Ethna floated through the dance hall in a gown of silver gossamer, her loose black hair foaming around her, the gemstones at her girdle sparkling diamond and sapphire and amethyst. Every eye in the room was upon her, especially those of her husband, Lord Kerovan. They'd been married only a week before, and every night since he'd hosted a feast in her honor.

To be honest, Ethna had grown bored with it all already. Oh, Kerovan made a nice enough husband (And from the stories she'd heard from friends, their wedding night had been far gentler than most), the food and wine were delicious, and how could she not enjoy being the object of so much admiration? But something was just...not quite right.

It wasn't that she'd expected to love Kerovan; theirs had been a marriage of political convenience. But Ethna had expected something more that this. What, she didn't know. It was as if she'd suddenly noticed the lack of a color she'd never seen before, or the tang of a fruit she'd never tasted.

I'm missing something, something important, Ethna thought, all the while holding tight to her serene white smile. Kerovan must never know how she felt; there was nothing he could do about it, anyway, except worry. Poor dear, he thought he was giving her everything she'd ever dreamed of; but even Ethna herself didn't know all that she dreamed.

Suddenly a strange note cut through the music of the dance hall: the silver-clear call of a hunting horn. But no hunting horn had ever sounded quite this pure or lovely. Ethna paused in the dance, though everyone around her continued to dip and sway, oblivious.

Then came the trill of flutes and harps, washing through the noisy hall in a beautiful, breathtaking flood that engulfed the new bride in an instant.

Not quite resisting, Ethna released the hand of her dance partner and let herself be swept up in the swirl of beautiful supernatural music. Distantly she sensed her body sinking to the floor behind her, but her awareness continued on out the door of the hall; across the moonlit fields of her husband's lands; and on, on, on at last to a dark hill looming against a dark horizon: Knockma, the fairy rath of King Finvarra.

Neither she nor the music had any physical substance, and they passed easily through the grassy walls and hidden wards. And then - and then -

shimmering, sparkling lights, slit-pupiled eyes of cornflower blue, and ice-hot inhuman hands caressing her intangible body in ways her husband could never have imagined.

Ethna's mind was too full of music to form anything close to a rational thought. All she could do was churn in the currents, crying out in voiceless ecstasy, begging for it never to end. This was it. This was what she'd been missing...or very nearly.

But then the music began to fade, and the rest of the vision along with it, blotted out by the light of a new day breaking through the window of her bridal chamber.

Reluctantly, Ethna opened her eyes.

Kerovan sat on the edge of the bed, clasping her limp hand to his chest. Behind him stood the doctor who'd certified her virginity before the wedding (She still shuddered at the memory), and behind him stood her beloved nurse Bronagh and a number of the castle's other servants.

Ethna blinked, frowned, tried her best to hold onto the magic. But the real world held her now, just as it always had. She sighed, then registered the pained look on her husband's face and conjured a smile. "Good morning, Kerovan," she whispered, reaching up to finger his long, curly red locks. "I've just had the loveliest dream."

He began to smile in return.

"In fact," she continued, her voice rushing ahead almost without conscious thought, "I wish I could go right back to sleep and return there again."

Every face in the room but hers fell.

Realizing her mistake, Ethna blushed and laughed as if she'd made a joke; but it was true. She really did want to go back there again. She really did want the shimmering lights and inhuman hands and the music - oh, the music! She'd have done anything to hear it again, to bathe in it and let it wash away all her thoughts and fears and responsibilities. Forever.

Now they really did look worried.

"Something's been at her," muttered the doctor, whose name she'd never even been told before he touched her. "Something unnatural. And it will be back.

"You-" he pointed to Bronagh- "stay with her, night and day. Keep her in bed, and don't let her out of your sight until I decide it's safe. I'll have to consult my books before I can say more." He spun from the room even as Bronagh bobbed a curtsey.

Ethna smiled at her nurse. The old woman had been more of a mother to her than her own mother had ever been. Maybe she'd understand what the others didn't...if only Ethna could remember it all clearly enough to tell. Already the dream was fading like morning mist, leaving nothing behind but a warm, wet throb between her thighs.

Even with cheerful Bronagh for company, Ethna quickly grew tired of moping around in bed. First she convinced the nurse to let her walk around the room, then out into the halls, and finally into the garden. A sparkle of strange color in a dewdrop gave her pause; she'd never seen it before, but she had. Then the glimpse was gone.

Afternoon fell and Bronagh ushered her back inside, back to the safety of her bridal chamber. It would be just the two women here tonight, for Kerovan and all his men were determined to patrol the grounds until daybreak.

Ethna had just sat down on the bed when the last beam of sunlight winked out behind the distant hills. A single low note sounded outside the window, and once again she found herself swept up in a current she had no desire to fight. Her body was too heavy to flow with it, so it fell back let and her consciousness speed on alone, back to the fairy rath, back to him.

She'd felt more than she'd seen of him the last time, but now he let her look long and hard on his perfection: crystalline cat eyes; a sweep of icy white hair almost as long as her own; a lean, pale, chiseled body and bulging manhood. A spark of worry flared in her mind but was snuffed by the torrent of music.

Finvarra drew her to him effortlessly, twining her thoughts around his pulsing cock until it became the very center of her being. It left room for nothing else.

His low, melodious voice filled her flattened mind: "You are mine now, Ethna. My bride, not his. Forever."

She lacked even the will to agree. The roar of his pulse shook her core, obliterating all else.

"But," he said, pausing over the word, relishing it, "not all of you is mine yet. There is the small matter of your body."

She had a fleeting remembrance of her limp flesh falling back onto the bed, then forgot it in her bodiless twining around his member. Nothing mattered but this. He would let nothing matter but this.

