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Fourteen

Caed

I curse myself a thousand different ways for taking off, even as I sprint after Elatha, holding my guts together with one arm.

He can’t get away.

If he survives this, then I’m still under his control. Rose will never be safe around me, and there’s no chance that I’ll ever earn the dullahan’s trust.

“Slow down,” Bricriu calls, and I adjust my pace a little for the struggling fae.

The iron is thicker here, but he’s my best chance of not being ordered into something even worse. It would be suicidal to chase my father without him.

The power flowing to us from Rose drips away, and pain from the barely healed wound to my abdomen hits me full force as I adjust. Fuck. I hope that’s not a bad sign.

The others are supposed to keep her safe.

Bree draws up alongside me as we burst into the courtyard. “We have to get him before he reaches?—”

“Bastard!” Draard’s voice thunders above the shouts and the fighting, and I grimace as he plants his bulk between us and the exit, trapping us in the courtyard. Fuck. My father is getting farther away by the second.

“I call right of challenge,” he declares in Fomorian, drawing a great battle axe from where it’s strapped across his back.

My eyes roll before I can stop myself. The most basic laws of challenge are that the king has to be present to grant permission, and that they can’t be settled in the middle of a battle. Honestly, I didn’t pay attention to the elders’ lessons, but Draard must’ve actively ignored them.

“When you die, the Ancestors will praise me for culling the stupid.” I strain hopefully for my magic, then grin when it’s right there, waiting for me.

Shit, if my magic is back, that means… “Bree. The king!”

“On it,” the púca replies, raising a glamour and disappearing.

“I’m right behind you,” I promise his retreating form. “This won’t take long.”

Draard scoffs, circling me while dragging his axe along the ground, assaulting my ears with the grinding scraping noise that follows. “You’re nothing without your stupid fairy magic.”

He doesn’t know that Rose’s mating mark unleashed my swords from the stupid curse. Somehow, the change in the tattoo hasn’t clicked in his tiny brain.

My pride screams at me to defeat him without my powers to prove a point. As satisfying as that would undoubtedly be, my father is getting away. Draard lifts his axe, swinging it in a wide arc as he builds momentum for what will probably be a crushing blow.

All six of my ghost swords appear around his neck in a perfect ring. Anger bleeds into his face, but some shred of self-preservation stops him in place. The heavy weapon falls to the ground in a clunk that sends chips of stone flying.

“Face me like a true son of Balor, you?—”

“You deserve a slower death,” I interrupt. “But it would be a waste of my fucking time.”

As one, all six blades swing, separating his head from his shoulders in a precise sweep. Disturbingly, he manages a single step forward before his head topples. The white locks of his warrior braids are stained red as it rolls through the blood pooling on the floor. The rest of him follows shortly after, but I don’t stay to piss on his corpse like I want to.

I have bigger problems.

Maybe I’ll offer to let the redcap mutilate his remains if we survive this. Seems like the crazy shit he’d be into.

“You’re the Ancestors’ problem now,” I mutter, jogging past his body without a second glance.

The púca hasn’t gotten far, and neither has my father. Unfortunately, that’s because the king has found reinforcements, and Bree is taking them on alone, with only his animals to help him.

The light of the moon glimmers on the pond in the centre of the palace district, making it easier to see the crater and piles of rubble beside it. I remember the wolf talking about the secret passageway to Orvendel, and how the knights had likely collapsed it. Well, if there’s one thing my people excel at, it’s dealing with cave-ins and tunnels.

It may once have led to the lake, but the Fomorians have had access to it for weeks. It could go anywhere by now.

Worse, my father is heading right for it while his troops keep Bree back. The mere sight of him locks my magic away, and I grip the silver sword in my hand tighter.

Running away? After everything that he’s done?

“Coward!” I yell after him. “Get back here and face us!”

“Caedmon—”

Bree’s magic mangles the rest of the words, and Elatha’s expression turns thunderous. He makes a vulgar gesture with his fist and arm that roughly translates to ‘I fucked your whore mother,’ then raises Balor’s Medallion in defiance as he turns and strides away.

Fuck.

He cannot be allowed to take that thing back to Fellgotha.

We cut through the soldiers, but he’s too far away, already disappearing down the steps into the tunnel. Warriors are pouring in our direction from the main gate and the palace, their shouts filling the air until I can barely hear myself think. In the mayhem, a flail strikes my calf, and I hiss. We’re already overwhelmed, and this will only get worse.

Bree summons his snake, his legs disappearing in that massive tail. I’ve been crushed by that thing twice now, but he’s too busy using it to sweep away the Fomorians crowding us. His cat ears flick this way and that, and I hope he can see a way out of this from up there.

“Any ideas?” I ask, parrying a blow.

My ghost swords reappear, making battle easier, but my jaw clenches at the implication.

We’re losing him.

“We should return to Rose,” Bree yells down.

“It might be too late for that.”

“Cover your ears!”

