Page 19 of The Dark Will Fall (Twilight Lake #5)

Tormalugh Shadowhock

“They won’t leave their rooms.” Slade, his advisor, bowed his head in apology. “Your newest recruits are fearful of everything and everyone.”

Tormalugh pinched the bridge of his nose. “I worried about that.”

“Where did you find them?” Slade stepped back, allowing his king to pass. Together, they began their journey down the hall. “The nearest villages were evacuated after the sickness, so they couldn’t have come from there. Are you sure they can be trusted?”

Tormalugh sighed. “Do you remember the stories? Of our ancestors, enslaved by the Dark King.”

“Belisama granted us sanctuary in the Twilight Lake,” Slade replied, exasperated. “We all know the stories. But they’re for Younglings and the feeble. No one believes that actually happened.”

“Well, it did.” Tor’s lip pinched. “I saw the Dark King himself. I wore his bridle. Those Kelpies were his racers.”

Slade swallowed deeply. “Truly?”

“Just so.”

“The Dark King?” Slade continued.

Tor ignored the question. “Cruinn is going to make a move. Whatever peace was gained by Irvine’s death is an illusion.”

“Do you think Cruinn will attack the Reeds?” Slade asked, knitting his hands together.

“The Undine have brute force.” Tor narrowed his eyes. “The Troid Sídhe are strong, but not as strong as a Kelpie on four legs.”

“We can always drag them to the deep.” Slade smiled wickedly, showing off his sharp teeth. “Think of how delicious their fear will taste as we drain them to husks.”

Tormalugh didn’t want to think about it. “We made a bargain with Belisama. We do not hunt the other creeds.” He sighed. “Besides, I am not worried about the Undine. I am worried about the new Queen. Her magic is unknown.”

Tormalugh had no intention of telling his subjects about Balor.

While he knew that most fae in the Twilight Lake worshipped Belisama, the God of the waves, he had no idea how the Kelpies would react to finding out one of the Tuatha Dé Danann had been made flesh—and that Balor was determined to destroy all in their path if it meant gaining control of Maeve.

He trusted his subjects to a point, but desperation changed people to their core. He couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t deliver Maeve to Balor if it meant an end to the fighting.

“I want to end this conflict with as little fighting as possible.” Tormalugh shook his head. “If we can remain behind the wall and allow the Undine to wear themselves down, all the better.”

“ Will they wear themselves down?” Slade eyed him skeptically. “Or will they wear down the enchantments protecting us?”

Tormalugh didn’t have an answer for the question.

Elsbeth chose that moment to appear at the end of the hallway, a flurry of large black skirts that drifted around her like the frills of a jellyfish. Tormalugh sagged with relief as Elsbeth approached.

“Brother!” She cried out cheerfully. “I am going to the barracks to deliver some food to our newest guests. Would you care to join me?”

After a fortnight with the Dark King’s Kelpies as they traveled across the Night Court, the last thing he wanted was to spend more time with the new additions. Every time they avoided his eyes or refused to speak, it made him uncomfortable.

But he had no desire to endure any more of Slade’s questioning.

Tor dipped his head in farewell and allowed his sister to steer him towards the barracks.

The Barracks sat under the platform that led to the castle doors, hidden under the rock shelf that extended to the Reeds.

Only the soldiers knew where the hidden staircases were. Carved into the rock, descending into darkness.

Not many Kelpies used the barracks for anything but storage. The armory was stocked, though many preferred to fight in their equine form.

Too many had lost their lives in the War under the Waves since the Mad Queen died. The remaining Kelpies were families, younglings, and females that had skills too valuable to allow them to fight.

As younglings, Tor and Elsbeth had used the barracks as their personal playground.

Elsbeth had made sure to stop off at the kitchen on their way to the barracks. Tor’s arms were filled with boxes of various staple foods. Seaweed-wrapped fish and roe.

“Slade mentioned that our guests are having trouble acclimatizing.” Tor kept his voice light.

His sister, skipping at his side, pursed her lips. “None of them has spoken. If that’s what you mean.”

“None of them?”

“Well,” Elsbeth tapped her chin. “The big one did. With the scar.”

“Rian Swiftgait,” Tor said. “I believe he is the leader of their herd.”

“The grumpy one.” Elsbeth’s eyes sparkled.

“Don’t needle,” Tormalugh warned his sister. “These Kelpies have spent years under the Dark King’s rule. Likely longer than you or I have been alive. They are to be handled with care and respect.”

“Brother,” Elsbeth placed her hand on her chest. “I am the picture of a good host, as our mother raised me to be.”

Tormalugh snorted, the sound remarkably equine. “Better you and me. I was trained to be good with a sword, but not much else.”