"I will send my servants to retrieve it," Finvarra murmured, stroking himself - and her - as he spoke. "They will lay a spell of sleep over Kerovan and all his household, then creep inside and steal your sweet, pliant flesh from under their snoring noses." He chuckled. "Of course, none of them will even recall falling asleep the next morning. That should be amusing, don't you think?"

Ethna didn't think; she only experienced. But sensing his pleasure, she coiled even tighter around him in response.

"Once you're whole again," Finvarra told her, "I'll introduce you to the rest of the harem. And to my wife."

Kerovan opened the bedroom door slowly, not wanting to startle Ethna if she were still asleep. As the crack widened, he saw first Bronagh, slumped in her chair and snoring softly; then the bed, sheets rumpled and empty.

"Ethna?" he whispered, hearing the rust of fear in his voice. "Ethna? Where are you?"

There was no answer.

He flung the door wide, banging it against the wall and starting Bronagh out of her sleep. "My lord!" she gasped, "what's wrong?"

"What's wrong?!" He jabbed his hand at the empty bed. "That's what's wrong, you stupid old-" he checked himself with an effort. It wasn't Bronagh's fault she'd fallen asleep. After all, she was old, infirm. Even the young lord himself had found it hard to stay awake the entire night, though he'd managed.

The old nurse gaped at the bed, then back at Kerovan. "Oh, my lord, oh, oh, oh...." She clutched her chest and shook her head. "I don't see how it could have happened, my lord. I've been right here the entire night."

"Yes, Bronagh," Kerovan agreed bitterly. "You've been right here - asleep. They must have carried her right past you."

Her eyes widened in dismay. "No, my lord, I swear! I've been awake the whole night! I haven't slept a wink!"

He choked back a second insult. What good would it do, blaming the old woman? She would never have intentionally let harm come to Ethna; she loved her every bit as much as Kerovan did.

No, this was no time for punishment; it was time for action. But first he'd need advice on how to act, and he knew just the person to ask.

Kerovan had been brought up in these hills, and brought up with a healthy respect for those who lived beneath them. He'd always been careful to stay on the fair folks' good side, leaving the occasional keg of Spanish wine under a castle window for Finvarra's servants to carry off, even encountering the Sidhe King himself on a number of occasions, mostly while on the hunt. Finvarra had always treated him fairly and offered wise council; no doubt he would do again. So thought the young lord as he approached the fairy rath.

It seemed there was a certain sparkle around the hill today, something more than could be accounted for by mere sunlight on mist. It was almost as if the air itself was excited, was - it was! It was laughing! Well, something was laughing, and that something didn't sound human. Kerovan reined in his horse and laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. He stilled his breathing as best he could and listened.

Yes, he could hear them now, above him, beneath him, all around him, nowhere near him: two high-pitched, buzzing voices that giggled like drunken teenagers. He could only catch snatches of their conversation:

"...Finvarra's right glad now..."

"...could have seen the look on Kerovan's face...bride...stolen"

"...Finvarra's harem..."

"...never see her again..."

Kerovan's cheeks flushed and his knuckles tightened around his sword hilt. Finvarra was the kidnaper? Finvarra, whom he'd always treated as an equal or a better? Finvarra, whom he'd trusted to return honor for honor? The young lord ground his teeth. He should have known better than to trust a Sidhe.

But now what could he do? What power did a mere mortal have against the King of the Fae?

The voices seemed to sense his thoughts and grew clearer.

"And yet," one said slyly, "he could dig down to the center of the hill, break open the rath, and reclaim his wife."

The other voice giggled in response. "He could, but the work is hard and the way is difficult. Do you think he could do it?"

The sly one snickered. "We shall see."

"Indeed we will," Kerovan answered loudly, not sure whether they heard him or not, and not much caring. "Neither fairy, nor devil, nor Finvarra himself shall stand between me and my bride!" He spurred his horse back toward the castle, the wheels already spinning in his head.

Ethna's spirit was still coiled around Finvarra's cock when they brought her body to him. She would scarcely have noticed it if the sight hadn't brought him to a whole new level of arousal. She clung tight, quivering with anticipation and the pulse of her master's blood, as he approached the nude, limp form hanging in his servants' arms.

One hand closed around the spiritual Ethna and his own thick member within her. "Have you ever made love to yourself?" he asked. His other hand reached out and brushed the merest tips of her body's nipples.

Ethna screamed, though she wasn't sure which half of her, if either, had made an actual noise. She bunched tight in ecstasy around Finvarra's cock and was pleased to hear him groan. Somewhere at the bottom of her smothered mind lay a memory of some other cock, some other groan; but she had no means of examining it and no desire to try. All her desire was wrapped tightly around Finvarra.

"So sweet, so beautiful, so very nearly pure," he murmured, brushing a finger across her body's nether lips and eliciting an even louder spiritual shriek. "Just enough use to catch the rhythm, but not enough to spoil the freshness."

He swept the body from his servants' arms, and the sensation sent white-hot flashes of ecstasy through both of Ethna's incomplete halves. Then he lay the body down upon his bed and himself upon the body.

Ethna had just a moment to notice the dew around its rose-flushed lips. Then he plunged inside them, and she plunged inside them, and the two (three?) of them together began pumping like a bellows blowing life into a fire. Sensation flared around her, and Ethna realized that she was the fire and it was Finvarra who was bringing her to life. She and her body were one again, blazing like an inferno beneath him, because of him. He had remade her, and she was entirely his. She writhed and screamed beneath him, her voice barely audible above the sound of the music.

When at last Finvarra was sated, Ethna opened new eyes, brimful of the adoration he'd just pumped into her. She could neither think nor feel anything else. "My master," she murmured. "My lord. Forever."

"Yet another one, Finvarra?"