Bree’s weapons disappear into black smoke in a suicidal move that has me questioning his sanity, but the reasoning becomes clear as he raises his forefinger and thumb to his mouth and produces the loudest, most ear-piercing whistle I’ve ever heard.

Ancestors’ balls .

My hands slam over my ears, but I can already feel the blood slick and warm beneath my hands. The noise scrambles my thoughts, and my swords temporarily vanish as I struggle to regain my composure. His tail slips around my waist and drags me out of danger towards the pond. The last time we were in this position, he was crushing me to death, so I’m pleasantly surprised when he sets me down at the entrance to the tunnel without breaking my ribs.

“I’m right behind you,” he swears, his tail lashing out to swipe some of the recovering Fomorians back.

A crossbow bolt slams into his chest. The impact jerks him backward.

“Fuck!” I curse, though I can’t really hear the word past the ringing in my skull.

My swords swipe out, but all I’m doing is removing obstacles between the arbalist and their next shot.

Something that’s proven when a second bolt slams into Bree and his tail dissipates. His head cracks against a rock as he falls, and I have to thrust myself between him and the club about to cave his skull in. I misjudge it, catching the blow with my forearm instead of my blade. My bones shatter beneath the force, and I roar in pain.

Thank the Goddess I have six swords that don’t require the use of my hands, because it takes all the strength in my remaining good arm to drag him towards the tunnel.

“You’re fucking heavy!” I tell him, propping him up just inside the entrance and yanking out the bolt closest to his heart so he can begin to heal.

Reaching into my pocket, I gather as many of the canisters there as I can in one hand, then fling Prae’s tiny explosives blindly. My shattered arm screams as I shove Bree into the tunnel, diving after him just in time for the explosions to shake the ground above us.

Goddess, I love my cousin.

Wait…

The pile of rubble beside the tunnel entrance starts to collapse. Staggering to my feet, I grab Bree and yank him forward blindly. He struggles against my hold, but there’s no time to worry about his touch aversion. This thing is coming down.

“Move!” I snarl.

He hisses, but I don’t let go as I drag the two of us deeper into the dark. The air fills with the scent of damp earth as the floor judders and shakes. I manage to keep my feet, but Bree doesn’t have the same luck. He collapses to his knees, wheezing in the dust and aftershocks.

Well, we’re sealed in now. I jog farther down the tunnel, grabbing one of the flickering torches from the wall, then return to check his injuries.

Bree is already pulling the second bolt from between his ribs with a slick squelching sound and a snarl that’s a little too animal. Black veins streak across his ashen skin from both of his wounds, chasing after his swirling tattoos like lightning.

Wincing, I examine my own arm, and the shards of bone sticking through the skin. Aww fuck, that’s going to heal like a bitch.

“You…” he mutters, pushing away from me and using the wall to claw himself upright. “Are almost as bad at thinking things through as the redcap.”

His eyes have turned a luminous feline yellow, helping him see in the oppressive darkness.

“I’m spontaneous,” I reply, groaning softly as Rose finally manages to reopen the connection to Danu and the Goddess’s magic rushes through me, fixing the damage along with other scrapes and bruises I barely noticed until now. “Look at it this way; at least we’re no longer under attack. Now, come on. We’re not too far behind.”

Bree examines his own healing wounds as he shakes his head. “This is foolish. We should return to the others.” He turns back to survey the pile of rubble blocking the exit and groans. “Somehow.”

“We can’t just let Elatha get away. That medallion?—”

“Is an ancient artefact that I doubt he even knows how to use.” Bree huffs out a breath and straightens. “Even if he did, he’d have to find the portal to unlock it. Yes, you hate him having your name, and he’s a threat as long as he lives, but our focus now should be on the fact that our mate is up there in the middle of a battle, and we’re not.”

It’s possibly the most I’ve heard the quiet male speak in one go, and the corners of my mouth turn down as I realise he’s probably right.

But it all makes sense now. Elatha was willing to bargain with the fae because he knew once he had Balor’s medallion, he’d have a trump card. He thinks he can use the bàsron like he uses everyone else, but his arrogance is going to get our people killed and the whole realm enslaved.

“Well, we’re here now.” Thanks to my impulsiveness, but there’s no going back. “We can at least see where this thing comes out, so we have an idea of where he’s headed. Rose has connected with the Goddess, and she feels…”

I trail off as I try to describe it.

“She feels lost,” Bree finishes, rubbing the violet mark over his chest.

We both eye the pile of rubble. If we try to shift it, we’re more likely to bury ourselves.

“Lore will find us if she needs us,” Bree finally says. “In the meantime, you’re right. We should at least pick up his trail.”

He takes the lead, and I let him. Now that the adrenaline isn’t flowing, I can admit how stupid it was to take off after my father alone.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I finally admit, after long minutes of walking together in the dark.

It’s the closest I’ll get to thanking a fae, and he seems to realise it because he inclines his head in my direction. “Rose would’ve been very upset had you been used against her a second time.”

