Page 22 of The Dark Will Fall (Twilight Lake #5)

Maeve Cruinn

The Quorum had gathered, and Cormac and I were fetched as an afterthought.

Though the wounds had healed, I hadn’t quite forgotten the sensation of Bríd’s forest. The loss of my sight. The wolf’s teeth lodged in my arm.

I had always thought of my mother as benevolent. Kind and warm. The gods of the Tuatha Dé Danann were touted as wise and merciful—but also strong and unwieldy.

Brígid was a goddess, trapped in a punishment she could not escape. She had helped Balor and still paid the price.

Manannán mac Lir had shown me her personal hell for a reason.

I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

Cormac reached out and knitted his fingers with mine.

I raised a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“I can fuck you, but can’t hold your hand?” Cormac snickered. “Fecking hell, Princess. I thought you were going to crawl under my skin last night.”

My cheeks warmed. “ Eejit .”

He shot me a smug grin. “There’s my wicked little princess.”

I bared my teeth.

The castle's walls were a labyrinth. Our route was entirely different from the night before. The attendant hurried ahead, and even with quick steps, they seemed to slip around every corner the moment we entered an empty corridor.

It took much longer than I expected to find the spiral staircase.

The air grew drier with every step.

My throat sucked together, desperate for moisture.

I missed the Twilight Lake.

I missed the water.

When we reached the archway, Cormac allowed me to pass, but he was never far from my side.

The circle of chairs was no longer empty; instead, each one was filled with strange beings—my eyes unfocused as I tried to look at them.

I recognized my mother, with her long platinum hair and endless dark eyes. The pearls were inlaid in her dark skin. She no longer held any hint of being Sídhe. Her hair rippled like the white surf of dangerous waters, and her skin shimmered like nighttime on the lake.

Manannán mac Lir sat at the head of the gathering, his long grey beard like fluffy storm clouds. A gull perched on his head, so still I thought it was a hat until its head snapped in my direction and the bird regarded us with beady eyes.

I was surprised to see Brígid next to my mother.

Her cloudy eyes locked on the sea around us as she daydreamed.

The grey woolen cloak and the facade of a haggard woman were gone.

Brígid’s grey hair shone with every shade of purple, blooming with iris, lilacs, and lavender blossoms. The stone under her chair smoked, as if the soles of her feet were too hot for the ground underneath.

There were several other members of the Tuatha Dé Danann that I did not recognize.

The Twilight Lake worshipped Belisama, but we were not ignorant of other gods associated with water.

Belisama was the God of the Waves.

Manannán mac Lir was the God of the Sea.

A female sat, perched on the end of her chair, as she stared at the sky with longing.

Her arms were coated in white feathers, though they were not a garment but part of her skin.

Her eyes glittered, beady and quick-moving.

Her dress moved, like rocks over a fast-moving river.

My mother had told me once of a goddess named Lí Ban, who guarded the rivers that led to the Underworld—Domhain.

I counted twenty of the Tuatha Dé Danann, sat patiently in a circle in the blaring sun of the platform. The basin in the center was positioned like the moon surrounded by stars.

I padded forward, looking towards my mother for encouragement, but she did not meet my eyes.

Manannán mac Lir was preoccupied with glaring at Cormac, offering no clue about the meeting's content.

That left Brígid, who, aside from being blind, endured a horrid punishment night after night, by the very gods she sat next to. If she had retained her sanity, she certainly hadn’t retained enough social currency to argue for my clemency.

How could I convince a Quorum of gods that I didn’t deserve to be dead?

I wanted to go home to the Twilight Lake. To my mates.

Why did I feel like I was on trial?

“Maeve Cruinn.” Manannán mac Lir declared as I reached the circle of chairs. There was not a single free seat for me to take. “Welcome to the Quorum.”

I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood.

The gods shifted their attention to Manannán mac Lir as one.

“Maeve Cruinn brings news of Balor.” The sea bird on top of Manannán mac Lir’s head squawked. “Balor survived the Battle of Mag Tuired. They retreated to the Aos Sí.”

“Belisama!” One of the male gods on the other side of the circle sat forward, brandishing his finger. “You were tasked with ensuring Balor would not regain power in the Aos Sí. Did you fail?”