Even though she had her body back, Ethna still clung tightly to her master. She couldn't even take her eyes off him except when he pointed something out to her specifically: a piece of beautiful piece of sculpture or tapestry; goblins toiling at the bottom of a well; the throngs of mortal women plucked before her, now wilting slowly and deliciously beneath the ever-present music - wilting, but unable to wither or die. No one ever died here. The more recent brides still had enough life in them to moan and writhe a bit; the oldest were smiling, sighing, corpse-eyed dolls.

Somewhere deep inside, the real Ethna knew this would be her fate in the end. She accepted it, as she accepted everything else, because her master had left no room in her mind for anything else.

Now they had come to the throne room, thick with Sidhe luminaries lounging in various states of undress and drunken revelry. Ethna caught only glimpses of them, from the corners of her eyes. None of them could hope to compete with her master.

The room held two thrones, on one of which was seated a woman Ethna couldn't quite see, but whom Finvarra addressed with cheerful �lan. "But, my sweet, this is the fairest mortal woman in all of Eire."

"You say that every time," the woman drawled.

"You must admit I have impeccable taste." Finvarra smiled charmingly. "After all, I married you first of all of them."

She chuckled low and appreciative. "I always did enjoy your tongue best of all your parts."

"And that, my dear, says all that needs be said." He cupped Ethna's chin in his hands and turned her to face the throne. "Bride, meet wife. Ethna, this is Oonagh."

A star exploded before Ethna's eyes. She flinched back with a cry, but Finvarra held her firmly in place until she had recovered enough to take in the vision.

The woman on the throne had skin every bit as pale and perfect as Finvarra's, but where his seemed cold and implacable, hers glowed with soft, warm radiance. Golden hair spilled down from her circlet behind her back, around her shoulders, all the way to the tips of her soft velvet shoes. Her gown seemed composed of a billion dewdrops, each sparkling with its own tiny rainbow.

Their eyes locked just for a moment, Ethna's spell-clouded blue to Oonagh's clear spring-green, and the entranced mortal gasped. She'd thought - but this was - this was -

Finvarra's power swept over the vision like storm clouds over a shining sun. He turned Ethna back to face him, and she melted against his body, instantly forgetting whatever it was she hadn't had time to realize. It didn't matter anyway. Only he mattered.

Finvarra. Her lord and master. She was his toy to use for as long as he liked, and his toy to discard when he grew bored with her. And when she lay entranced and forgotten in the harem, along with all the rest of his human brides, she would while away eternity contemplating the single thought that filled her head as thoroughly as his cock had filled her body: Finvarra. Always Finvarra.

"All right, men!" Kerovan rode up and down the line of assembled diggers: nobles, castle servants, laborers and workmen from all the county 'round, united for once behind a single purpose. To a greater or lesser extent, Ethna had been loved by every one of them. She was the pride of Tuam, their good luck charm, their goddess made flesh.

"You know what's at stake here," Kerovan told them as they stood grimly over their spades. "A woman's life, her freedom - but also all our lives, all our freedom. For too long the Sidhe have kept us under their thumbs, placating us with lies of honor and respect while we placated them with the best of our food and wine...and our women. But we will be chained to their will no longer, nor will we allow our loved ones to be chained. Today we dig out the poison in Eire by its roots. Today we free Ethna - and ourselves. Dig, men! Dig with a will!"

They toiled from sunup to sundown, then laid down tools and weary bodies with many a clap on the back and a "well done, friend." A great trench gaped through the center of Knockma, perhaps half the depth of the hill. No one was sure how far beneath it lay the fairy rath, but most expected to uncover it in two or three more days.

They drank a toast to Kerovan and another to Ethna, then bundled their aching bones into blankets and settled down for the night.

Kerovan slept fitfully, fretting over thoughts of what Finvarra might be doing with his bride, and he was the first to awake the following morn. Brushing the bitter grit from his eyes, he looked up toward Knockma - and let out a cry of dismay.

The hill was whole, untouched, down to the tiniest blade of grass.

Stirred from slumber, the diggers joined him in his anguish, his cursing. Then, because there was nothing else they could do, they set to digging again - though with much less enthusiasm than before.

They decided to sleep in shifts that night, so that several eyes would be awake and focused on the hill at any given moment. And yet, somehow, somewhere, deep in the darkness, the fairy mound remade itself again with no one the wiser.

The next morning Kerovan's heart felt ready to burst with rage and grief. With a mad cry he grabbed a pickaxe and stormed up the hill, stabbing wildly at the ground and shouting, almost incoherently, "Finvarra! Finvarra, you heartless coward! Come out here and face me like a man! Come out here, you honorless thief!"

Silence rang in the air around him.

He paused, panting, near the top of the hill; and the pickaxe slipped from his fingers. What more was there to do? He'd been a fool for the first time when he thought he could trust the Fae, and he'd been a fool again in thinking he could defeat them. He hung his head and watched his sweat drip onto the grass, each bead sparkling with a tiny, mocking rainbow.

A voice buzzed in the air by his ear, close as a kiss but barely audible: "Sprinkle the earth you have dug up with salt, and your work will be safe."

Kerovan jerked upright, mouth agape. He knew that voice! When he'd heard it and the other before, they had seemed either oblivious to his presence or else openly mocking him. But now? Could this one really be offering him help? He hardly dared trust it after the betrayal Finvarra had dealt him, but with so much at stake, how could he not take the chance?

The crowd was buzzing even before he reached the foot of the hill. They'd seen his anguish, and they'd seen his remarkable change of heart, though they didn't yet know the cause. Already they were almost as eager as he was, himself.

Soon half the men were digging again and the other half had galloped off in search of salt.

Ethna knelt at the side of Finvarra's throne like an obedient dog, sensing her master's worry but unable to comprehend or ease it.

From somewhere above the ceiling came voices - rough human voices, so unlike the cool melodious tones she'd grown to know and love. They seemed to be cheering. Closer at hand but still far above buzzed the voices of the minor Fae, invisible to her even now as they fretted over some sort of imminent doom. Something about dust and mist.