I swallow back the retort that springs to my lips, letting the space between us fill with the sound of our harsh breathing and the crunch of our feet on the rocky floor. When we reach a fork in the tunnel, it’s easy to tell the fae-made passage on the left from the newer one on the right.

One of them is neatly paved and lit by glowing balls of magical light. The other is roughly dug, with a handful of torches—half of which seem to have gone out.

“He’s slowing down,” Bree mutters, heading for the Fomorian-made tunnel with his ears both pricked and facing forward. “I can hear more Fomorians ahead with him.”

I raise my sword, but Bree holds out a hand to stop me. “Wait. We can surprise them if they think we haven’t managed to follow him.”

I rock onto my toes, bouncing with impatience. My slim hope of catching my father before he gets away is fading with every second we wait.

“He’s stationed a group of warriors around the corner,” Bree eventually says. “They’re to report if he’s followed.”

I try to take another step forward, but he stops me again .

“Subtlety will work better.”

His hand goes to his arm, drawing free the snake in a cloud of ink. It’s the width of my thigh, but it blends seamlessly with the darkness as it slithers away from us.

“Come. Espen won’t take long.”

It’s fucking creepy stepping over the paralysed bodies of the warriors. I lived through that venom, and for that reason alone, I put them out of their misery as we pass. Bree’s snake slithers up his leg, climbing him like a tree as he continues walking until it’s curled around his neck. It pauses to snap its ugly mouth at me, then disappears back into his skin as he breaks into a jog, forcing me to do the same.

“I thought we weren’t trying to catch him,” I grumble.

The púca huffs a half-laugh. “That was before he told his warriors to collapse the exit.”

Fuck .

He takes over the task of keeping us glamoured as the air loses the staleness I associate with being underground. It’s probably my imagination, but the cool, damp breeze feels anticipatory. It carries with it the chirping of insects and a thick humidity that lets me know wherever this comes out, it’s by water.

If Elatha gets on a ship, we’ll never see him again.

We’re sprinting now, less concerned with the idea of being buried alive, and more with the idea of losing him. Bree must have the same concern, because he keeps pace easily.

My father may be fleeing like a coward, but he’s not an idiot. There are at least half a dozen spears waiting for us in the entrance, steel tips glinting in the light of the pale moon.

“I’ve got them,” I mutter, shoving past him and summoning my blades.

Of the two of us, the iron in their weapons will do less damage to me, although I don’t intend to allow them close enough.

Despite the fifty yards separating us, my magic—fuelled by Rose’s power—crosses the distance with ease. The strike is surgically neat, sending heads flying. I half expect their death gurgles and the thud of them collapsing to the ground to give us away, but they’re covered by the sudden boom that shakes the tunnel around us.

Dirt starts to cascade from the walls, and the floor is literally falling away beneath our feet.

Running when the ground keeps moving is fucking hard. We may as well be sprinting in slow motion as chunks of the ceiling begin to fall. The entrance is probably only a few feet away, but it feels like miles.

Our mad dash is rewarded when we burst free in a cloud of dirt and dust… straight into the middle of a Fomorian war camp.

“Bree,” I hiss under my breath. “Please tell me we’re still glamoured.”

“For now,” he replies, just as quietly, leading the two of us away from the wreckage of the tunnel and into the maze of tents. “But we’re outnumbered, and I don’t hear the king.”

He’s right. Elatha has vanished. There are easily two hundred fur-draped tents here, and he could be in any one of them. Worse, the blood-red sails visible on the horizon tell me we’re on the bank of a river. If my father is on one of those ships…

Damn it. He’s slipping away.

I scratch at the palm of my hand, hating the way it aches. Rose is still sending us Danu’s magic, but she feels disconnected, and I can’t help the concern flickering through me. Surely if she’s managed to reach the Goddess, she’s away from iron and safe. So why is my spine prickling with unease?

“We should go,” Bree says. “Rose needs us.”

“If he gets that medallion back to Fellgotha, she’ll be in even more danger.”

As if on cue, a shout goes up behind us. Fuck. I’ll bet they just discovered the bodies.

“Better to face it with the full Guard than waste time here,” Bree argues as the two of us crouch between tents, hiding as a search party rushes past.

Their torches are flocking to the spot where we emerged. In a few minutes, we won’t be able to move without walking into a warrior. Bree’s right, chasing my father now is?—

The ache in my palm turns into a full-blown inferno, sending bolts of pain radiating up my arm. A heartbeat later, Bree’s glamour drops, sliding like water off my skin as he’s distracted by the agony of Rose’s death.

And then, in further proof that Danu and the Ancestors fucking hate me, a warrior catches sight of us and shouts a warning. Before I can do anything to stop him, he lifts his crossbow and fires straight at the púca.

I dive without thinking. Even though the bolt catches me in the abdomen, for some reason the pain hits me in my chest.

My heart cramps and twists, and before either of us can process what’s just happened, my world is consumed by fire.