give way to this madness that Ryland’s house had created. “But we do not need…”

“Yes we do,” she pushed off and sat up. “That shit is not going to happen to us. We think we have won and then you end up dead. That is not going to make me very happy.”

“Well yes, thank you my Dear One, but you could make me very happy…now…” his voice died off.

Staring back at him was a determined look and maybe a bit of dragon pissed-off-ness.

“I want some type of community gee-gaw about this. Cecil, you anywhere close by?” she asked.

“Yes my Queen,” he stuck his head through the closed-door. “How may I be of service?”

“Round up however many fae are in the building and tell them drinks are on the house. Bring something with them. I feel like talking.”

Everyone was gathered back into the room, perched everywhere.

“Here is the deal,” Bee Bee began.   “I trust everyone that is in this room. I do not know who you know outside of this room. I am trusting you not to discuss this with them. If you have a problem with that, then please excuse yourself and go someplace else.”

Little butts wiggled in deeper and bigger butts sat taller.

“I know of four accounts where a dragon and his wynd ryder were victorious and after the battle, the dragon is shot from the air with a poisoned arrow and dies. History is not going to repeat itself.   Someone explain to me what the fuck happened and how do we prevent it from happening, again.”

“More than an arrow dipped in poison is required to fell a dragon,” Sandra started. “The Pansy dipped onto an arrow, no,” she shook her head.

“Was the battle over?” Yarborough asked. “When we declare a victory, we drink a toast to our fallen heroes.”

“Yes,” Bee Bee was thoughtful. “The ones in the poems, the battles were over. And then the king takes flight to destroy the last of the rebels and he is shot.”

“Yes,” Cecil said. “King Keevan, we got word that he had routed the enemy. He would have been offered a drink to toast our fallen…”

“Someone poisoned their drink,” Bee Bee hissed.

“But…the sagas are an age and an age apart,” Eitilt said softly.

“Just what do you know about the librarians?” Bee Bee asked. “For instance, how old are they?   Where do the come from? Talk among yourselves.”

“And how many of them are there?” MacHenry raised his voice to be heard. “Every time I would go in there I would see someone different.”

“I was down in a cavern once,” Yarborough said as all were paying her rapt attention. “I was sent to fetch a book for Madame L’sióg.   Those caverns go on forever from what little I could see. I could smell their hot drinks. There must have been about a dozen of them just in the general area.”

“How old is the oldest of the fae?” Eitilt asked.

“That would be in the thumb-bellas,” Yarborough said. “The smallest live the longest. I don’t know how to term in passages of time, but there is one of us who remembers the first of many things.”

“We need names, or descriptions…or something…” Bee Bee was thoughtful. “Something that can be cross-referenced. There was a one someone who was present for each king. Filled his cup with The Pansy, started the last skirmish and when the king took flight, the assassin shot him, allowing those on the ground to think this was the killing blow.”

“Assassin,” the word passed around the room.

“Of course,” Eitilt nodded. “There would have been another. Probably not a third. That kind of secret is hard to keep with three. And the librarian probably killed her accomplice, afterwards. The Master Assassin would perhaps be the place to start. The librarians might destroy and rewrite their records, but not the Master Assassin,” Eitilt said. “My Darling One, we need to somehow get you access to his records.

Cecil,” Eitilt looked at the solid form that stood before him.   “How did you get your reflection to show up where I was?”

“We worked a spell. Mistress Sara provided the tub with the water, Yarborough mixed in some star-dust, Willy tossed in some leprechaun gold dust, Neala, everyone’s favorite banshee, she added a charm of continuing and Hannah wrote the spell. Sandra hit it with dragon fire. We all chanted together and it held long enough so I could talk to you.”

“Interesting. As a rule, I thought all of you kept your magics separate?” Eitilt regarded the small ones with a whole new look.

Cecil shrugged. Yarborough looked most amused.

“Our Mr. had to know what was about so he could return home to his Mrs.,” Sara said. “We did not know if it would work and was most pleased when it did.”

“I thank you,” Eitilt bowed his head. “I do. But I am not for sure that is going to be of help.   I think Bee Bee needs to be hands on.

All of you, please, put your considerable brainpower behind this, please. My Mrs. has already said how unhappy she is going to be if something happens to me. I believe she said that this shit is not going to happen again.”

“We’ll be on the lookout for traitors, our King,” Sara said with a curtsy. “All of us. Now, our Queen Mrs. is looking sleepy. She heals when she sleeps.”

All of them blew kisses to their Queen Mrs. and tiptoed silently out the door.

Bee Bee reached for his hand. When she had it firmly in hers she kissed it and then said, “There was a traitor inside each time, my beloved.”

“Seems to be, does it not,” he lay down beside her, pulling her into his arms. “Someone close enough to him to hand him a victory drink. Some one he would not question. Then someone to start the skirmish that causes him to take flight and falling as human kills him.”

“Do you think it is the same person for all four, or did someone leave very good notes?”

“It is a someone,” he nodded in agreement. “A very old someone. Who is very good at masking their age. I think the thumb-bellas will work their end of this and I think Gay’el will have a certain amount of knowledge. You sleep now,” he said kissing her and then tucking her in. “I am going to talk to my brother.”

Aed listened to all his brother had to say. Gael was sitting there with him. With Mer’lyn’s help, she was able to understand what was being said with the blue and green lights in the fire.

She was translating for her parents.

“Yes,” Gay’le said. “I will check our sagas. We keep a list of who goes through our school, who fails, their strengths and weaknesses. Weapon of choice. Who ever it is on the ground with the poison, probably would not be the same up in the air starting a new skirmish or sitting waiting with a bow. That person would already be in place.  Any type of House recognition would be helpful. Was there anything in the sagas?”

“Bee Bee would have noted that,” Eitilt replied. “Nothing like that came up.”

“Do they mention the colors of the trees?” Gay’el asked.

“Well yes, at the beginning of each saga.”

“That is the colors of the house,” Gay’el said. “The earliest of the sagas used that method of story telling. Also, have her note do they use blade or sword? Also is it a bow or a bow and tiller. Tiller is a very old name for arrow. That will be the only way we will be able to affix any type of time line to them.”

“She did say that each saga invokes a heavenly body,” Eitilt added.

“Good,” Gay’el was pleased. “That means the sagas are very old. The heavenly body would form the shield. These sagas are before my time. That will be helpful,” Gay’el mused out loud.   “From the poem, the crest and coat of arms can be determined.”

“I am sorry,” Engl said, “that I cannot be of more help. I must keep my magic very subtle so that I draw no attention to myself.”

“Yes,” Eitilt said. “I see the wisdom in that. Especially now. Whoever this is, they are very good at what they do. We do not want them to change how they do business. Not yet. We will push them at the last-minute and let them know we are not playing a game of chance. We are playing to win.  Not ever again are they slaying a King of Eire.  My Bee Bee, she will not allow this.”