None of it mattered to Ethna; she heard only music...and her master's voice.

Finvarra was speaking to his wife, whose name eluded Ethna for the moment. "Of course you're not worried; you have another home to retreat to before the final spade strikes its blow. I have only Knockma."

The reply came to Ethna as an inaudible murmur; then Finvarra spoke again. "Dammit, woman, I know. I know!" He laid a hand atop Ethna's head and stroked her hair absently. "It just pains me - pains me deeply, Oonagh - to have to submit to the demands of a mortal." He spat the word like a curse.

Another murmur from his wife - Ethna had lost her name again already - and Finvarra growled like a trapped animal. "The hell with Kerovan! Let him take his wretched bride and leave us in peace! They'll both be dead in a few years, anyway. They'll be the ones who crumble to dust, not I!"

He clenched his fingers painfully tight around Ethna's skull and threw his head back. "You hear me, Kerovan?" His voice boomed through the hall, loud as thunder, clear as a bugle call. The air shimmered and shook.

"Stop your work," he commanded, suddenly sounding as calm and controlled as his looks were bitter. "Lay down your spades, oh men of earth, and at sunset the bride shall be given back to her husband. I, Finvarra, have spoken."

And with that, he thrust Ethna's head away with such force that she fell forward onto the floor.

Still uncomprehending, she buried her face in her hands and grieved for his distress.

Ethna's awareness was once more coiled around Finvarra's cock, and a thick cloud of alcohol filled the air around them both. The Sidhe King lay sprawled across his couch with several wine kegs scattered around him, most of them already empty.

His dominance over her had slipped a bit, Ethna noticed; the mere fact that she could notice was testament enough to that. Not that she had regained anything close to free will. Her world had expanded a bit beyond her master's presence; that was all.

For instance, she could see her body now, standing nearby: pliant but upright, held in place by the fairy Queen's spell. Oonagh lounged comfortably amidst a stack of cushions, glowing with life, beauty...and amusement. Ethna wondered what she had to be so happy about, when her husband was so despondent.

Together the two of them watched as servants dressed Ethna's body in a gown of silver gossamer and a girdle of precious stones. It seemed vaguely familiar to the thrall.

"Don't forget this," Finvarra slurred, holding up a long silver pin with a diamond head.

"Of course not, darling," Oonagh answered. Her voice was a velvety purr. "The prick is the whole point of this silly exercise."

She flowed gracefully to her feet, then crossed the room and bent lovingly over him. "Relax, my husband," she cooed, "relax and sleep. Oonagh will take care of everything." Her lips brushed his, and whether because of the wine or because of her will, Finvarra's eyes fell closed.

Ethna's spellbound world shifted suddenly on its axis. How could she possibly have ignored this, this goddess so thoroughly before now? Oonagh glowed in her spiritual sight like sun on morning mist, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Had Ethna possessed eyes, she would have wept.

Oonagh smiled, acknowledging her recognition of what Ethna lacked the tongue to express. "So now you see," she said. Her voice was like the cry of distant gulls, painfully evocative - of what, Ethna didn't quite know. She longed to uncoil from the meaty thing that held her bound, to flow through the space between them and swirl delightedly around this newfound object of affection. But she couldn't.

"I know, my sweet," Oonagh murmured. She regarded the invisible thrall fondly, and Ethna realized suddenly that Oonagh's pupils, unlike those of Finvarra and the rest of the Sidhe, were as round as her own. "I recognized the spirit within you the moment you first appeared at my husband's side. You're one of the special ones, like me, like so many others, many of whom never even learn the truth about themselves. How fortunate you are that I found you."

She chuckled richly. "'Oonagh the devoted': that's what your kind call me. The menfolk never do consider what their wives might be up to behind their backs. As long as they never see or hear of them with another man, they think they're safe. So arrogant to assume that they alone could please us." She ran a fingertip through the air just above Finvarra's cock, caressing Ethna more exquisitely than he had ever done, yet leaving his own flesh untouched. "Of course, such ignorance has its uses."

She straightened and opened the hand that had touched Ethna so intimately. Within it lay a tiny, leaf-green stone. "Finvarra found you first and, unfortunately, my powers are not limitless. We must rid you of his influence before we can bring you to your true home. Mine."

She glided back to Ethna's abandoned body, waiting blank-eyed and patient across the room. "First the prick-" she held up Finvarra's silver pin, then drove it deep into the jeweled girdle- "Then the pleasure." She lifted the silver skirts and slipped her other hand, the one with the green stone, deep into the fleshly Ethna's cleft.

The spiritual Ethna, still quivering from the Queen's earlier touch, spasmed with an ecstasy like nothing she'd ever experienced before. Her inner world was all light and rainbow and root-deep joy. The air around Finvarra's cock shimmered and shook along with her.

Oonagh smiled broadly. "Now sleep, my sweet, along with your temporary master. Sleep and forget...for now."

Ethna's world grew dark and silent as the grave.

Kerovan waited at the head of the glen, fidgeting as the last rays of sunlight trickled backwards over the hills. It seemed to take forever. But at last the final beam vanished, leaving behind a silver shimmer that had nothing to do with sunlight. It moved slowly, swayingly, along the path from the fairy rath back toward Kerovan.

Ethna! He spurred his horse to full gallop.

It was too dark to see her eyes, but her white teeth glittered in a smile as he approached.

Almost weeping with relief, Kerovan dismounted and swept her up in his arms, then gave her the deepest, longest, most fervent kiss of his young life. She returned it with equal passion.

No words were needed between them. He lifted her easily onto his steed and galloped back home, his heart beating almost as loudly as the horse's hooves.

It wasn't until they'd reached the castle that Kerovan noticed something was wrong. Ethna still hadn't spoken, nor had she made any other movement since that first kiss. In fact, she seemed to be growing limper by the moment.

