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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 choppedto 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 told you
when
I would return it.”
    “Cathéide!”
Brighid shouted, and she was suddenly transformed from barbarian princess to badass knight, covered from head to toe in magnificent armor shehad made herself. It was one of the coolest bindings I’d ever seen.
    I recognized the armor; she had made it specifically to counter Fragarach and be the immovable object to its unstoppable force. The armor came with a weapon: She hefted a massive bastard sword in her right hand and kindled a ball of flame in the gauntlet of her left, then set herself defensively on the hill next to her throne.
    These two had hated each other for as long as I could remember, but I never thought they’d actually throw down. Maybe I just hoped it. But I never hoped I’d be in the way.

Chapter 4
    A hush fell over the Court as the Morrigan and Brighid faced off. Perun could no longer contain his enthusiasm. After spending years as an eagle, within the past hour he’d been seriously flirted with, watched two goddesses appear starkers, then saw them prepare for battle. Joy in every syllable, he shouted, “Yes! I love Irish peoples!”
    The Fae thought this funny and