My mother licked her lips. “Balor tricked even me. I believed that I was poisoned by iron. A jealous bid from Irvine and his new bride to take the throne.”

The male god waved his hand dismissively. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Dian Cecht,” my mother said gently, her hands folded in her lap, as she gave him a stare I had often received as a child. “My vessel died at the hands of Balor. Balor poisoned me with iron. She was right under my nose, and I didn’t see it.”

Dian Cecht was the god of healing, though he was remarkably nondescript. His clothes hung from his body, and his lips were cracked and blue. His belt sagged, overburdened, carrying an array of pouches and tools.

“I told you this would happen!” Another male god jumped to his feet.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Balor has made a door big enough for every Fomorian, ready to waltz into the Aos Sí.

” I studied the god, trying to gauge his identity.

Before I could think of a single name, the male stomped his foot, and a roar of thunder ripped from the clear blue sky.

Taranis, then. God of thunder and stormy skies.

“We do not interfere in the matters of the Sídhe!” Manannán mac Lir bellowed. Silence followed his proclamation. Under the attention of several gods, he cleared his throat and ran his hands over his beard.

Brígid raised her hand, a blithe smile on her face as she waited to speak.

Manannán mac Lir pinched the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“The Fomorians do not want the Aos Sí. They can eat the flesh from bone, but it isn’t the same as the Ether.

” Brígid smiled blankly as she spoke, her voice light and dreamlike.

“They want the Tuatha Dé Danann. They want to consume the Ether until it is gone. Once the Tír na nóg falls, then shall we. The magic of the Aos Sí will die last, so some of us may survive if we don the flesh.”

Manannán mac Lir wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You want us to don flesh?”

My mother rolled her eyes. As one of the Tuatha Dé Danann who had lived in the Aos Sí for a millennium, she obviously didn’t share his aversion.

“We need Lugh.” Brígid held her hands up, mimicking a strange signal I couldn’t decipher. “The craftsman.”

“Lugh is long gone.” Dian Cécht sighed. “ We cannot forge a weapon to defeat Balor in the Tuatha Dé Danann. Our creations hold no weight now that the tether has been cut.”

“The tether?” Cormac whispered, his brow furrowed.

The gods continued, as if he wasn’t even there.

“Lugh rests in the Aos Sí.” Brígid continued. “Perhaps he could fashion a weapon, if he could be persuaded.”

I stepped forward. No one looked my way.

“I will go,” I said, jaw hardened as I stared at Manannán mac Lir.

The Quorum had descended into chaos, and no one paid me a single ounce of attention.

My nostrils flared as anger lit a fire in my chest.

I lifted my voice. “Send me back to the Aos Sí, and I will ask Lugh for a weapon. I will bargain so I might defeat Balor!”

“Err...” Cormac tapped my shoulder. “...Maeve?”

I didn’t turn around. My fists clenched as I watched a bunch of gods fighting like younglings.

An unfamiliar chuckle came from behind me. “Don’t worry, lass.” The voice said. “I have a feeling they’ll do as you ask in a minute.”

I turned, glancing over my shoulder.

I didn’t recognize the stranger. His eyes sparkled, wrinkled at the edges—the kind of smile that belonged to someone unafraid to use it. His hair was grey, fashioned into several peaks around the top of his head, like a crown of spikes.

The stranger stepped forward, his armor made no sound despite its heavy weight. Leather and chainmail, and a sigil I didn’t recognize.

The crowd hushed, and the stranger chuckled, reaching for his chest plate. He loosened the strap and allowed the armor to drop to the floor as he kept walking, straight for Manannán mac Lir.

“You’re in my seat.” The stranger winked when he reached the sea god.

Manannán mac Lir spluttered.

Taranis stood. “Where the feck were you?”

My mother covered her mouth with her hands. Her eyes filled with tears, but she remained silent.

The stranger kicked Manannán mac Lir’s chair. “It's rude not to provide seats for your guests.” He warned.

Manannán mac Lir’s face flushed red. “Who do you think you are?”

“I am the Dagda.” The stranger narrowed his stony eyes. “Fetch a chair for my daughter and her mate.”