Servants gathered around them as he dismounted, and it was a good thing they were there to help him lift her out of the saddle. Although almost unnaturally light, Ethna was now dead weight.

They carried her upstairs and laid her in the bridal chamber with her hands folded across her chest like a corpse. Her face was pale, her eyes closed as if in sleep. But when Kerovan lifted the lids, he saw the stormy clouds that passed across her distended pupils and knew them for what they were. He spat a curse that made the women in the room jump and blush.

When the doctor arrived, he confirmed Kerovan's worst suspicions. "The Sidhe King still has a hold on her, and I don't know if we can break this one."

"I do," Kerovan snarled. "All we need are a few more spades and a bit more salt. I'll show that lying, thieving oath-breaker a thing or two about human determination."

The doctor coughed delicately. "I'm afraid it won't be so easy this time, my lord. For the lady to be in a state such as this, she must have eaten fairy food or been a part of some strange ceremony, something that can't be undone with a bit of simple digging."

"What will undo it, then?"

The old man spread his hands and shrugged. "Honestly, my lord, I do not know. I will consult my books. In the meantime, keep her warm and comfortable, and don't let her out of your sight."

Kerovan grimaced and laid a warm hand atop his wife's cold ones. "How long will it take?"

A year and a day later, he was still wondering.

Ethna lay just as she had lain the day he brought her home, right down to the silver gown and girdle, which had proved impossible to remove. Not that it mattered much; she never seemed to need cleaning or feeding or anything else a living human being would have required. She lay still and silent as a rag doll, or a corpse. Only her breathing told the truth of the matter.

Kerovan took to hunting again, more in hopes of running across Finvarra than of putting fresh meat on the table. He never found the Sidhe, though his jaunts took him more and more frequently within sight of the fairy mound.

But eventually, one evening at dusk, the air around him began to shiver and sparkle. He reined in immediately and held his breath, listening expectantly.

"It is now a year and a day," buzzed a familiar inhuman voice, "since the young lord brought home his beautiful wife from Finvarra; but what good is she to him? She is speechless and like one dead; for her spirit is with the fairies though her form is there beside him."

Kerovan closed his eyes and ground his teeth. Ah, so they were back to mocking him again. Why had he expected anything more?

But then the second voice answered, "And so she will remain unless the spell is broken. He must unloose the girdle from her waist that is fastened with an enchanted pin, and burn the girdle with fire, and throw the ashes before the door, and bury the enchanted pin in the earth; then will her spirit come back from Fairy-land, and she will once more speak and have true life."

Kerovan's face flushed with excitement. That was it; he knew it! Somehow, some way, he had friends in Finvarra's court. "Thank you, thank you," he whispered, bowing to the empty air all around him. "There will be fresh wine for both of you outside my window tonight and every night for as long as I live. Wine for you and you alone," he added after a moment's thought. Then he spurred his mount toward home.

The pin wasn't easy to find; it was disguised by a jeweled head and lay closer to the side of the girdle than the center, where one would have expected the fastener to be. No wonder they hadn't been able to undo the thing before now. But eventually Kerovan drew it out, sustaining a nasty gouge in the process. A final parting gift from Finvarra? He was careful to cleanse it with salt water before moving on to the next step in his allies' instructions.

The girdle did burn, jewels and all, and Kerovan himself swept up every last ash and threw the sooty mess outside the door.

A quick check on Ethna showed no change, but then again, he had expected none yet.

It was full dark now, but he galloped off alone with a lantern and a spade to the holiest spot he knew, a circle of stones where his forebears had worshipped for centuries. There he dug a deep hole and tossed in the pin along with a curse, a gob of spit, and a fairy thorn for good measure.

He refilled the hole, said a prayer to the Good God, and galloped madly for home.

Neither night nor day existed within the fairy rath, and the Sidhe slept only when drunk or otherwise intoxicated. When Finvarra was awake, Ethna was awake, if not necessarily aware. When he slept, her spirit was as lifeless as her body.

She had no sense of time as the days and months passed, nor any sense of loss. All memories of Kerovan had been crushed from her mind; and since the Queen whose name she never remembered had returned to her other home, Ethna had almost forgotten her existence, as well.

All she thought of, as ever, was the master who lay at the center of her being, who wore her proudly as a personal adornment visible only to Sidhe eyes. Of course, there were no other eyes in that place...well, except for the harem. But Ethna had no need to consider them.

She was proud to be her master's special bauble.

Until...

The darkly shimmering glory of fairy life faded without warning, as if all its magical lamps had been dimmed at once. Ethna had only a moment to feel confused; then she felt herself dragged sharply, painfully away from her master's cock.

She struggled to maintain her grip, but after all, she was nothing but spirit and had nothing to grip with. Back, back, back through the wards and walls of Knockma she was drawn; across the moonlit fields of a strange land; and finally once more into the body she'd forgotten she ever possessed.

Ethna took a moment to recover from the shock, breathing slowly and deeply, remembering what it felt like to have lungs. She hadn't opened her eyes yet, and red light shone dimly through her lids.

Suddenly she realized something: she'd chosen to take a moment to recover. She'd chosen to keep her eyes closed. Ethna couldn't remember the last time she'd chosen anything on her own in - how long had it been? And what had she been doing all that time?

It came back in fragments at first, like a dream; only now that she had awakened, it didn't seem nearly so sweet as it had at the time. She'd been a fairy's toy, his dog, his...his decoration. All that when she'd-

Ethna gasped as the memories fell upon her in a rush. All that when she'd had a husband at home whom she'd just married, who threw nightly parties in her honor, who had apparently been responsible for her rescue. She remembered Finvarra shouting his name now, as she'd crouched mindlessly, blissfully at his side.

Her eyes flew open to find Kerovan just stepping through the doorway.

