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Moralltach, so I sheathed it before getting any closer, thinking that might be a tad more diplomatic than pointing it at her.
    Flidais halted before the wee knoll on which Brighid’s throne sat. It was made of iron she’d forged herself; originally a master of copper and bronze, Brighid had made a special point of becoming proficient in the magic-repelling metal when the Milesians had brought it to Ireland long ago. They thought they’d driven the Tuatha Dé Danann » underground, « but in fact they’d driven them to create a plane of magic, and so the Milesians were indirectly responsible for the birth of the vast panoply of magical » little folk « that plagued and blessed them and their descendants for generations afterward. Brighid’s throne was a palpable symbol of who exactly was master of the Fae. It occurred to me, for the first time, that my cold iron aura here , in her place of power, was a challenge in itself. I had visibly mastered iron to a degree that she had not. And I could move around and stuff. Her throne just sat there. But judging by the hardness in her eyes, that particular issue was far down on her list of bones to pick with me.
    » Majesty, « Flidais said. » The Druid Siodhachan Ó Suileabháin, as you requested. «
    A tiny nod of dismissal gave Flidais permission to take her seat amongst the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danann. I found myself wondering with mad distraction who Perun was currently staring at. Would he follow Flidais to her seat or fix his eyes on Brighid’s bare breasts?
    Brighid quirked an eyebrow at me, waiting to see how I would address her. It was the first of many challenges, I knew. If I called her Majesty, it would acknowledge her as my sovereign and establish her as someone who could order me about. Taking a knee would also signal submission, and I wasn’t about to do either of those things. Instead, I bowed quickly and courteously and said, » You wished for an audience, Brighid. « Conditioned by my years in the United States, I almost blurted out, » What can I do for you? « That would have been disastrous. Instead, I coughed once to cover my mistake and confined myself to stating the obvious: » I am here. «
    » You delve quickly to the heart of the matter, « she sneered. The triple voice was gone; only the alto register remained. » I was told you died twelve years ago. «
    » Whoever told you must have been mistaken. «
    » The Morrigan is never mistaken about deaths. «
    » Did she specifically say that I was dead? «
    » Yes. «
    » She used my name? «
    » Yes. She said the Druid Atticus O’Sullivan lay chopped to pieces in the Arizona desert. This was corroborated by several thunder gods. «
    » Begging your pardon, Brighid, but that is not my name. «
    Brighid’s eyes narrowed. » So I have been intentionally duped. «
    I did not ask forgiveness. I stuck to the facts. » It was a necessary deception, liberally applied to all. I did not wish to be pursued by the aforementioned thunder gods forever. «
    » Why not simply slay them, as you did Thor? «
    » I never slew Thor. That was someone else. And since I returned Fragarach, I thought that was sufficient payment for a harmless subterfuge. «
    Brighid darted her eyes over to Manannan Mac Lir, who shrugged, obviously confused.
    » Say that again, Druid, « the goddess said.
    » I never slew Thor. «
    » No. What was that about Fragarach? «
    » I returned it. Via the Morrigan. «
    Brighid’s eyes widened in fury. » The Morrigan! « she spat. » You gave Fragarach into the keeping of the Morrigan? «
    » She promised to return it to Manannan Mac Lir, « I explained.
    » I remember my promises well, Siodhachan, « a raspy voice chuckled from my left. The Morrigan stood there, naked save for an iron amulet around her neck, skin like cream in porcelain and hair darker than a mine shaft. Her eyes glowed red as she stared at Brighid, Fragarach cocked over her head and her taut body ready for battle. » I never