She’d done it twice now, the djinni had spluttered furiously, when he finally caught up with Marcroy in Tír Na nÓg, waking him as he slept in his tree house. Marcroy emerged, wrapping a spider-silk cloak around his shoulder to find the djinni standing on the bough, hands on his hips, turning dark blue with fury. A month ago Darragh had slipped in and out of his room unseen, the djinni ranted, and that shameless hussy Álmhath had thrown into his bed was covering for him, by pretending he was still there. It took a bit to calm Jamaspa down. More than a few curious sídhe poked their heads through the branches of their trees to see what all the fuss was about. Marcroy shooed them away, hoping the ruckus would not disturb Orlagh. The last thing he needed was the queen wanting to know why a djinni was disturbing the peace of her kingdom. Once he’d convinced Jamaspa to calm down, he had time to ponder the intelligence the djinni brought.