Oh, the look on his face as he saw her staring back at him. His eyes filled with tears at the sight of her, awake and alert. Ethna's heart swelled with gratitude for all he'd done on her behalf, and she smiled and held out her arms to him.

Kerovan rushed instantly to her side, crushing her tight in his burly human grip.

Ethna, still secretly horrified (and even more secretly still aroused) by the remembrance of all that had been done to her, could only return her husband's embrace with baffled amazement. To think of all that Kerovan gone through to bring her back, and how lovingly he held her even now, though he must have at least some inkling of what she'd done with Finvarra. He accepted her, despite it all.

She returned his love as best she could.

But something still wasn't quite right.

Ethna lay quietly in the copper tub, watching the tendrils of steam writhe and twine around her.

She'd been home for a week now, if home was what this was. She still hadn't quite decided. She'd spent more time in the fairy rath than she had here, and she remembered that time far more clearly than she let on to Kerovan.

Now that the spells had lifted, she felt nothing but loathing for the Sidhe King and the bloated thing he'd forced inside her. Still, there were other aspects of her enthrallment that were...less unpleasant...to contemplate. There was the unearthly beauty of the place, and of its denizens. There was the bliss of surrendering to a being infinitely more powerful than herself, who reveled in his power to please her almost as much as he reveled in his power over her. There was the music.

And there was...something (someone?) else. She couldn't quite remember, but it would come to her. She was determined to ferret it out.

Sighing, Ethna slipped deeper into the blood-warm water. Her fingers drifted to the nubbin between her legs that had brought her so much pleasure through the years. She pondered the bits of her enthrallment that didn't involve that alien cock and stroked herself, half smiling. It hadn't all been bad. No, not at all.

The nubbin swelled beneath her ministrations, began to pulse. Yes, this was the right size for an organ of pleasure. Anything larger was just too large, too...clumsy.

For an instant she wondered what a tongue might feel like down there; but it was such a strange, unnatural idea that she quickly abandoned it. Besides, there was always this-

She slipped a single finger inside herself. Ah, no, this wasn't too large, either. And it was so much more flexible than a cock. She could curve it just so and caress that rough, ridgy little spot inside herself....

Ethna stifled a cry. Bronagh was in the next room, and they'd all been so careful of her since her return, jumping at every unexpected noise or movement. The last thing Ethna wanted right now was to be interrupted by an old woman's fears.

Oh, no. This was what she wanted. She twiddled the nubbin with her thumb while she rubbed the ridgy mass with her forefinger. Ohh, Danu, how long had it been? She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this secret pleasure. Water splashed the floor around her as she writhed, doing her best to keep her moans to a minimum.

There were other spots deeper inside, harder to reach but well worth the effort. Ethna switched to her middle finger and let the others cup the slickened fur around her slit as she dug for gold.

There was one! She ducked her head underwater in a last, desperate attempt to stifle a scream. Lightning crackled through her depths, setting her entire body ablaze in a way Finvarra, for all his magic, had never managed.

But there was more. Her finger shifted, exploring, and found another burst of lightning.

And then it found something else. Something small and smooth and far too hard to be a natural part of her body, though it was warm enough from her inner heat. She caressed it experimentally.

There was no lightning this time; instead, it was all rainbows and the white-hot heat of the sun, melting her mind and body into a deliciously quivering puddle. The word prostrate flitted briefly through her mind; then all was glorious, silent surrender and a bliss beyond mortal comprehension.

Ethna's eyes were closed and her body lay almost motionless in the tub, the merest shudder betraying the ecstasy she experienced on an entirely different plane of being.

The cooling of the water brought her back in the end. Sweet Mother, but that had been an experience! Neither Kerovan nor Finvarra had ever brought her close to that level of...of...there was no name for it. There was only the burning, aching need to have it again.

Once more Ethna dug inside herself, seeking out that tiny, magical object. Ah, there it was. But touching it brought no ecstasy this time, only a faint, teasing almost-memory. Intrigued, Ethna hooked her fingernail around the object and drew it out for inspection.

It was a small, leaf-green stone.

As she looked at it, lying there so innocently in her palm, another hand superimposed itself over hers in her mind: a paler hand that glowed with an inhuman radiance. Her mental vision traveled up from the hand to a narrow bare wrist, then to the folds of a sleeve made entirely of dewdrops, each shimmering with its own tiny rainbow.

Ethna teetered, gasping, on the brink of revelation.

Her mental eyes flowed on up the unknown arm, lingering briefly on a spill of golden hair and then passing inward to the face. Ohh, that face! How could she ever have forgotten? A fresh explosion of ecstasy shook the bathwater.

Oonagh smiled within the vision, her eyes as warm and green as the stone in Ethna's forgotten palm. There was nothing cold or chiseled here, nothing rough or burly. It was all curves, beautiful curves; and the most beautiful of all were the rich, rose-colored bows of her lips. They parted, and Ethna held her breath in anticipation.

"And so you see...again," said the goddess. "This is what you really want, is it not? This is what you always dreamed of, without ever quite knowing or remembering."

"It is," Ethna gasped, not knowing whether she spoke aloud or only in her mind. "It's you. It was always you. Oonagh. My Queen. My Mistress."

"I can give you everything you want," Oonagh murmured. "But unlike Finvarra, I do not take without proper consent. You must know, Ethna, what I require of my lovers; and you must give it willingly."

"Submission," the young woman breathed, and felt a fresh throb at her nubbin. "Total submission. Forever."

"Forever," Oonagh agreed. "But not as a toy to be played with briefly and then abandoned. Rather, as a living work of art, a masterpiece to be cherished through the ages, long past the time when Finvarra's pitiful little rath crumbles to dust. Immortality as a slave, a precious slave, loving and beloved. Forever. That is what you really want, isn't it, Ethna?"

Oonagh paused to savor the blaze of realization in her supplicant's eyes.

