Free Among the Unseen by Jodi McIsaac Page B

sparkling off the bay, and she could hear the seagulls as they screeched and circled above.
    “Here you go, dear.”
    Maeve was sitting in the chair next to her, her lap covered by a hand-knit afghan. She was holding out a tall glass tumbler of lemonade.
    “Mum,” Cedar whispered, accepting the glass. She took a sip and puckered. It was sour, nothing like the sickly sweet concoction her mother had always made for her as a child.
    “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Maeve asked, looking out over the ocean.
    Cedar followed her gaze. Instead of seagulls, a dragon was circling overhead, small bursts of flame occasionally erupting from its mouth. She looked down and watched as the long curved neck of a sea serpent emerged from the ocean. It stretched out, looked toward shore, and then disappeared back under the waves.
    “Where are we?” Cedar asked, but Maeve didn’t answer. She just kept gazing out over the ocean, rocking back and forth in the wooden chair.
    “Your father used to sit in that chair, you know,” Maeve said. “We spent hours out here. Just talking. He used to say it was one of his favorite places on Ériu.”
    “Are you…,” Cedar began, not sure how to phrase it. “Where are you? Are you…with him now?”
    “I’ve gone on,” Maeve answered simply. “It’s nothing you will ever need to worry about, if you keep yourself out of trouble, that is. Tell me, dear, how are you doing?”
    “Fine,” Cedar said automatically, but then she felt words gushing from her mouth like a faucet that had been suddenly unblocked. “No, not fine. Not really. I’m worried about Eden; all she wants is to be Tuatha Dé Danann, but I’m not the one who can help her with that, since I’m just figuring it out for myself. I try to reach out to her, but it feels like she’s pulling away from me. I keep thinking maybe she blames me for everything that has happened—for getting kidnapped, for you dying, and for everything that has happened since. But she doesn’t like to talk about it; when I bring it up, she just pretends everything is okay. Then there’s this druid woman who worked with Liam, and she says she wasn’t involved, but she knows something —the goblet proved that. And now there’s this problem with the leprechauns and selkies and who knows what else here on Earth, but Felix says he doesn’t know how to help them. If I don’t do something about it, though, I think they’re all going to die. And I don’t know how to handle any of it. And Finn…I’m so glad he’s back, but I can’t help but worry that I’m going to lose him again. It feels like it’s too good to be true.”
    Maeve rubbed Cedar’s back, just like she used to do when Cedar was a child. “There, there,” she whispered. “You have a lot on your plate, it’s true. But it’s of your own making, Cedar. No one forced you to move to Tír na nÓg. No one forced you to become queen. No one forced you to get involved with these people in the first place. I warned you against it. If you had just listened to me, you would be living a normal, peaceful life. We all would. But you’ve always had to do things your way. I can’t bail you out anymore. And if I give you advice, you’ll probably do just the opposite. So…I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
    Cedar sat very still. What else had she been expecting? That her mother would sympathize? Maeve was right. She was on her own. She stood up and walked down to the water, not looking back. Her feet pounded across the grass and she broke into a run, down the hill until she had reached the edge of the water. For what seemed like a long time, Cedar just stared at the horizon. Nevan had told her the Irish had once believed you could get to Tír na nÓg by sailing west. But Cedar knew that there was nothing between where she stood and the coast of Galway. Nothing but water. And maybe a sea monster or two. She wondered what it would be like to return to the days when she knew nothing about the