Elsbeth’s brow furrowed. “Father never thought—”

“He never thought I would be king.” Tormalugh finished her thought, but there was no emotion in his voice. Only cold, hard truth.

Finally, they arrived at the rooms assigned to the outcasts. Comfortable and clean, but unusually silent.

Elsbeth balanced the tray on her arm and knocked on the door with the others. A long moment passed, and then another.

The door opened just a crack.

Elsbeth flashed a bright smile, though her genuine emotions were hidden behind a wall so thick that Tor would struggle to penetrate it. “We brought food!”

The eye peeking through the crack in the door disappeared. Footsteps shuffled, and the water slammed the door shut of its own accord.

Elsbeth and Tormalugh waited.

Rian Swiftgait opened the door and took the tray.

He did not thank them before placing the food on the table by the door and joining them in the hall, closing the door behind him.

The three kelpies regarded each other tensely.

Rian and Tor shared a similar height, both dark in coloring, though that was where the similarities ended.

Though Tor had curled hair that licked his ears and stuck up in all manner of directions, Rian’s was long and pin straight.

Rian was scarred, and Tor found himself feeling relatively young next to such a weathered male.

“Well?” Rian Swiftgait crossed his arms over his chest.

Elsbeth plastered a smile on her face, a mask if Tor had ever seen one. “Are you settling in well?” She asked demurely.

Rian eyed her like a particularly colorful bug. “We are comfortable.”

Elsbeth nodded, tapping her hands against her legs. “Well, I’m going to—” She shot Tor a look and jerked her head towards the door.

Tormalugh narrowed his eyes and watched as she scurried away. Traitor .

“Did you need something?” Swiftgait asked, bringing Tor back to himself.

Tormalugh pressed his tongue against his canine tooth. “You spoke of Balor. As if you knew the god.”

Rian nodded his head. “Most of the old ones remember the Battle of Mag Tuired.” He rubbed his chin. “The gods scoured the Aos Sí for iron and salt, anything that might defeat the Fomorians.”

“The Fomorians, of the Domhain?” Tormalugh frowned, his gaze drifting to the middle distance.

He had heard Balor and the Fomorian’s often mentioned in the same sentence, though the kelpies did not care much for old stories.

“That is an entirely different world away. No being can traverse the realms, not easily at least. How would Balor intend to bring an army to the Aos Sí?”

“I can’t answer that.” Rian shrugged. “You know this lake and its history more than I. I don’t think the Dark King is even aware of this place.

The enchantments on the city walls, reeds so thick you cannot see through them.

It’s an ancient magic, and not one that belongs to our creed.

Something, or someone, has protected this lake from the prying eyes of those who would harm those within. But who, I cannot say.”

Tormalugh knew exactly who had protected the lake. The same god that had granted sanctuary to the first of their kind.

Belisama.

Each of the lake creeds was protected in its own way, from the Skala Isles to the abyss surrounding Cruinn. Even Tarsainn had wards that made the city invisible to those who did not know to look for it.

But would the protections guard against a god?

“Balor is a giant.” Rian continued, though Tor had not spoken. “At least, he was. The legends say that it took five men to hold him down so that a weapon could pierce his eye.”

“And the Fomorians?”

“I would worry more about them than Balor. Though Balor has always been determined to bring those ravenous beasts to heel.” Rian rubbed his hand down his face.

“The Dark King would hold meetings. Feasts by the lakeside, while we raced for his amusement. There were many talks of the Tuatha Dé Danann, for it is known that some reside in the Aos Sí—though they shouldn’t by all rights.

The Dark King mentioned Balor only in passing.

A large beast had attacked a border town between the Night Court and the Spring Court, and Balor’s name was often mentioned when such an incident occurred.

Balor was known for courting behemoths. Making them from his flesh, controlling them, or stealing eggs from beasts and feeding them all manner of horrid concoctions to get them to grow. ”

“Charybdis.” Tor nodded as Rian’s words confirmed what he already knew.

The air was thick, and neither man spoke a word.

Heavy footfalls drifted from the end of the hallway as someone rushed down the steps toward them.

Tormalugh doubted it was Elsbeth, returning to enjoy his company.

He was proved right when a male, barely out of youth, swam toward them, clutching a wriggling fish—a tiny thing with winged fins and stripes down its body.

A fish, Tormalugh knew, that favored the faster-moving water of the south of the lake, near the Whispering Pass.

“A message?” Tor turned away from Rian, giving him his back.

The male pushed the fish into his hands; a piece of seaweed, enchanted with some kind of glamour, was wrapped around one of the whiskery spines on its body. The glamour rose, like golden steam.

Tarsainn under attack

Survivors gather at the village.