"The women of this era are trained from birth to be passive, but you, my little treasure - you have an actual affinity for it. You passed from your father's hand to Kerovan's to Finvarra's so complacently; you enjoyed being displayed like an ornament even before the role was forced upon you; you even learned to find pleasure in acts that were entirely unnatural to you, simply because they were another way to submit....And yet you always knew there were deeper pleasures to be had from submission than those. Pleasures only I could give you."

Oonagh's eyes glittered like jewels. "You were born to belong to me, Ethna. You were born to be my eternal slave."

The drumbeat between Ethna's legs shook her from head to toe and rippled the water around her. Ohh, Sweet Mother, but Oonagh was right! This was it. At long last, this was well and truly it: all Ethna had ever wanted in life without even knowing she wanted it.

For a long moment she could ony wallow in the slick, sweet helplessness of her need. At last she managed a nod.

Oonagh smiled. She held out her pale, glorious arms and beckoned gently. "Then come to me, my darling."

Ethna came.

"Finvarra! Finvarra, you honorless bastard, come out here! Come out here and fight me like a man!"

Kerovan stood at the foot of Knockma, sword clenched in his fist, eyes blazing with an almost lunatic level of anger and anguish. A host of armored troops ranged behind him.

"Finvarra! Come out here, you coward, and face me; or I swear by the Dagda I will rip this hill apart one stone at a time until I reach you!"

It was full daylight, and the barriers between worlds were easiest to breach at dusk or dawn, but Kerovan had no patience to wait.

Apparently, neither did Finvarra. A spark glowed at the foot of the hill, then traveled upward, forming first a line, then a corner, and finally a doorway. When the shape was complete the door opened, and out lurched the King of the Sidhe in the midst of a cloud of wine fumes. He squinted at the daylight and propped a hand against the door frame for support.

"Leave me the fuck alone," he slurred. "I don't have your fucking wife this time. She does."

Kerovan drew back in confusion, frowned, and finally shook his head. "Liar," he spat. "You have her, and I want her back now, with whatever oath you can give to make me trust you, that you won't lay hand or spell on her again."

Finvarra giggled, a bizarre sound coming from such a pale, noble throat. "Stupid mortal, I told you I didn't have her; I'll give you whatever oath you like on that."

Kerovan's eyes narrowed as he took in the Sidhe's slovenly appearance and obvious unhappiness. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was telling the truth this time. "Then who does have her?" he asked warily.

"My wife. Oonagh," Finvarra spat, rolling his eyes in an entirely unkingly manner. His head lolled backwards for a moment, making his adam's apple jut through the skin.

His attention snapped back to his rival. "She's done this to me before. Every few centuries she takes a liking to one of my brides and steals her out from under me. Damn woman, can't see what she wants with them. Servants, maybe. Ladies in waiting. Who the fuck knows?"

"Where is Oonagh?" Kerovan grated, shifting his grip on the sword as he wondered whether he had it in him to attack a woman. He thought that, for Ethna's sake, he just might.

"Knockshegowna," the Sidhe sneered. "Miles and fucking miles from here. When she's in one of her moods, she just can't get far enough away from me."

"Knockshegowna," Kerovan repeated. He'd never heard of it, but he had plenty of maps. And soldiers.

"Oh, and don't bother with the spades this time," Finvarra snorted. "They're no use against her sort." Then he turned and stepped back into his rath. The door disappeared behind him.

Kerovan stood at the base of Knockshegowna. In appearance it was much like Knockma, though a couple of hundred feet higher. But the feel of the place was different in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. He felt as though he were standing on the edge of some unseen precipice, teetering for balance. For life.

The young lord swallowed and took a deep breath. "Oonagh!" he called, trying to keep the unease out of his voice. Behind him, his men shifted their feet in unconscious empathy. "I've come to claim my wife!"

The mound rose high above him, mockingly silent.

"Oonagh!" he called again. "I know you have her. I want her back, and I will go to any lengths necessary to reclaim her!"

The air around him shimmered and shook. "Poor Lord Kerovan," a familiar voice buzzed. "His bride has been stolen yet again, and by a much more powerful rival this time."

"And what's more," the second voice slyly replied, "this time she absolutely begged to be taken."

"Liars!" Kerovan shouted, drawing his sword. "Come out here, Oonagh, or I swear I'll take this mound apart a piece at a time, and all its denizens with it!" He turned to the host behind him. "Men?"

As one, they drew their swords.

They waited.

First there came a long, low chuckle that shook the ground beneath their feet. Then a mist descended from nowhere, sparkling with rainbows that dazzled every eye and left each man swaying and groping in confusion.

"Stand your ground!" Kerovan called, but the shouts behind him grew more fearful, then more distant, then turned suddenly to cries of pleasure before vanishing altogether.

Kerovan whipped his head around, desperate for a target, any target, to vent his wrath and frustration. But all he saw was mist and rainbows, which gradually dissipated and left him standing entirely alone, some distance away from Knocksheegowna.

There was a path in front of him now, where there had been none before, leading straight from the mound to the tips of his armored feet. Two figures approached him from the distance.

The first was clad in shimmering, rainbowed silver. Her golden hair flowed out around her all the way to her feet; and the closer she grew, the more beautiful she became until it was all Kerovan could do not to fall to his knees in sheer adoration. He squinted against the growing brilliance of her presence.

The second figure, when he could bear to glance away from the first long enough to notice, was Ethna. She was nude and walked like one in a beautiful dream. Her nipples were flushed and proudly erect, and as she drew closer, Kerovan could see the dew glistening between her thighs. She beamed in silent ecstasy. Her eyes were a solid, depthless leaf green; and green, too, was the ribbon that looped from a collar around her throat to the hand of the woman holding it. Holding her.

