King of the Woodlands

Chapter 28

Lilibeth Ciar Faren had serendipitously, luckily, strangely, found her father. Her happiness came in bright smears of green, the shamrock color of a clover's leaves, the green of a leprechaun's tunic, the green of good luck.

She could only look at this man, this selfless, loving, accepting man, who had fought for her with empty fists and a scorned heart, who had pieced himself together after Mother's death for her. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, her eyes full of tears.

Lilibeth drew in a sharp breath. Caoim was sobbing into a lady's lace handkerchief behind her. A loud trumpeting sound erupted through the air as he pressed the poor piece of soft cloth to his nose, blowing hard. Sniffsludge dribbled from his nostrils as he removed the handkerchief, clearing his throat and trying to compose himself.

"Father," she said. Her happiness should've made her unsinkable, but somehow, she refused to accept it. She breathed again and her joy shattered. Her mind refused to accept what stood before her. The man before her wearing the traditional Llewellenar highland tunic and wool cap was a lie made of carefully arranged skin and dark mint eyes.

"Lili," he said. His eyes were pools of sadness, his voice the barest whisper yet so full of love that looking at him hurt. "My sweet Lili."

This wasn't a dream, a perfect illusion. When she saw those eyes she knew he was real. For she was certain that besides her, no one else in the entire world had those eyes.

Lilibeth was going to fall. The bones in her knees turned to light branches. She reached for Caoim's sleeve, and he held her up, still sniffling and rubbing his knuckles into his left eye like a small child.

"You're . . . you," Father breathed. "And—you're here."

She studied everything, the friendly, round face she'd missed so deeply. The ruddy cheeks, unshaven beard, the eyes that set them apart from everybody else.

"How," he gasped.

"He let me go," she said, dropping the mirror. Her voice was strange, shaking beneath the heavy weight of tears that wouldn't come.

"I wasn't sure you'd even—it was a mistake—"

"No," she said as her tears finally overran. "It was not a mistake."

Just months ago, Father had been in a dungeon cell, his clammy, white-knuckled hands gripping onto the iron bars, his gaze frightened and angry. At the time, Lilibeth's anger at the Woodland King had burned through everything she knew, a searing path carved into the very bones of the earth. She'd hungered for freedom and justice, to see the lives he'd taken repaid in full. She'd carried hate in her heart, the belief that he was a monster, but now she knew that it was not the case.

Lilibeth Faren looked at her father now, so clever and endlessly sad. There were purple-black shadows smeared beneath his hollow eyes, but his heart still beat, and he was alive.

She couldn't stop her feet from moving. Her bones were light, but not empty. They were branches swaying in a mirthful wind. They were wooden puppets dancing at their own tempo, and she was powerless to stop their movement. She hurtled forward, bundling herself into the familiar warmth of Father's arms.

Caoim began bawling again.

Their reunion was long and very joyous, and I'll spare you all the tear-jerking details. Stories were told, tears were shed, and even Caoim joined in to their group hug, nearly smothering Lilibeth and Father.

When they finally pulled away, Father said, "don't you worry, Lili. Stay inside the house. There's stew brewing over the coals. When I return the next morning, the Woodland King will be slain."