Kerovan's numb fingers fought to maintain their grip on his sword. Not that it would do him any good against such a one as this. He'd been taught as a child that Oonagh was Queen of the fairies, but Finvarra had been right: this woman was no mere Sidhe. What was she?

Oonagh stopped a few paces away from him and smiled, idly twisting the ribbon between her fingers. Behind her, Ethna ground her slick thighs together and sighed more blissfully than Kerovan had never heard her sigh before. His loins ached at the sound.

"So this is the husband who'd risk anything to rescue his beloved." Oonagh murmured. Her voice was every bit as beautiful as her face. It called to something deep inside him, like the cry of gulls on a distant shore. Despite himself, a part of Kerovan longed to answer that call.

He struggled to maintain control. "Let her go," he snarled, shifting his grip on the sword once again.

Oonagh turned to regard the spellbound woman behind her. "Ethna, do you want me to let you go?"

The thrall's face twisted and she fell to her knees, throwing her arms around Oonagh's sparkling legs. "No, Mistress!" she pleaded. "Please, Mistress, don't make me leave you!"

"You've enchanted her," Kerovan growled, advancing a single, shaky step. He was aroused, repulsed, and frightened almost out of his wits.

"Well, of course I have," Oonagh smiled. She leaned over to caress the top of Ethna's head. "But only at her request."

"Liar."

"You say that quite a bit, don't you, Kerovan? It seems to be your standard reaction to anything you refuse to believe."

He blinked, shocked, for once, to silence.

Oonagh continued. "The truth of the matter is that your wife has always been a lover of women, though she never had the opportunity to recognize it before now. Furthermore, the truth of the matter is that your wife has always longed to submit in a way that she never could to a mortal such as yourself - or, in fact, to any man, mortal or immortal. She was born solely for me, born to be my willing, will-less slave. And now that she's found her true calling, nothing you or I could do would ever make her return willingly to her former life."

"You-" Kerovan bit his tongue. It was no use arguing, when his wife was so clearly bound in an ecstasy greater than anything he'd ever been able to give her.

In fact, hadn't he always sensed something a little bit...off...about Ethna? She never had responded quite like any of the other women he'd been with, and his father had made sure there were plenty of those. He'd considered it an essential part of Kerovan's growth into manhood.

"So now you see," Oonagh murmured. "And perhaps, if you look a bit deeper, you might find just a touch of the same feeling in yourself."

Kerovan snorted, but uncomfortably.

The fairy Queen glided closer, drawing Ethna behind her like a puppy on a leash. "Such a handsome young man," she purred, caressing the line of his jaw with a single finger. His skin sizzled pleasantly in its wake. "So honorable, so valiant, so very nearly pure."

The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

"I could use a man like you in my court," Oonagh murmured. "You could be my chief knight - or knight errant, if you prefer. Just think of the adventures I could give you: far, far beyond anything you'll ever experience in the mortal world. You could fight dragons on my behalf, demons, demigods...."

She paused and stepped back, still cupping one hand invitingly. "But you're an ardent lover, too, aren't you? I felt your passion through Ethna's body when you kissed her at the head of the glen." She smiled at the look of startlement on his face. "You didn't think that was her enjoying you so thoroughly, did you? She'd never been that enthusiastic with you before."

Kerovan's rage reignited in a flash. A welcome flash. "What do you know about our private moments?" he snarled. "You've never been in our bedroom."

"But I've been in her mind." Oonagh tousled Ethna's raven hair, and the thrall snuggled gratefully against her legs. Her vacant eyes gleamed like sunlight through leaves.

"I've sifted her every memory," Oonagh told him. "And, I must say, I've appreciated your lovemaking far more than she ever could." Kerovan's eyes helplessly followed her finger as she brought it to her lips. "It's been centuries since I slept with a man, but I'm not averse to the experience. After all, Finvarra proved an enjoyable enough distraction that I married him....You might prove an enjoyable distraction, as well, Kerovan. What do you say? Would you be interested in sharing my bed?"

The young lord felt the blood rush to his face - and his cock. Damn betraying, irresponsible...precious, delightful organ. Dimly he heard the clank of his sword hitting the ground.

The noise brought him, at least in part, to his senses. He had to change the subject, had to get his mind off sex. "What did you do with my men?" he spluttered.

Oonagh laughed as though she understood exactly what he was attempting to do. "Don't worry; I have no interest in slaughter. I've merely sent them home...with some very pleasant dreams. They'll wake up later today or tomorrow with no memory of Knockshegowna - or, indeed, of anything at all about your final search for your bride. If you choose to stay with me, they'll have no more idea where you went than you had of where she went."

Her smile grew teasing. "There now, does that assuage your manly pride? You can submit to me freely here, and no one will ever know. When you ride forth again under my banner in your unbreachable, Sidhe-wrought armor, no one need ever see the face beneath the helm...or the green-glowing eyes."

Kerovan grew still as the full implications of her offer sank in. Immortality, adventure, the bed of a maybe-goddess...and eternity with Ethna, whether she knew him or not. Of course, Oonagh would probably make him forget all about his bride anyway. After all, that was the price she required for her gifts: his mind, free for the plunder.

Part of Kerovan, a larger part of him that he would have admitted to even his closest friends, did want to give in. His title was an inheritance, not anything he'd chosen or earned on his own merits - though he'd done his best to live up to it. Still, leadership was a burden he'd wished more than once that he could be rid of. And now he could just...shrug it off. Abandon himself to desire. And no one would ever know.

Still, he was a man: a free man, and proud to be so. He'd stood against the King of the Fairies to prove just how free he was.

And where had it gotten him?

Kerovan gazed upon the glory that was the Queen of the Fairies and oh, so much more. He gazed upon the ecstasy on his once-wife's face. Then his eyes dropped to the collar at Ethna's throat and the ribbon dangling between it and the pale, immortal hand.

He weighed the cost, weighed it long and hard and seriously.

And then, at last, he decided.